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helvegen-s · 2 days ago

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Rage, rage | ten

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Pairing: Azriel x Hybern!Princess!OC

Summary: Nimue was a gift for the King of Hybern. His shining jewel, the perfect heir. However, she is clear about who the villain of the story is. When she saves her father's enemies from a tragic end, she realizes that now it's the Cauldron who has a gift for her: a mate.

Warnings: injuries, description of injuries, graphic violence, emotional crisis, bad relatives (not the best family), emotional abuse, poison, a little fluff at the end.

A/N: im excited por this part, things are finally setting into place. i hope you like iiiiiiiiiiiiiiit hihi. i appreciate your feedback, its heart warming to read your comments. if you want to be added to the taglist please just let me know

A shiver ran down Nimue’s spine. Dagdan and Brannagh, her cousins, blocked their path, their faces masks of barely contained fury. They had walked straight into a trap.

"Azriel," Nimue whispered urgently. "We need to leave. Now."

Azriel tensed, his shadows swirling around him like the prelude to a storm. "We can’t just—"

"Please!" Nimue begged, her eyes fixed on the looming threat. "I don’t want to fight them. Please, let’s go."

But it was already too late. Dagdan, his face twisted into a cruel smile, stepped forward. "Oh, cousin," he sneered. "Where do you think you’re going in such a hurry? Don’t you have time for your dear family?"

Brannagh’s eyes burned with hatred. "It seems you’ve been very busy conspiring behind our backs. Did you think we wouldn’t notice?"

Nimue’s stomach twisted into knots. She knew there was no escape. The only way out now was to fight—and that meant someone here was going to die.

Dagdan drew his sword, the steel gleaming under the sunlight. "It’s time to pay for your betrayal," he growled.

Without further warning, he lunged at Nimue, his blade whistling through the air.

Tension snapped like a taut bowstring. Dagdan and Brannagh, their faces contorted with fury, charged at Nimue and Azriel, initially ignoring Lucien. The sunlit glade became a whirlwind of steel and fury, swords clashing and hissing like enraged serpents. Azriel moved with lethal grace, his daggers dancing in a deadly rhythm, while Nimue fought beside him with restrained ferocity, evading her cousins’ attacks with feline agility, unwilling to strike back.

Despite the rage in her eyes, Nimue couldn’t bring herself to unleash her full power against them. A strange pang of remorse, an echo of the familial bond they shared, held her back. She didn’t want to kill them—she just wanted to escape. But Dagdan and Brannagh had no such reservations. Every strike, every roar of fury, was meant to end their lives.

Lucien, caught in the chaos of steel and magic, hesitated for a heartbeat. Loyalty to his Court, to Tamlin, warred with the new path he’d chosen—the promise he’d made to Nimue and Azriel that he would not betray them. With a growl, he leapt into the fray, his sword clashing against Brannagh’s in a spray of sparks.

A pained grunt snapped Nimue out of her focus. Azriel, his left arm immobilized, was retreating under Brannagh’s relentless assault. Worry clouded Nimue’s judgment. She had to help him.

In one fluid motion, Nimue summoned her power—not to attack, but to defend. She wove an invisible shield around Azriel, deflecting Brannagh’s blade at the last moment. The impact echoed in the air, but Azriel remained unharmed.

It was then, in that vulnerable instant when her attention was fixed on Azriel, that Dagdan seized his opportunity. With a savage roar, he lunged at Nimue, his sword a deadly streak aimed at her heart. Nimue, unprotected, couldn’t react in time. The blade sank into her side, carving a deep, agonizing wound.

A scream of pain and fury tore from her lips. Her vision blurred with red, and the world wavered around her. She fell to her knees, clutching at the wound in a desperate attempt to stem the flow of blood.

But instead of fear or despair, a cold, implacable rage consumed her.

Rage, rage and nothing else but rage.

The pang of regret, of empathy, of kinship she’d felt for her cousin vanished, replaced by a thirst for vengeance that burned through her. Her eyes, once filled with hesitation, now glowed with savage intensity. The power of the Cauldron, long restrained, erupted like a volcano.

Azriel and Lucien shielded their eyes as a blinding light burst forth from Nimue, forcing them to step back instinctively. Shadows swirled around her, their tendrils infecting everything surrounding her. Her fair hands started sharpening into claws, her teeth elongated, her face twisted into a feral snarl.

With supernatural speed, she launched herself at Dagdan, ripping his throat open with brutal precision. Blood sprayed in violent arcs, soaking the grass in crimson. Brannagh, paralyzed by terror, tried to flee, but Nimue was faster. She caught her by the ankle, slamming her to the ground with a bone-jarring impact. With a triumphant growl, Nimue plunged her claws into Brannagh’s chest, tearing through muscle and bone with raw strength. Brannagh’s scream was choked off as the light faded from her eyes.

A heavy silence descended over the clearing, broken only by Nimue’s ragged breaths. The transformation faded as quickly as it had come, leaving behind a trembling, wounded figure drenched in blood and staring blankly at her cousins’ lifeless bodies.

Azriel and Lucien approached cautiously, their expressions stunned by what they had just witnessed.

Nimue collapsed to her knees, pain radiating from her wound as blood seeped through her fingers, staining the earth a deep red. A solitary tear traced its way down her cheek, mingling with the blood.

"Let’s go," she rasped, her voice thick with emotion. "We need to leave."

They had escaped Dagdan and Brannagh, but their journey to Velaris, to safety, was far from over. The cost had been unimaginable. Nimue’s innocence—that fragile core hidden beneath her strength—was lost forever in that forest clearing, drowned in the blood of her own kin.

Azriel watched Nimue with a mixture of horror and fascination. He had never seen her like this—unleashed, wild. The blood of her cousins stained her face and hands, and a primal darkness seemed to emanate from her. A pang shot through his chest, a mix of fear and admiration. It was terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure. That ferality, that unrestrained power, reminded him of his own—the one he so often struggled to control. In that moment, he understood that Nimue wasn’t just his mate; she was also a reflection of his own darkness.

Nimue stood and, with her magic, began to seal the wound on her side. For a moment, a wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm her, but she suppressed the urge and continued knitting her own flesh.

They staggered away from the clearing, the air heavy with the stench of blood and the echoes of recent violence. They walked in silence until Nimue could no longer contain the question that burned in her throat.

“How did you know?” she asked, glancing at Lucien out of the corner of her eye, her face still pale from what had happened. “How did you see through my deception?”

Lucien let out a sigh, running a hand through his tangled hair. There was a resigned weariness in his face, but also a spark of something else—something she hadn’t expected. “It was the bond,” he finally answered, his voice low. “Between you and Azriel. I saw it.”

Nimue’s heart seemed to stop for a moment. Her steps slowed until she came to a complete halt. “What?” she whispered, her eyes searching his desperately, as if hoping to disprove what he’d just said.

He nodded solemnly. “I saw it in the clearing. It’s not something you can easily hide… that connection is unmistakable. It’s there, Nimue. You’d need to understand it deeply yourself to conceal it from others. For me, it was enough to know what I was looking for to find it.”

For a moment, the world seemed to crumble around her. A whirlwind of emotions overtook her—shock, disbelief, and a wave of something that felt far too much like fear. Azriel was a vulnerability, a crack in the armor she’d built over the years. She wasn’t used to this—to depend emotionally on anyone else. She had always been self-sufficient, the one who moved others as pieces on her board. But now… now Azriel wasn’t a piece. He was a weakness she didn’t know how to handle.

She looked ahead to where Azriel walked at the front, scanning the forest for a secluded place where they could safely winnow home without drawing more attention. He was trying to push aside the whirlwind of emotions Nimue was unintentionally pouring through their bond, but it was incredibly difficult. Especially when he glanced back at her, and Nimue immediately looked away when their eyes met.

The conversation hung in the air as Nimue, overwhelmed by her emotions, lifted her trembling hands. Her power flowed from her like an unbridled river. Azriel’s shadows moved toward her, soothing her, while Lucien watched in silence. With a blinding flash, the three vanished from the clearing and reappeared in the courtyard of the house she had come to call home.

Feyre, Rhysand, and the others were already waiting in the courtyard, alerted to their arrival by the brief message Azriel had sent to Rhysand’s mind. Their faces reflected concern and vigilance, and now, seeing the state the three were in, the alarm in their eyes deepened.

“Nimue,” Feyre murmured, stepping forward.

But before anyone could move closer, Nimue let out a heart-wrenching sob. Her body shook violently as she collapsed to her knees on the cobblestone ground, her hands pressed against her face as if to hide her shame and pain.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she murmured, almost inaudibly. “I don’t… know what I’m doing.” Her words were barely a whisper, fractured by the gasps of her sobs.

“Nimue,” Rhysand tried, his voice carrying his characteristic calm authority. He took a step forward, but Azriel raised a hand, silently suggesting they give her space.

“My father…” she continued, her voice trembling, without lifting her head. “He’s going to kill me. He’s going to kill all of us… all of you, when he finds out what I’ve done.”

Her voice broke, and when she finally looked up, her eyes were brimming with tears. The vulnerability in her expression was devastating. “I’m a monster,” she whispered, as if finally admitting it out loud—not just to them but to herself. “I always have been. What I did today… what I saw in myself… this is what I am. I’ve always known it.”

Nesta took a step forward, but Azriel reached her first, kneeling beside Nimue with an expression of uncertainty and something else… something close to pain. He didn’t say anything, but his presence was a silent reminder that, monster or not, she wasn’t alone.

“That’s not true,” Azriel murmured at last. His shadows wrapped around her gently, almost like an embrace. “You’re not a monster, Nimue. You did what you had to do to survive. You saved our lives. You’ve gained information that will be crucial to winning this war against your father.”

She shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “What I did… it wasn’t just to survive. I enjoyed it. My whole life, I’ve enjoyed this—terror. I was trained to kill, and I never questioned my masters. I’m a hunting dog. What kind of person does that make me?”

Rhysand and Feyre exchanged a look, and this time it was Feyre who stepped forward. Her voice was calm but firm, as if speaking from her own experience. “A person who’s been pushed to the edge,” she said. “Someone who’s learning to be more than what life forced them to be. I’m not going to judge you for the decisions you make to protect those you care about, Nimue. Right now, you think what you did was horrible, but I can only thank you for saving Azriel and Lucien,” she added, casting a knowing glance at Lucien, filled with understanding and quiet solidarity. “For bringing them home safe.”

Nimue squeezed her eyes shut, as if trying to block out the words, but she couldn’t. Her sobs grew louder, and though no one else moved, the warmth of the support surrounding her was undeniable.

Azriel remained by her side, his gaze fixed on her, but he said nothing more. He knew that words had their limits, and now, the only thing he could offer her was his presence. Feyre and Rhysand stepped back, giving Nimue the space she needed to process.

“When I came here, I thought I didn’t deserve what I found,” Feyre said, her tone low but full of meaning. “Love, compassion... a family. But I learned that it doesn’t matter where we come from or what we’ve done; what matters is what we choose to become from now on.”

The words seemed to penetrate the wall Nimue had built around herself. She lifted her gaze to Feyre, but before she could respond, something in the air shifted. A palpable tension settled, as if the world were holding its breath.

Azriel was the first to react. His shadows stirred around him, as if sensing an imminent threat. “Do you feel it?” he asked, his voice low but laced with alarm.

Rhysand nodded, his expression hardening. “Something is coming.”

Suddenly, the ground trembled slightly, like a distant echo drawing closer. Lucien moved to the entrance of the courtyard, his golden eyes gleaming with alertness. “We’re not alone.”

Nimue rose to her feet with effort, still unsteady, but her expression had changed. Though her eyes still shone with tears, there was a spark of determination in them. Something had awakened within her—a reminder of what was at stake.

“It’s my father,” she said, her voice trembling but firm. “He won’t come himself, not yet. He’ll send a message. A warning. He wants to make it clear that he knows what we’ve done, that he’s watching us, that he’s coming.”

“Then we must be ready,” Rhysand replied, stepping into his role as strategist. “But this time, we’ll face him together.”

The tension within the group was palpable, but so was the bond that was beginning to form. Nimue, though broken inside, felt something new: a longing to fight, not just to survive, but to protect those who were starting to matter to her.

The poisonous presence of her father’s magic faded as suddenly as it had appeared, and Nimue felt all the muscles in her body relax for the first time in a long time.

She was home.

The echo of the events in the forest clearing still lingered in the air, but in the days that followed, the calm sanctuary of Velaris offered Nimue a respite she hadn’t allowed herself in a long time. While the rest of the Court moved in a constant flux of maps, strategies, meetings, and plans, Nimue stayed on the sidelines, limiting herself to rest and recovery.

The wound on her side stubbornly refused to heal, even with her magic, so she concluded that the sword that had injured her must have carried some kind of poison she had yet to identify. With care and time, she eventually purged the toxin from her body, but she couldn’t prevent the ugly scar that now crossed from below her chest to her back. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the blood of her cousins covering her hands, felt the echo of the rage that had consumed her. In her mind, her father’s voice rang out, always relentless, always accusatory.

She had managed to befriend a flock of crows that lived near the house and had taken to feeding two stray cats that roamed by the Sidra River. Since Lucien had been granted some freedom, they had also spent time exploring Velaris together, and Nimue discovered in him the pleasant company Feyre had spoken about.

But she hadn’t crossed paths with Azriel. Not until now.

She had assumed he’d been busy. She had managed to isolate herself from reality for a couple of days, but the looming shadow of war followed her wherever she went. Azriel, on his part, had work—now more than ever. Speaking with his spies in other courts, pulling strings, traveling to the Court of Nightmares…

Nimue found him sitting on a stone bench in the garden beside the house. In his hand was a cup of tea (Nimue loved tea; every time she smelled it from the other side of the house, it was as if she were enchanted with a spell of eternal happiness), and Azriel was gazing at the sky with his eyes closed, enjoying the last rays of sun on that June evening.

The princess hesitated at first, her steps faltering as she approached. But there was something she needed to tell him, something she could no longer keep to herself. Finally, she stopped a few paces away, her hands clasped in front of her.

Azriel looked up, his amber-colored eyes meeting hers. There was a trace of concern on his face, a slight tilt of his head that indicated he was listening even before she spoke.

“It’s been days. How are you?”

“Fine,” Nimue began, her voice barely a whisper. “May I sit with you?”

He nodded, shifting slightly to make room. “Of course.”

She sat down beside him but didn’t look at him immediately. Instead, she fixed her gaze on the horizon, watching the sun slowly disappear behind the mountains. For a moment, silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was as if they were both waiting for the right moment to speak.

Finally, Nimue broke the silence. “When Lucien said he had discovered me—because of our connection, our bond…” Her voice trembled slightly, and she swallowed before continuing. “It felt like something inside me crumbled. I’ve always been so… careful, always in control. But with you… with you, I can never fully be in control. And that scares me.”

Azriel watched her, his expression soft yet intense. “Nimue,” he said quietly, as if he spoke her name with a special reverence. “I understand what you’re saying more than you might think.”

She looked at him, surprised. “Really?”

He nodded, his shadows moving slowly, as if mirroring his mood. “I’ve spent my life hiding parts of myself, keeping others at a distance. Not because I didn’t trust them, but because I feared what they would see if they got too close. With you… everything is different. I see myself in you. I feel like I’ve finally found the person I can show the worst parts of me to, and they’ll accept me anyway.”

Azriel’s words struck something deep within Nimue. She turned to him, her eyes shining with a mix of emotion and vulnerability. “But what if this makes us weaker? If we become a burden to one another… I can’t go into war knowing I’ll lose something I never imagined I’d find.”

Azriel shook his head, letting out a soft laugh, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity that almost made her shiver. “We’re not a burden. We’re a team. You make me stronger, Nimue. And I think I can be that for you too—if you let me.”

She let out a shaky breath, her hands trembling slightly. “That’s what scares me. Letting you. Depending on someone else.”

Azriel extended a hand toward her but didn’t force her to take it. He left it there, open, as an invitation. “You don’t have to face this alone. I don’t want you to feel obligated, but if you ever decide you’re ready to trust someone else, I’ll be here waiting.”

Nimue looked at him, and for a moment, she seemed to wrestle with herself. But then, with a courage she didn’t know she possessed, she took his hand. Azriel’s fingers closed gently around hers, and that simple gesture gave her a sense of security she had never experienced before.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice heavy with emotion. “For not giving up on me.”

Azriel smiled faintly, and something in his expression made her feel less broken, less monstrous. At that moment, she understood she wasn’t alone, that she didn’t have to bear the weight of the world on her shoulders.

Without thinking too much, she leaned toward him, and Azriel didn’t pull away. Their lips met in a soft kiss, full of uncertainty and unspoken promises. It was a moment of pure connection, a refuge amidst the storm both carried within.

It was then that Nimue realized what she had just done, and she pulled back abruptly, bringing her hands to her lips.

“Oh, by the Cauldron. How inappropriate was that? And without asking for permission! Oh, my goodness, what a disaster. I’m like one of those girls in Nesta’s books—oh, this is so nerve-wracking. How embarrassing, forgive me.”

Azriel couldn’t contain the pure laugh that escaped his chest. Nimue kept apologizing and talking and talking, her face as red as the flowers on the bush behind her, gesturing wildly as she tried to hide her face. Azriel smiled, his eyes narrowing as he tried to etch into his memory the image before him: the raw beauty and innocence of Nimue, the sensation he had felt in the center of his chest when their lips had been joined for just a few seconds.

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