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peachessndreamss · 3 months ago

Text

Wolfswood

Summery : Cregan receives an injury while out hunting, his wife cares for him

Characters : Cregan Stark x f!wife reader (no use of Y/N)

Warnings : Cannon typical injury and first aid/wound care, cannon typical hunting

Word count : 4k

A/N : Cregan Stark I love yooou. Also, apologies in advance if this is the most boring thing you've ever read.

Winter had arrived with devastating speed and brutality in the North. The first heavy snowfall had destroyed the last remaining crops left out in the fields and the woodpiles stacked as high as two men and just as wide had looked like enough to see them through two winters but soon began to deplete at an alarming rate.

And when a great boar had been sighted at the edge of the Wolfswood, Lord Cregan Stark quickly called the men of his house to a hunt, knowing it was better to find the creature now and make use of it rather than let it be starved by the winter.

They had set out in the pre-dawn, 10 men of House Stark, wrapped in layers of leather, wool and fur, mounted on the most surefooted horses the Winterfell stables had to offer. Lord Stark rode at the front of the group, his steward and close friend Martyn Snow riding beside him, the two of them talking as they disappeared from sight.

Once in the Wolfswood Lord Stark had led the hunt, first on horseback as they tracked the creature deeper into the cover of the dense wood and then on foot, when the terrain had become too dangerous for the horses and the boar needed to be harried out of its hiding place.

Cregan had been moving slowly north, stepping over tangles of brambles and avoiding tree roots thicker than his thighs, the men of the group formed a large crescent shape as they moved slowly, hopefully driving the animal toward a clearing. One of the men at the end of the line gave a sharp whistle to indicate the group should stop, instinctively his head moved toward the sound and in that split second of distraction Cregan missed the rustling of dead leaves and the heavy breathing of an animal charging.

The great tusk of the boar gored his left thigh. Cutting deeply through the skin to the muscle beneath, bright red blood immediately falling to the leaves at his feet. The power of the blow from the animal knocked him off his feet and sent him slamming into the cold ground, the back of his head knocking hard against a tree root. The metallic stink of blood filled his nose as shouts went up from the men of the household, they abandoned the hunt and gathered around their injured lord.

“Get the beast,” was all he managed to say before the wintery sunlight faded from his view and he wasn't aware of pain or cold anymore.

Lady Stark watched the hunting party return from the covered walkway between the Great Keep and the Armory. She expected to see Cregan leading the party, a triumphant smile on his cold reddened face with the great beast slung over the back of his stallion.

Instead it was Cregan's steward, Martyn, who galloped in at the front of the procession, his horse wet with sweat, its nostrils flaring as it snorted. The animals rider didn’t look much better, the steward’s face was fearful and the same colour as the bark of the weirwood tree, his pale brown leather jerkin was darkened with blood.

“My lady,” he called when he saw her watching, “Lord Stark’s been hur’, cut by the boar. Please send for the maester,”

His words caused a lump of ice to form in her stomach, chilling her from her heart outward. There was always a risk when the men went hunting, and more often than not her husband returned home with some small injury or another but this had to have been serious. As she dashed into the Great Keep she caught sight of a wagon being drawn by two great horses, on the bed of the wagon a tangle of fur and blood, she fought a wave of nausea at the sight and ducked inside the keep.

Her feet were light and silent as she reached the maester’s chambers, not bothering to knock on the old man’s door she threw it open with a crash.

The maester was startled by her sudden interruption, jumping up from his stool at the desk with surprising speed and agility for a man who was nearing 70. He opened his mouth, ready to scold whoever had so rudely burst into his rooms, but his words died on his lips.

“Lord Stark’s been injured in the hunt,” she said, praying her voice didn't waver and give away the fear that was gripping her throat like a claw.

“Injured how?” The maester replied, moving toward the large wooden sideboard that dominated the room. On the shelves were jars, bottles and boxes containing every substance needed by a maester, and probably a few they didn’t need as well.

“Gored, I don't know where, they've just arrived back, please come now,” she said firmly, not willing to keep Cregan waiting.

The maester nodded and gathered his heavy leather case from the side, the bag was filled with sharp tools and simple herbs and mixtures for most every day healing. He followed behind Lady Stark as she led them to the undercroft of the Great Keep, where there was a great deal of noise and disruption.

The undercroft was a dark, cool, enclosed space usually used for storage, most days it would only see one or two visitors but now it was alive as men lit torches around the walls while others heaved Cregan’s limp form onto the huge oak table that sat in the centre of the space. They stripped him out of his blood soaked outer clothes and left him lying in his linen shirt and woollen trousers.

The left leg of his trousers was ripped open at the mid thigh, revealing a 5 inch gash, skin and muscle had been torn apart and glistened dark red. A tourniquet above the wound had stopped most of the bleeding but his face was ghostly pale and his lips an unhealthy shade of blue.

Lady Stark moved slowly toward the head of the table where Cregan’s closed eyes made him look almost peaceful, the maester went straight to the wound and began cutting away at his trousers.

“Has he been talking?” he asked as he began to inspect the wound more closely.

“A little, but he was unconscious for a minute or so after it happened,” the steward replied, standing by Cregran’s right hip, wringing his hands together.

“Hello my love,” Lady Stark said softly, brushing her hand over his forehead, willing herself not to fall to her knees and weep when she felt how cold his skin was.

His grey eyes fluttered open and blinked slowly, trying to bring his wife’s face into focus, the world around him seemed to shift violently, left and right, up and down but her warm hand on top of his head held him steady.

“Now, what have you been up to?” she asked softly, as if addressing one of their children.

Cregan’s whole left leg throbbed painfully and his stomach roiled with nausea, he swallowed once, finding his mouth and throat dry.

“It's barely a scratch,” he croaked. Lady Stark gave a small huff that might have been out of amusement and stroked her fingers over the crown of his head.

“‘Tis a dreadful looking scratch,” she replied, “still, the maester’s here now,”.

Cregan hissed with the pain as the maester applied a green tinged ointment to the wound. Sweat broke out all over his body and he felt his hands start to tremble.

“Did they get the beast?” Cregan asked, once the initial wave of pain had passed and faded back into a constant throb.

Lady Stark glanced at Martyn who gave a small nod of his head.

“Of course, and you shall have the beast's head for your chambers if you want”.

He gave what appeared to be a weak nod before closing his eyes again and taking a deep breath. Cregan had known pain before but dislocated shoulders, broken bones and the sharp bite of Valyrian steel were nothing compared to this.

At his thigh the maester had soaked a small piece of linen in a clear, strong smelling substance that he placed over the wound before tightly wrapping a clean bandage before removing the tourniquet tied high up his thigh. As the blood was allowed to flow back into the lower leg the colour returned to the skin but there were no signs of excessive bleeding at the wound. The maeester turned his attention to Lady Stark.

“It’s as clean a cut as we can expect from a tusk, most importantly there’s no sign of dirt within, I have great faith that it will heal well,” the maester explained, wiping his hands on a clean piece of linen that was tucked into the belt at his waist.

“I'll go to my rooms now and make a poultice to fight infection and in the meantime he can be moved to his rooms to ensure he's comfortable,” he added.

With a small nod from Lady Stark the men still standing around the room went into action, they brought a stretcher and carefully moved Cregan from the table to the stretcher. He was then carried slowly through the Keep and up to his rooms. The masters chambers were the largest but the least used within the Great Keep, Cregan and his wife favoured the smaller but warmer Lady’s chambers, especially as they were the closest rooms to the children’s rooms.

Once he was settled on the bed she sent for two bowls of water and a cloth before stripping him of the last remaining pieces of clothing. Unable to lift him from the bed to get his shirt over his head she cut the fabric straight up the middle with a small knife, pushing the two halves over his chest and cutting the sleeves apart to expose his arms. She also had to cut away what was left of his trousers, finding some of the material stuck to his skin with blood.

Once he was as bare as the day he’d been born she soaked the cloth in warm water and set about washing him. Somehow the blood had managed to get up to his neck and down to the bottom of his left foot. She started at his neck, watching as droplets of reddened water ran down onto his chest and collected in the dark mess of curls that started at his collar bone, completely covered his chest and then funnelled into a thick strip that ran all the way down his stomach to the apex of his thighs.

“I swear you're more beast than man sometimes,” she said softly as she dabbed at his chest, lifting the blood from his skin and hair.

“It's the wolf in me,” he replied softly.

Her head snapped towards his face, she’d had no idea he was awake and seeing his soft gaze on her face brought a wave of emotion flooding through her body. The usual surge of love she felt whenever she looked at him, intense relief at seeing his cheeks a healthy flushed colour after how deathly pale he’d looked before and bubbling anger brought on by the extreme fear that still sat in her stomach like a block of ice.

“The wolf couldn't smell the boar sneaking up on you?” She asked as she felt tears burn her eyes. Cregan offered her a small, reassuring smile.

“The wolf is more,” he paused a second while he thought, “passive...”.

Unable to resist him, Lady Stark felt herself smiling and the two of them shared a laugh before she continued to wash him, revealing the pale skin under the dark curls and dried blood.

“You're lucky it wasn’t more serious,” she said softly as she wrung the red water out of the cloth into a mostly empty bowl before dipping the cloth back into clean water, “if it’d caught on the inside of your leg you'd have been dead before they got you home,” she added, an icy edge to her voice as the fear that had gripped her throat now throbbed behind her eyes.

“But I wasn't,” he placated gently, reaching out and taking hold of her wrist as she dabbed at his stomach.

“I'm fine,” he added when he noticed the tears gathering in her eyes and the angry wobble of her bottom lip.

She snatched the hand from his, throwing the cloth into the bowl of clean water at her feet. The water splashed up, catching the skirt of her dress.

“And what if you weren't? What if you weren’t fine? Your son is barely 9 months old Cregan, do you expect me to hold the entire North until he comes of age? Fighting off every grasping lord from The Wall to Dorne trying to get to him and steal his birthright?” An angry tear tracked down her cheek.

“I cannot be regent, Cregan, I cannot be here without you,”.

He reached out again and took hold of her balled first at the wrist, bringing her hand towards his face, pressing a soft kiss to her curled fingers.

“And nor will you be,” he said softly, his lips still touching her fingers, “you and I are going to grow very old together, so old they write songs about us when we're all but turned to dust,”.

She gave a small, watery laugh through her tears and pulled her hand out of his again.

“Now you're just placating me,” she said, reaching into the bowl for the cloth and ringing it out.

“Of course I am,” he replied with a smile, stretching his right arm up and settling it behind his head, the bend in his arm causing his muscle to flex and bulge under his skin. Were it not for the bandage around his leg he would have looked as if he was just relaxing for the evening.

“I understand well that my most important duty is keeping you happy,”.

Lady Stark scoffed at him and returned to the gentle washing of his stomach. A small smile tugging up the corners of his lips as he watched her tending to him so carefully. He'd been in a fair few scrapes before this one and was always happy to be tended to by his wife, the mixture of her gentle hand and sharp words always made him feel better.

“Am I permitted to say how I'm enjoying your undivided attention?” He asked.

“You may not say it” she replied, flicking her eyes to his face and catching him grinning at her.

“I shall just think it then,”.

They both fell into a tense silence as her cloth inched closer to the bandaged wound. The maester had said he would come by later that day to stitch the wound closed once it had time to dry and he could be certain there was no rot. Sweat broke out across his body as her gentle touch began to feel like needles piercing his skin, he kept his jaw firmly shut, unwilling to let a single sound of pain pass his lips.

“Would you take something for the pain?” She asked, not needing to hear him cry out to know he was in great discomfort, she wrang the cloth out again wetted it with clean water again.

“I would rather keep my wits,” he replied, his voice strained.

“Then perhaps a little when we’re finished and you can rest?” She pressed. She knew he disliked the effects of milk of the poppy but seeing him in such pain made her heart ache.

“Perhaps,” he nodded before pressing his lips tightly closed, redoubling his efforts to stay silent.

She finished his bed bath at his left foot, cleaning the dried blood from the bottom of his toes and the ball of his foot. And all the pain that had passed before paled in comparison to the agony he felt as her hands gently tended the most ticklish part of his body. He fought with every ounce of willpower to stay still and not curl his toes and kick his foot out of her hands.

Once finished she rung the cloth out one final time before standing and carrying the two bowls of water across the room and setting them aside to be cleared away later.

“Will you sleep for a while? She asked him, moving back toward him and running her hand over his forehead before drawing a soft woollen blanket over his nakedness.

Cregan nodded, suddenly feeling exhausted and wanting nothing more than to close his eyes and sleep until the dawn of the summer.

“Alright, will you take a little milk of the poppy?” she asked.

He nodded again, opening one of his eyes to peek at her face.

“And a kiss to sweeten it?” He asked, letting the corners of his lips quirk up just a touch.

She laughed softly, taking the small bottle of white milky liquid from the table beside their bed. She unstopped it and helped him lift his head off the pillow, she held the bottle to his lips while he took a small swallow before dropping his head back onto the pillow with his eyes closed.

“And to make it sweet,” she said, bending and pressing her lips to his.

As she stood he opened his eyes again although she could already see he was fighting the effects of the milk of the poppy.

“Kiss the babies for me as well?” he asked.

“Of course,” she replied, stroking his forehead again and watching his eyes close as he finally gave in and allowed himself to be dragged into a dreamless sleep.

She watched him for a few minutes, keeping an eye on the steady ride and fall of his broad chest. In sleep he always appeared to be younger, his features softened as sleep took away the worries and the duties he carried on his shoulders every day.

Once she was happy he would sleep for a while and there was nothing else she could do for him, Lady Stark went in search of Martyn the steward, she knew he would be worried and was waiting for news of his lord and friend.

She found him outside the stables, running a brush over Cregan’s stallion.

“Is he alright?” Martyn asked as she approached him. There was a panicked edge to his voice and his face betrayed his worries.

“He'll be fine,” she soothed with a nod, “he's made of strong stuff,” she added as she placed a comforting hand on his forearm.

“I'm sorry he was hurt, my lady,” he said, already looking lighter knowing Cregan was alright.

“You've nothing to be sorry for, he's a man grown and it's his own fault if he doesn't hear a boar sneaking up on him,” she said, making her voice playful and teasing.

“I'll pray for him,” the steward said, returning to brushing the huge grey horse that stood patiently in front of him.

“Thank you, I know he'll appreciate that,”.

She stayed talking to the steward a little longer, the two of them discussing how to make the best of the creature that’d been killed that morning. The sky was quickly darkening and the air turning colder by the minute, although no new snow had fallen that day there was a crisp smell of it on the air and dark, heavy clouds covered the sky, threatening a heavy snowfall that night.

She left Martyn to his final tasks for the day and returned to The Great Keep, she went first to the nursery to look in on their children. The eldest, Aly, was playing on the floor with her nurse, the two of them racing carved wooden animals across the floor. She paid no attention to her mother when she entered the room, too caught up in her game, while their son slept in his cradle.

She lifted the boy from his crib and carried him to a chair beside the fire where she sat, focusing on nothing other than the small sound of his breathing and the tiny movements as his chest expanded and contracted with every breath.

After a few minutes Aly got up from her spot on the carpet, her wooden horse still clutched tightly in her small hand as she walked toward her mother.

“Where's papa?” She asked, coming to stand beside the chair, reaching out her own empty hand to take her mothers.

“Resting, the men went hunting this morning, do you remember?”.

“Will he put me to bed?” Aly asked, letting the toy horse drop from her hand with a small thud.

“Not tonight, I can do it tonight,” Lady Stark replied.

The girl sighed heavily, like she'd received some truly dreadful news, her small shoulders slumping.

“But Papa tells the best bedtime stories,”.

“I know he does, and I’m sure he’ll have a very special one for you tomorrow night,”.

After another heavy sigh Aly climbed up into the chair with her mother and younger brother, curling into Lady Starks chest and closing her eyes. The girl found a loose thread on the bodice of her mothers dress and begin to twist it around her finger, in a few minutes she too has slipped off to sleep.

The warm weight of her children soothed the Lady’s fractured nerves, this wasn't the first time her husband had returned home injured, his body was a tapestry of scars, each one she'd lovingly touched and kissed in turn, learning his scars as closely as a traveller learns a map.

When she heard the first spatterings of wet snow from the nursery window Lady Stark decided it was time for her to look in on her patient. Calling the nurse over and letting the young woman take the sleeping girl from her lap.

“Let her sleep a few more minutes, then wake her or she’ll never sleep tonight,” Lady Stark instructed as she stood and carried her small son back to his crib.

“And I'll be back to feed this one once I've looked in on Lord Stark,” she added, lowering him into the cradle and watching as he settled.

The nurse nodded and smiled softly as she lowered Aly onto her day bed, covering the girl with a soft embroidered blanket.

Cregan didn’t stir when the heavy oak doors of his chambers were opened and his lady wife stepped inside, she paused, watching him for a few moments to see that his condition was unchanged, the only difference was that he’d thrown the blanket off his body and was now lying naked, his whole body exposed to the cool air. Moving toward him she noticed his breathing was still easy and his cheeks were a healthy colour. She touched the back of her hand to his cheek and then his forehead.

At her touch his eyes flicked open and he blinked slowly as the world around him came into focus. He made a small sound of approval that rumbled up deep from his chest as his eyes focused on his wife.

“How are you feeling?” She asked softly.

“Better for seeing you,” he replied, his voice gravelly.

“You're a dreadful flirt Cregen,” she replied with a smile, knowing his ability to flirt was a far better indication he was on the mend than anything else would be.

“Come lie with me,” he said, choosing to ignore his wife's chastisement.

“Only for a few minutes,” she replied, moving to the other side of the bed and climbing on it, settling herself beside him and placing her head on his shoulder.

He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and encouraged her to roll onto her side, tightening her body to his in a familiar and comfortable way and she sighed contentedly. Her hand rested on his chest, her fingers pushing and playing with the dark curls of hair. Cregan turned his head and placed a soft kiss on her forehead, feeling the warmth of her body sink into his own flesh and bones.

“I should ban you from future hunts,” she said, her voice muffled by having her face squashed on his shoulder, “make you take an oath never to put yourself in such danger again,”

“Even for you, I could not swear such an oath,” he replied, kissing her forehead again and keeping his lips pressed to her skin, breathing in the familiar and comforting scent from her hair.

The two lay in silence for several minutes, Lady Stark listening to the steady and deep drum beat of his heart, the thumping sound reminding her that he was still alive, injured but alive and home with her and in their private moment it was easy for her to believe that was the only thing that mattered in all the known world.

“But I can swear, it will only be death that keeps me from you,”.

#cregan stark #cregan stark fanfic #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x female reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd fanfiction #tom taylor #fanfiction #hotd #hotd fanfic #house stark #cregan #cregan fanfic #cregan x oc #cregan x reader #cregan stark x you #cregan stark headcanons

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itsswritten · 19 days ago

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Cauldron-born | Part 2

Pairing: Azriel x fem reader

Word count: 4.1K

Summary: When an unexplainable energy pulls the Inner Circle to barge into the Day court, they're all shocked at what they find. But it's Azriel who can't help wonder if his dreams have finally been answered.

Part 1

A cackle pierced through you as Cressida looked upon you with a devilish glint.

“You believe you are a witch?” Her tone caught you off guard. Her patronisation questioning everything you had ever held to be true. Surely you were? It was the only thing that made some sense. Your brows furrowed tightly as you regarded the woman who had offered you shelter and refuge over the past few years.

Her laughing died down, her beautiful skin perfect by the ruins and spells she’d used for centuries, not displaying a single crease visible upon her flesh.

“Oh child what an easy life this would have been if we were more akin.”

You sat upright with a jolt, the murmuring of a dream— a memory whispering at the corners of your mind. Your heart swelling with the familiarity of someone you missed, despite her disposition, her cruel tone, that mean glint in her eye— you missed her. But as you felt the plush sheets beneath your body you knew you were no longer in the witches cottage at the corners of The Middle.

You had left that plagued land a while ago now.

A soft rap roused you from your thinking. The usual wake up call must have been the noise to stir you from your slumber in the first place, a familiar rumble of a tone behind the oak doors.

“Come in,” you replied softly. Your feet swinging off the side of the bed, as you walked towards the large curtain that hung from the high ceilings to the dark obsidian floor beneath your feet.

It should have been cool to the touch under your toes, but the house had a magical way of ensuring your comfort— always.

You heard the bedroom door swing open, your back to the welcomed guest as your fingers dropped from the luxe curtain fabric you had just pulled, inviting the warmth of the morning sun into your rooms.

“Blessed be my morning star, did you sleep well?” A deep sing-song tone bellowed into the room, a playfulness dancing on his words.

You cringed under the greeting, choosing not to turn to show your disdain at his choice of greeting and nickname. The sun was only just rising, sending splintered beams of light across your bedroom floor and walls.

“Helion, must you greet me in such a way?” He could practically hear the way you rolled your eyes and cringed at his words. You hadn’t turned to him yet, your gaze settling on the tops of the city below that the curtains had just revealed.

The view from your bedroom had changed more frequently in recent years. No longer the welcomed view of your childhood— the farm fields you grew up in, the misty fog that covered the northern part of the continent that you had always found comfort in.

No longer the harsh winding forest, dark trees that looked more like creatures that lurked outside the witches cottage— Cressida’s home— if you could even call it a home. Her den, rooted in The Middle.

No longer the glistening golden rooftops of Day, the sparkling white walls that danced the sunlight off the buildings in a way that made the whole court shimmer.

Instead, the panes of glass showed three mountainous peaks, dusted with snow in the distance and a city below— Velaris, the city of starlight.

Or the city of slumber. You were not well acquainted with the routines of the Night court residents. Them usually rousing from sleep well later into the day. However it did make your mornings quieter.

The auras of people settled in sleep, their noise, their colours dimming as you watched the kaleidoscope of energy dance lazily along to rooftops. It would be beautiful, if it wasn’t so loud.

You winced slightly at the sight, the lights and colours nudging on your mind. Poking and prodding a little harder than they had yesterday. It had been several days since Helion’s spell. A string of wryds to help contain your ability— dim it down, to subdue it, make it more bearable— but the spell was wearing thin.

Ever since that night—that fateful night where you almost left this world— your ability had been at a loss. Something that had always been as easy as breathing, as easy as a crisp night breeze filling your lungs, was now overwhelming and terrifying. If it wasn’t for Helion and his spell cleaving you're not even sure you’d still be here, in fact you’re certain it would have consumed you.

As beautiful as the auras of the world were, if you couldn’t control it— it would be the death of you.

“How are you feeling?” You had finally turned to Helion now, his question lingering in the air.

How were you feeling?

You could see, feel, taste Helion’s energy in front of you. A golden glow, so fitting for the High Lord of Day. It beamed within him like an orb of sunlight. You couldn’t touch it though, not like you used to, not like when you were a child and you used the naively play with creatures auras like a toy. Not like how Cressida had taught you to toy with people’s auras which was far from play.

That sense of control had broken, leaving jagged scars across your body to match.

Your hands, almost subconsciously went to touch the rugged scar that ran from your shoulder down to your torso. It tingled under your thoughts, but you pulled your hand back. Not allowing another moment to be wasted on what had happened and the marks it had left on you.

That was why you needed Helion and his spells. He had a way of dimming it with his own power, making it easier for you to navigate your day-to-day without being utterly consumed by the noise and colours of everyone else.

“I feel okay actually,” you had responded, your eyes moving up to the lines on your friends face. He smiled softly at you.

“This is the longest you’ve been without us having to spell cleave, but today—“

“Today could be a noisy day,” you finished his sentence, understanding what he was implying.

Tody, you were to begin training with the Valkyries.

“Those priestesses are already a bundle of emotions when they pass you, I think resealing the spell would be wise. Amren agrees.”

Well then, it wasn’t really up for debate.

You cocked a brow at Helion before moving towards the table in your room. That was now adorned with breakfast, courtesy of the house of course. Helion folded his arms across his broad chest. He still wore the colours of Day, white and pristine, glittered in gold jewellery along his wrists, earrings bejewelled with sunlight themselves. Grand and beautiful, just like him. However he looked so out of place against the dark background of the Night interior. As ornate as the House of Wind was, Helion didn’t fit.

No, he belonged among his own court, but the High Lord of day had left his court to accompany you. That in itself was such a large display of loyalty. You swallowed your guilt as you sat at the table, spreading butter across the warm toast and taking a bite.

“But of course the decision is always yours to make y/n,” Helion spoke, his tone as warm as the butter melting upon your breakfast.

They only wanted what was best for you, you knew that. Reminded yourself in moments like these. But you couldn’t help the feelings that slipped up to the surface. Since you’d come to the Fae courts and discovered who you were—what you were. Every piece of guidance came with a weight you felt like you couldn’t refuse.

You were the Mother’s daughter— Blessed be— you had status, respect, power— to do as you please, but that came with a responsibility that felt too heavy to bear. Every decision you made had to be considered, because it didn’t only affect you but the entire world and the peoples and creatures within it.

That meant, even if you wanted to try and push another day without the spell. See how far you could go as the spell thinned, you couldn’t risk it. As it wasn’t only you who it would endanger, but every living thing.

When Helion had found you— a shattered version of yourself— he’d spent the time piecing you back together. Perhaps out of duty to begin with, but somewhere along that journey a genuine friendship grew. However that would never negate from who you were, and what you were born to do— what your life’s duty was to be, and what he, what Amren, whatever everyone else on this island needed to do ensure you accomplished it.

“Let’s reseal the spell,” you muttered before taking another chomp of your toast, a softer look on your eyes this time. “…after breakfast.”

Helion smiled warmly, joining you at the table as he had done now every morning since he saved you.

The simmering of the fresh spell lingered on your skin, Helion’s magic coursing an invisible shield around you. The spell acting as a filter to the aura you were always so sensitive to.

The early days of his spells were always the nicest, at least they were nowadays. After building your tolerance back up with Helion, the first week of his spell usually lasted with minimal discomfort. He always had to be near though, his rooms were only down the hall to yours.

Sometimes your tolerance was less, or someone or some creature’s aura louder than usual that you needed him to reseal. It was why for the past year he’d essentially been attached to you at the hip, like a doting father or brother. And then there was Amren— doting wasn’t the word you would use. But she was always there too now. Out of duty of course, the way she’d collapsed down to her knees in your first encounter revealed how strongly her loyalty would lie to you.

Or lie to what you stood for.

Amren, the ancient one knew what your existence meant. Felt it in her bones, remembered the murmurings of stories and prophecies she listened to back in her own adolescent years. She knew what was coming, and knew how important it was that the Mother’s daughter had her ability under control.

So here you were, stood before Helion and Amren like a girl on her first day of school. Helion tightened one of the straps on the leathers you had been told to wear. He couldn’t attend the training class, only approved males were sanctioned so he would stay the floor below. In a waiting room. A handful of books already tucked under his arm.

“Stop fussing over the girl,” Amren snapped, her expression as hard as it always was. Despite her being utterly devoted to you and your protection, that dedication did not come with a slither of a smile.

You may have found her scary, if she didn’t remind you so much of someone you missed.

Helion gave you a knowing look before playfully winking at you. His large hands coming to squeeze your shoulders.

“How do you feel?” He asked, ignoring Amren at his side.

“The world is quiet once more,” you replied in a slightly chipper tone that garnered a smile from Helion.

He tapped the top of your head, “If we need to reseal, or something triggers it you leave right away, okay?”

You nodded in response along with a hum in agreement. This training was supposed to do the opposite of just that, however there were concerns. After the inner circle had barged their way into the Day Court a month ago, after Helion revealed who you were— a lot had changed.

Your belongings— which wasn’t very many— were packed up, along with you and Helion as you were practically shipped to the Night Court. You realised when you arrived how this had always been Helion’s intention. Why he’d taken the time to tell you the names of the Night Courts inner circle all those months ago. It was because they held significance in your journey.

The Night Court was safer, Velaris having an ancient spell that had protected it for so long. Amren was to teach you, she had knowledge that even Helion’s libraries didn’t share. There was Rhys too, with his mind and magic who was a crucial part to play in you regaining control of your power.

And now there were the Valkyries, who you were to train with.

You leaned against the railing of the rooftop, your eyes dancing upon the still sleeping city. It was quieter now, thanks to Helion. No noise and colours probing into your mind.

It was peaceful, and yet so lonely. When you had full control of your ability, back when it felt like an extension of you. You could slip in and out of it with ease, danced with it, sung with it. Now, it felt like a headache that could only be dulled with Helion’s magic.

“It is the mind-stilling which is a priority in your training. I believe it could be key to you regaining control over your abilities. You will train with the Valkyrie’s everyday until you master it.” Amren spoke. You didn’t turn to look at her, your eyes still gazing onto the cityscape below. Your mind wandering to what the people below were up to, what they may have been dreaming of. Thinking back to a time when your life was much simpler, when the most daunting part of your week was whether one of the village boys would fancy you.

You stopped yourself there. Stopped yourself from indulging and reminiscing in the past. The continent was so far away now, as was that version of you.

“What if it doesn’t work?” You turned to Amren, concern evident in your tone. The sun kissing your face as your brows furrowed.

She was sat in the shade, back against the cool stone wall of the house, “It has to.”

A silence settled between you both. Amren was right, this had to work because Mother be damned if it didn’t.

Nesta cringed as she watched the priestesses fuss. She had told them to be on their best behaviour, but in the presence of a living deity the females couldn’t help themselves.

They blushed and whispered, giggled and muttered words of prayer, some even curtseying as soon as they stepped onto the rooftop. Rollings of ‘Blessed be’ harmonised from their tongues and even Gwyn’s eyes widened in the presence of you. The female looked ready to burst with excitement.

There was something about your presence that was otherworldly, not just in your beauty but in the way you moved among the earth spoke of grace. Nesta couldn’t believe her eyes when she had found out you’d grown up on the continent on a farm and then The Middle— with a witch! And yet there was a regality that existed within you that couldn’t be taught, it had just always been, you had been born with it, cauldron-born to be exact.

You stood in front of them all, your own embarrassment from the fuss evident in your averting gaze. Gently— with delicate grace— you bowed your head towards the priestesses, responding appropriately with a whispering “Blessed be,” which only seemed to elicit more noise from the females. Enough noise that it took you a beat to notice the gust of wind that blew across your face as a shadow blocked out the sun for a moment. With a thud two large Illyrian males landed in the middle of the rooftop balcony.

Helion’s spell had been working fine till now, not a whisper or a simmering of aura— till you saw him.

Felt him, scented him.

In a flurry of steps you found your back pressed against the railing on the rooftop. The very presence of someone causing your feet to stumble back, hands clutching the railing tightly in a blur of a moment. He was here. The very male you often found yourself dreaming of when your mind wasn’t caught in the past.

Azriel.

Amren had launched from her place, she had been watching you so closely that even just a tremor of difference she would notice. But it wasn’t just Amren who had stepped towards you, the Shadowsinger himself had taken several large strides since landing as if he’d also always been watching.

“Do I need to get Helion?” Amren asked with an urgency in her tone.

Your breaths were shallow, your gaze falling to your feet as you tried to focus. You had been caught off guard, in the silence of spell you hadn’t expected any noise at all. You hadn’t been affected by the lively group of priestesses, Nesta’s silver aura hadn’t been licking at your mind or even the thousands of people in the city below hadn’t affected you.

But him. He had triggered something, somehow.

Azriel looked upon you with a concern that felt heavy. Hesitant as he stood only a step behind Amren.

Had he startled you? When him and Cassian had landed? Azriel couldn’t deny he had rushed to this training session, after spending the month on a mission. Rhys had sent word that you were to begin training, and the swell in Azriel’s chest was enough to have Cassian trying to keep up to the Spymaster on their entire flight home.

Azriel’s eyes wandered over you, his shadows whispering their own concerns. They had noticed your nerves, just as he had noticed them during his first encounter with you. It was his job to notice the little things, his duty as spymaster to notice the things others couldn’t, but even he couldn’t explain why he felt so attuned to you.

The morning breeze gently blew across your face, pulling the pieces of hair that were loose from your braid. You had calmed yourself, calmed yourself enough to raise your head to the audience on the rooftop. He could see you now, fully, for the first time in a month, and Azriel forgot how to breathe.

Divine.

He thought it was his shadows that whispered it, but maybe it was his own thoughts too. You were the most beautiful creature he’d ever laid his eyes on— angelic and saintly.

Divine was the only word for it.

Divine, divine, divine. His shadows sang.

“No, I am fine,” you finally replied to Amren. She looked at you sceptically, a look in her face that told you if you were lying then there would be hell to pay. You repeated yourself though, stepping away from the railing you had pressed yourself against.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, not yet. Not after what he had just triggered, that tightness in your chest was new and overwhelming to say the least. It was different though, to the way auras usually felt that left you with confusion and questions to why the Shadowsinger felt, smelt, tasted so different to everyone else.

You were grateful for the male beside him who decided to speak. “Sorry we probably startled you, just dropping from the sky like that— we tend to do that sometimes.” It was Cassian who had spoken, a warmness in his tone that reminded you of Helion. There was a twinkle in his eye of light-heartedness that seemed to dissipate the unease that had settled among the group.

You offered him a soft smile that only seemed to spur him on. His tone bellowing as he outstretched his arms in introduction, “I’m Cassian, and this is—“

“Azriel,” you finished his sentence for him. Not being able to stop yourself from saying his name out loud. Not being able to stop yourself from finally looking at him.

“Right, Azriel. You’ve already met,” Cassian replied, a look in his eye as he glanced between his brother and you.

It wasn’t fair. Wasn’t fair how much lovelier he was than in your dreams— which you didn’t think could be possible. The handsome lines of his tanned face, the dark hair that fell in loose curls and those large wings that were tucked behind his back. Your eyes dragged across him, finally landing on his own gaze. How it brought you back to that first moment you met him—how he had trapped you in his gaze back in the courtyard of Day.

“And I’m Gwyn,” the words had practically burst from the red-headed female. Her deciding now was clearly the right time to introduce herself, not that you minded. In fact if she hadn’t you may have just stared at the Shadowsinger all day, “…and I think I can speak on behalf of us all, but it is truly an honour that you wish to train with us.”

There were some murmurings from the priestesses then, as if in agreement and even Cassian tipped his head in bow towards you.

There it was again, that weight you held. Crushing and terrifying, they put you an a pedestal, showered you with adoration you weren’t too sure you deserved. With subtle strain you forced a gentle smile onto your lips.

“The honour is all mine Gwyn,” and you meant it. The people on this balcony had earned that praise more than you ever had.

“She just said my name,” Gwyn whispered in disbelief to her friends, her cheeks going rosy at the recognition. Nesta simply rolled their eyes, Emery teasingly nudged Gwyn with her elbow.

But it was a sentiment Azriel was still stuck on too. You had said his name, knew his name— knew him. His name on your lips was like a song, a melody you serenaded him with. His shadows had felt it too, your recognition of their master causing a stir that had them wanting to reach out—which they would have if Azriel didn’t have them on such a tight leash. Azriel only tore his gaze from you when Amren spoke up.

“Enough about honour and names,” Amren snapped, her eyes not landing on you but the the two males who had just arrived. They understand her stare, her tone, the waft of her had as she strode back to her spot in the shade.

“Right let’s start ladies, find a space and we’ll begin with stretches,” Cassian commanded, his tone authoritative that had the females moving into motion. Even Azriel snapped himself from his thoughts, collecting himself as he stalked towards one side of the balcony.

You followed suit, following the motion of the other females and finding yourself in amongst the group to begin. You noticed though how Nesta had come to your left, Emery flanking your right, and Gwyn directly behind you. As if creating their own shield. Perhaps a statement to the swooning priestesses— regardless, you were appreciative.

Stretching began, and you copied Cassian’s movements in front of you. In sync with the other females around you. Moving your muscles in a way you hadn’t for a while, stretching the aches you didn’t know were there. Cassian stood in front of the group, bellowing whenever the stretch would change.

The movement was welcome though. You’d always had an active life. Growing up on a farm, tending to the crops and harvests had been your way. You weren’t new to the ache of a hard days work. Then you’d spent your time in The Middle, with Cressida who had an unrelenting method of training you.

“I’ve heard you’re not a novice?” Nesta asked you as the group was split in two. One side had been pulled to practice mind-stilling, the other, your group, had been given wooden staffs to practice more physical exercises.

You took the staff in your hand, curling your fingers around the rod. Nesta wasn’t referencing your past though. She was asking about your time in Day, you hummed in response with a nod. “I trained with Helion’s sentries for a few months,” it helped…for a while. Your progress had soon dropped off though, plateaued, which was why you were here. To see if the Valkyrie way of training would help in any way.

Nesta nodded in response, before tapping your staff twice with hers. “Show me then,” she moved into a defensive stance and your brow quirked.

It was a challenge, she had been the only one who had dared, the only person to treat you with some semblance or normalcy— and it made you smile.

a/n: well here is part 2, I’m sorry this has quite literally taken months to get this instalment live, so I really appreciate any of you who might still be around to read this! I do think this has the potential to be a slightly bigger series than I first anticipated, but I guess that’s my fault for giving our mc the coolest back story ever 😅 anyway enjoy my loves 🤍 - Lottie xx

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