#acotarangst

[ann-writes-universes]

Archangel (AzrielxReader) PT. 5

A/N: EEEEK NEW Archangel chapter <3 Hope its everything y'all wanted and possibly more.

W/C: 7.7k ish

Warnings: ANGST, Sorrow, Mentions of death, Mentions of torture and violence (As always let me know if I missed anything!)

Far different were Helion’s meals than that of the Night Court’s inner circle. Gone was the familiarity and quaintness of the River House Dining room. In its place- the finery and revelry of Helion’s “gazebo” (which seemed to be code word for opulent outdoor dining area) fitted with a small string band and a table large enough to dine fourty. 

“I’d say I am surprised- but he has a tendency to do these things…” Azriel leaned down to whisper in your ear as you approached Helion who was standing with his back to the two of you, overlooking the view of his capital city below. 

“Bit of a show off?” You asked, never once taking your eyes off of the High Lord’s wide back, why was it so hot in here?

“You have no idea.” Azriel chuckled, composing his features as Helion turned to face you. He was once more adorning his golden crown, though-�� he had changed into a white tunic and pants. With the sun setting behind him he was haloed by oranges and pinks so divine you weren't sure Feyre could even capture the beauty of his silhouette with her finest paints and brushes.  If angels had existed and could be present, this is what they would have looked like you decided-  beautiful, serene. 

Striding forward he stopped only feet before you, bending at the waist to bow and offer you a hand. His motion shuddered, and his eyes fell to the intertwined fingers of you and Azriel’s joined hands. A glimmering light flashed across the High Lord’s eyes and he raised his gaze to Azriel who stiffened briefly. Some unspoken words were shared between the males and Helion smiled slightly, relenting and drawing his hand back to his own space. You glanced at Azriel who only nodded and released his hold on your hand. 

“You look lovely, (Y/N).” Helion spoke, his voice soft and wholly honest as he drank in your face. “I had heard you became fae but I didnt realize…” Hiz gaze trained on Azriel once more, and the Spymaster cleared his throat. 

“That you had become a part of the Night court.” Helion finished, his tone clipped and his brows raised. You bussied your hands with the skirts of your dress and swallowed. 

“I wouldn't say that.” You replied, finding Helion’s gaze and forcing the High lord to hold it as you spoke, “I’ve been taken in by them for the time being it seems.” 

With a guarded expression Helion only hummed in acknowledgement of the statement, “I see..” Motioning towards the table, now laden with steaming food, the lord of day pulled your chair out for you. 

Once your trio was seated and dining quietly you began to pry, “What makes you think I have joined their court, High Lord?” You purred, filling your glass with a shimmering wine. Azriel looked up from his meal and watched you intensely, his back ramrod straight.

With thoughts clouding his eyes Helion looked briefly to Azriel before shrugging and swallowing a bite of quail, “Your letter was on a piece of parchment with Rhysand’s seal, and now you have arrived with a member of his court.” 

You paled, and Azriel looked up quickly. 

“Letter?” 

“Why yes- (Y/N) sent me a letter re-” 

A bolt of light beneath the table and a poor fae male approaching with another goblet of wine was stumbling and drenching the fine fabric of your dress in the dark liquid. You screeched and jumped from your seat, staring down wide eyed as though you hadn't caused the mess yourself. 

Both males leaned forward in their seats, Helion offering the young servant some harsh words before he was standing to offer you napkins and aid. 

“Really- its alright!” You laughed loosely, praying that Azriel would drop the letter Helion had mentioned. Waving him off you sat back in your seat and glanced at the spymaster, his eyes were trained on the table and judging from the ticking in his jaw you were sure he would bring it up again later. 

“My apologies, the younger ones can be clumsy.” Helion grit out, eyes trained on the path that poor male had taken. You made a mental note to check on the kid later, find a way to apologize for whatever punishment he endured. 

You smiled lightly and only shrugged it off, continuing to eat. They had fallen for it- completely forgotten the conversation being held previously. 

The rest of the dinner flowed easily, the males talked of stories long past and Helion steered the conversation away from anything pertaining to Amarantha or the Mountain. You were grateful, and fell easily into fanciful conversation about nothing important. By the time the hour long meal had ended you were warm from the wine and aching at the sides from laughter. Even Azriel- passive a always- was smiling and had relaxed into his seat a fraction. 

“May I abhor you for a walk through the garden?” Helion spoke as the three of you stood to part ways. Azriel stared at you pensively, but the anger brewing beneath his amber eyes only spurred your wine hazed mind further. 

“Of course.” 

~

If Helion’s gardens had been magical during the day, they were absolutely enchanting at night. The soft song of the birds had faded away into a symphony of crickets and toads alike- and jasmine thick and strong permeated the warm air. Spring here was much different from the Night Court- as though the world here had clung to every inch of warmth from the sun in order to banish the creeping tendrils of last winter’s chill. 

You strolled beside Helion, his hands ever clasped behind his back and his golden eyes trained on the cobbled path before you. He was deep in thought- rummaging through the list of questions he had no doubt. 

After several minutes of silence it seemed he stumbled upon one that suited him and he cocked his head to the side as you walked, “So where does knocking my servant to the ground come into these elusive powers you wrote to me about?” 

A blush, crimson and hot creeped up your chest and rested firmly upon your cheeks, “I thought the young ones were clumsy?”

Helion smiled and hummed “Ah- yes. They are but Dorian is two hundred years old (y/n), and has served  me well for the past 150. Never once has he faltered and drenched my guests in wine.” He motioned to the stain that had taken residence on your dress, and with a snap of his fingers and a knowing look- it was gone. 

“You caught me.” 

His brows furrowed and he stopped momentarily to study a particularly colorful zinnia bush, “Why did you not tell Azriel you wrote to me?” He spoke, not turning his gaze away from the blushing petals. 

“I didnt tell any of them I wrote to you.”

“Why not?” 

You moved away from him then, continued strolling slowly down the path, hyper aware that he had once more begun to follow a few paces behind you. The whisper of your skirts on the stone below called him forward, the high lord only stopping when you took a seat on a bench lining the path. 

“Because I did not want them to know I was seeking answers, Helion.” You admitted finally, watching him as he came to a stop, opting to stand and watch you ponder. “They are keeping things from me- things about myself, my ability that could be useful.” 

The lord of day sighed and picked imaginary lint off of his shirt. Raising his hand he summoned a light, strong and bright that cast out the whisper of night and lit up your secret garden with the glow of day. 

“There are things that Rhysand and the others are not telling you- that much is certain.” You nodded at his words, watched that light as it bobbed and danced in his hand, “But they are not keeping anything about your abilities from you.” He finished and tossed the light towards you.

Reaching out a hand you let the light fall into your palm, your own, weaker, light joining it. They danced in your palm, melted into one another like liquid gold. 

“How can you be so certain?” You whispered, transfixed by the scene you held. Helion took a seat beside you and braced himself on his knees, his eyes falling to the lights as well. 

“Because they have no reason to- they know what you are.” He cupped his palm over yours, extinguished his light. The garden once more was cast into darkness until the high Lord lifted his hand. The dim light of your own magic was resting in your palm, humming with energy and life. 

“How can you know that for sure?” You watched it, mulling over that thrum it held. “How can they know if I dont even know myself?”

“Because Beddor, like calls to like.” He flicked the orb with little strength and the light shot into the sky above, with brilliant intensity the night lit up, the orb exploding into a cascade of stars, bright and powerful, miles above your heads. 

You stared at it, trailed the stars as they fell into the world, your jaw was slack and your skin was warm. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Helion- tight lipped and saddened watching you marvel at the scene you had created. 

“The High Lord of Night is not keeping that a secret from you, (y/n).” His voice was a whisper, taut with emotion you could not discern. Your first night here and he was revealing to you more than you had possibly hoped for. 

With tight shoulders Helion stood and dusted his pants, “The answers you seek are closer than you realize. I can help you learn a bit about this gift but I can not tell you what they are keeping from you.” The air was perfumed with the faint smell of ash, barely peaking over the jasmine “Use what you have to your advantage. Give me the week to find what I can.” 

His eyes- his eyes so closely resembled the look they held the night he watched you crumple to the floor beneath the mountain as Clare died. Pain and guilt had etched themselves so deeply into his features that you only closed your lips and nodded. 

“Goodnight, (y/n).” 

“Goodnight, Helion.” And you sat for a moment longer as the High Lord walked down the path, leaving you with the croak of the toads and that small bobbing light you had summoned once more. 

~

“I think you and I need to talk.” Azriel spoke from his spot outside of your room. He leaned against the door, arms crossed over his broad chest. You raised a brow at his words and pushed him out of the way, a motion he allowed. Flinging open the door of your chambers you let it swing wide as you sauntered in, freeing your hair from its pins as you walked. 

“Do we?” You mused, stopping in the small sitting area to drop the pins onto the low table there. He stalked into the room after you, and the slam of your door sent frames shaking and an echo clanging through the room like a symbol. “That was rude.” You muttered, struggling with a particularly nasty pin at the back of your head. 

“What letter was he talking about?” His tone was clipped as he strode forward, knocking your hand out of the way to pull the pin himself. You thanked him quietly as he moved away from you to brace his arms on a velveted chair. 

Shrugging you pulled the laces of your corset, let the dress loosen before you sat down, filling one of the awaiting glasses on your table with wine left by Misae. “I have no clue what you’re talking about. He must have been confused with the letter Rhysand sent in response to his request that I visit.” 

The male scoffed and watched you bring that glass to your lips and drink deeply before pouring yourself another. “Don't play coy with me, Beddor. What letter?” 

You watched as the bubbling wine settled and slid down the sides of your glass- perhaps you had poured too much. The liquid seeped onto your fingers and slid down, down, down. Without looking up you huffed, “What is it you don't want Cassian to tell me?” 

Azriel tilted his head to the side, dark brows furrowing as he watched you. “What are you talking about?” 

You shrugged and drank deeply once more, relishing in the warm fuzz returning from its absence after dinner. “Its a beautiful thing Azriel. To have a gift your court claims to know so little about.”

You summoned that light, let it glint in the space before your face. His shadows rose in reply, curling above his shoulders and settling around his ears. His eyes widened, the shadows pulling close to the tips of his wings, as though they were watching that curious light.

“You're Not the only one with a watchdog, Azriel.” You hummed, eyes trailing up the length of him before settling on his eyes, “What is it you don't want Cassian to tell me?hmm?”

He was staring at you, expression hardly readable as you downed your second glass and stood. You hadn't wanted to confront him, to have that clipped tone in your voice that Rhysand and Azriel used so often to speak to you. But it felt good, felt good to watch him be dumbfounded. 

It could have been the wine that made your shoulders square, or the words you and Helion had shared but you stepped towards him, slid in between his body and the chair before him. 

“What is it that Rhysand thinks im not ready to hear? That Cassian swore not to speak of?” 

He was breathing heavily, staring down at you through dark lashes. Through the open air windows the moon cast long shadows on the plane of his face. 

“Im sure Helion will tell you.” He grit out, dragging his eyes over the scope of your chest before looking to your face once more. 

“Perhaps he will. He’s quite helpful in that department, unlike some people.” You were seething now, ripping away from his gaze and sauntering back to that little table which promised wine. You discarded the glass, opted to grab the bottle and make your way towards the doors leading to the balcony. 

“You want the truth, Beddor?” He called, and when you turned over your shoulder he was still standing by that chair, watching you with a darkened gaze. Turning to face him fully you turned the bottle up and drank, motioning at him with your hand to continue speaking. 

He strode forward and ripped the bottle from your lips, “Enough of this.” He pressed until your back was pressing into the cool glass of the doors, his arms raising to cage you in a cocoon of muscle and membranous wing. 

“They won't tell you because its not their secret to share.” 

“Is it yours to keep, Azriel?” You challenged, even standing ramrod straight you couldn't look him in the eye. His lips thinned and that damn muscle was ticking in his jaw again. You raised a hand, let your index finger smooth over it. He stiffened below your touch and watched you with bated breath. 

“It isn't, is it shadowsinger?” It came out as hardly a whisper. Your jaw was set, posture guarded. You were challenging him and it was making him sloppy. When had a female last tried it with him? Last caused him to rethink his next move?

The wine was warming your blood, clouding your brain. He was so close to you, closer than he had been that night he held you on the townhouse floor. 

“No. No it isnt.” He replied, leaning back slightly. With a final glance he was turning away from you, bringing the bottle of wine to his own lips as he walked back to that chair and dropped heavily into it. 

Despite yourself you sucked in a deep breath in your newfound space, let it clear your head a bit. 

“They were giving me time to find a way to tell you on my own. But then you assumed we were keeping something from you as some form of fucked up leverage.” He spoke, staring at a painting on the wall across from him. You stayed stationary, watched him unravel from beside the door. 

“Truth be told they found out by accident, they all did.” 

“What did they find out, Azriel.” You urged, tired of him dancing around the words. His brows were furrowed and he finished the bottle quickly. Good gods… 

He turned his head to look at you, swallowed thickly at the way the straps of your dress were falling off your shoulders, how mused your hair was, the halo of the moonlight around your disheveled form. 

You were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen

He looked away.

“You're my mate, (Y/N).”

The world tilted on its axis, stopped spinning briefly. He chuckled weakly at his own words, dropped his head into his hands. The air in your lungs dissipated entirely. Mates. That word had meant nothing to you two years ago. Hell- it had meant nothing to you until Elain had sobbed in your bedroom all those months ago as she divulged her darkest secrets to you about Lucien. 

“Its a soul tie, (y/n). We are bound to each other because their gods believed it fit. It goes above all law.” 

She had sobbed into your hair. Of course, she had gone into the practicalities, how she could deny him if she so pleased but that denying a bond the other craved often destroyed the mate in question. 

Your head was spinning.

Suddenly, oh so suddenly, you were a small girl laying on the lawn of your family’s hillside manor dreaming of falling in love because you could not because you had to. What was that word he had uttered other than the promise to a life you had not crafted on your own?

You had gone still, a deathly still that had Azriel shifting in his seat and standing slowly. 

“I’ve upset you.” He whispered.

“How long have you known?” You questioned, eyes trained on the floor. He stopped moving, tucked his outstretched hand back into his pants pocket and rubbed his shoe into the ground. 

“Since Hybern.” 

Months.

He had known for months.

“Oh my gods…” 

And you felt it then, a tug in the center of your chest so hard that you fell to your knees on the bedroom floor. It cleaved through your ribs and wrapped around the epicenter of your body, pulling and tugging you towards the master of shadows- But all you could do was wrap your arms around yourself and stare up at him. He was wide eyed and slack jawed, in awe that you had finally felt it. 

“(y/n)-” He started, sinking low to the floor before you as you began to cry. He was far enough away for you to have space, but low enough that you could look him eye to eye. 

He was your friend. He had held you in the town house, built your snowman, spent time with you in the cabin, gotten to know you over the past season of your life. He had defended you against Rhysand, stood up for you. 

It had warmed you to him- knowing that you had a friend, and to learn that it was because of some cosmic bullshit that made him feel like he owned you in some way no one else was allowed to… 

It was all beginning to make sense now. The anger in which he reacted whenever his friends had raised their voices at you, or made a suggestive statement, or Helion walking with you alone. Cassian on the bridge. 

You were drowning and there was no life vest anywhere. Gasping for air you folded in on yourself, watched him fight the urge to surge forward. 

“It was all a lie?” You questioned, more to yourself than him. His frown deepened and he scrambled to explain himself. 

“None of it was a lie.” He caught your eyes, held your gaze with such intensity that you had to look away, “None of it, I swear to you.” 

All will come in due time.

That little voice had whispered to you in Rhysand’s office. You nodded weakly at Azriel’s words, “I need you to leave.” 

“I’ll go to my room if you want that.”

“No-” You shook your head and something like hope sparked in his eyes, “I need you to leave the day court. I’ll spend the rest of my week here with Feyre if I have to have an escort, but I need you to leave.” 

Azriel swallowed thickly and stood, what could he say? There was nothing he could reply with other than a curt nod before he was forcing his feet to take him away from you, and down the hall away from your room. 

As he closed the bedroom door, the lock clicking firmly into place, your body cracked open with a sob- deep and mournful. 

“It is a woman’s greatest honor in life to be chosen as a man’s wife.”

“But mother, what if I do not love him?” Clare whispered as your mother tucked the two of you into your separate beds.

“Love can come with time.” 

You had replayed that conversation in your head since you were seven years old. Thought of it everytime Clare was courted or you observed your parents laughing together. It was always so stiff, so void of small touches and glances that the novels you read deemed love to be- that you decided at an early age you would never become someone's wife just for the sake of being their wife. You’d never wait for love to “come with time”. 

And yet here you were, laying on the cold marble floors of the Day Court sobbing over a mate given to you by gods that had - in your mind - long since been dead. 

Rhysand had been right.

You werent ready, and faintly- some part of you deep down knew you would never be ready to accept it. 

You rolled over on the smooth stone below and watched the moon sink below the horizon to welcome the sun. Too tired to move, you closed your eyes against the glare and hoped that when Misae came to wake you, Azriel would be long gone. 

~

“He’s offering to stay away from you, (y/n).” Helion sighed, rubbing his hands through his braids as he watched you pace. The morning had been fairly uneventful, interrupted only by Helion requesting your presence in the garden. 

“I wanted him gone.” 

He was the picture of exasperation and confusion as he watched you. His large frame was slumped onto a stone bench and the golden crown he so often donned had been swapped with glinting metal jewelry intricately placed in his hair. You stopped to raise a brow at him and rest your hands on your hips. 

“Give him some grace, please, I understand that this is frustrating and new to you but-”

“But nothing.” You cut him off abruptly, “I came here for answers as to what I am and all I have discovered is that I am sworn to a man that I have only known for a few months.” 

Helion’s lips thinned into a line and he leaned back on the bench, you resumed your pacing. Surely by now you had worn a hole in the finely manicured grass below you. The hyacinth you had been clutching was now void of petals, picked clean by your bustling fingers. 

“Look at me.” You did so begrudgingly, stopped that pattern of back and forth to hold his molten gaze. 

“Azriel is fighting off instincts that are engraved into his chemical makeup because you asked him too. I am not saying he should get a pat on the back for doing the bare minimum but I am asking you to understand that not many males would do that.” He stood and gently took your shoulders in his hands, forcing you to turn to him, look at him. 

“Take it from me, Beddor. Loving someone is painful. Loving someone and walking away from them when every part of your being is calling you towards them? It kills you slowly.” 

Despite yourself, you scoffed, “He can not love me, Helion. He hardly knows who I am.” 

“And if he does?”

“He doesn't.” You assured him, turning your eyes to the hip-high hyacinth plant beside you. 

“Do not be so sure.” He was taking his defeat gracefully, released your arms and made to leave, “His entire life has been nothing but the retrieval of information. Do not count out what he knows about you because you are scared he knows too much.” 

He began to disappear down a sunlit path to attend meetings about gods’ knew what. Swallowing thickly you looked to your palm, its usual tint painted a soft pink from how tightly you had gripped the now bald petals. With a great huff you slumped into the bench Helion had claimed moments before. Its stone surface was warm from the morning sun and it was perfectly placed for a view of the Capital city far below the palace. 

Azriel had refused to leave the Day court, yet had promised Helion he would stay away from you until it was time to leave. 

Mates.

The word clanged around your mind like an alarm. 

Do not count out what he knows.

Fine. You would give Helion that much, Azriel most likely did know more about you than you would care to admit. The spymaster had you figured out the night you first dined at the River house, and then pieced the missing parts together during your months spent in the cabin. Painfully, you became aware that you knew absolutely nothing about him. You had taken the time to relearn who you were, yet had not bothered to learn who anyone else around you was. 

You supposed this little hiccup in information was due to the undeniable feeling that you would not stick around them long, as though immortality was some kind of ailment that would be cured and you would be sent back home. 

“Oh…” You whispered softly, to no one but yourself. You chuckled sadly and leaned your head onto the back of the bench, allowing the sun to warm your closed lids. 

There was no home to go back to but the night court, and there was no cure for immortality but death. 

“I want to see the city.” You called after Helion, standing from your spot so quickly you were dizzy. He turned to you with a small smile, checked a golden watch on his wrist, and nodded. 

“I can make that happen.” He replied, and without warning a young man, tanned as the stones you stood on, appeared. “Elandry, I need you to see to it that lady Beddor has a pleasant day in the city.” The young man looked to you, bowed his head with a smile, and nodded to Helion.

The latter approvingly grunted and looked to you once more, “I’ll meet you tonight. I’ll make sure you have the best dinner experience the Day Court has to offer.” 

And then he was gone. 

You shuffled in your place, left with the man before you. 

“I’m (y/n).” You offered as he approached, and the chuckle he emitted was warm, welcoming. 

“I know who you are.” 

His eyes were strikingly green, a color you could not compare to one you had ever seen. Curling tendrils of hair colored like honey dusted the tips of his freckled cheeks and made that hauntingly beautiful green just the more brilliant. 

You nodded at his statement, aware of the heat picking up on your cheeks and chest. Judging from the lingering look he left you with as he turned and began to walk, he had noticed too. 

“Are you going to join me?” He threw over his shoulder. “I wouldn't mind spending my day off alone, but it would be more fun if you came along.” 

You didn't hesitate to follow. 

–

“They’re called Pegasi.” Elandry offered, watching closely as you approached the winged creature. You scoffed, an amused expression that drew a shining smile from the male. 

“I know what they are. We did have books in the human lands, you know?” 

“Yes, but I assumed you knew nothing about magical beasts and creatures.” Elandry replied, standing close as you stroked the nose of a golden mare. She whickered softly, wings stretching widely. 

“Well, you assumed wrongly.” You whispered, amazed at the beauty of the animal before you. It tolerated your touch for moments more before turning and meandering towards its herd standing further behind the fence. “Won’t they just fly away?” You questioned. 

Elandry hummed in reply and moved to lean against the fence, watching the beasts graze and roam, “I suppose if they wanted to, they could. But they have nowhere to go, nor do they have the desire.” He gestured to the expanse around him. “Would you?” 

You looked around then. He had led you to the stables, and they were far from the likes of those you had grown up around. Golden grass stretched tall by the fences, and horses and pegasi alike mingled in small groups. The brilliance of the day warmed the air and buildings made entirely of white stone and gold stretched as far as the eye could see, only giving way to the sea beyond. 

“No.” Your reply was a whisper as you stared into the horizon, “No, I wouldn't.” 

He was watching you curiously, picking at a pampas stem he had plucked from its bush. After a moment's silence he pushed off the fence abruptly. Gently, he grabbed your hand and dragged you along. 

“Come on, the day only lasts so long.” 

~

The ride down to the capitol city was pleasant. The journey was fueled by pleasant conversation and the occasional melodious laugh emitted from either you or your new friend. Elandry had left your horses with a citizen he paid handsomely, and was now leading you through bustling sandstone streets. Vendors crowded the sidewalks, and children played merrily in the street. Elandry pointed out important buildings, and told you the brilliant history of his people and their court. 

Elandry was a son of the previous High Lord’s emissary, and still held significant sway in Helion’s court. He had been under the mountain- a fact he only alluded to, never once spoke aloud, and he was particularly skilled in chess. As you walked and listened to him talk your anger from the night before began to fade. Elandry was easy. His conversation was polite, and he had no problem keeping it up despite your silence. He made you laugh- and on occasion blush a pretty shade of pink. Where Azriel was darkness and silence, Elandry was golden and warm. 

“And what about you?” He suddenly asked, pulling you from your daze. The two of you had sat for lunch outside a small cafe, and he had paused his dinning to point his words to you. “I’ve gone on about myself for far long enough.” 

Smiling lightly, you placed your fork down and folded your arms on the table. Shrugging you stared at him, “What do you want to know?” You inquired, “You know I was human. You know I am not now. You also know that I was under the mountain.” 

He nodded as you spoke and leaned back in his seat, “Yes, I know all of that.” Raising a brow he leaned forward once more, mirroring your position of leaning on the table. He was incredibly close, if you leaned forward just a bit more you would be breathing the air in his lungs. 

“What I dont know,” His gaze traveled to your lips quickly, back up again, “Is what you like. You don't strike me as the type to be brooding and boring.” 

You chuckled and looked away, breaking the proximity to relax into your seat once more. 

“Im not sure. I was seventeen when I was taken. And human girls aren't really offered much in the way of hobbies.” You were watching two children coloring the sidewalk with chalk as you spoke, “I liked knitting. And gardening.” 

Elandry snorted, and you whipped your gaze towards him with a glare. “I'm sorry.” He breathed, “Knitting? Gardening? That sounds absolutely-”

“Human?” You questioned.

“Domesticated.” He shot back, “Domesticated, is the word I was looking for.” 

Shrugging you returned your gaze to the passerby, “That's what I was supposed to grow up and be.” 

“And what do you want to be now, (y/n)?” He asked. Two women were strolling down the street. They were grinning from ear to ear and the posture they held nearly left you in tears. Their shoulders were back, heads held high, and they were so effortlessly powerful in their walk. 

“I want to be Free.” You answered honestly. Free. You had never been that in your life. Sworn to a life of docile livelihood, and then to an immortality of fear and complacency. “I want to be free.” 

Elandry watched your eyes as they trailed the women. His hands were clasped in his lap and his brows were pulled tightly. “And why can't you be that right now, lady Beddor?” You chuckled at this comment and pushed the food around on your plate. 

“I owe too many things to others. I owe Rhysand and his court my life, I owe Helion my honesty, and I owe the King of Hybern my newfound immortality.” You huffed out, rolling your eyes with a soured laugh. 

Elandry pondered your words, leaning his head back to bask in the warmth of the sun. “Perhaps you feel that way.” He looked to you once more, held your gaze firmly. “But you owe no one.” 

You snorted, “The fae always feel in debt.” It was a huffed complaint, one not unheard by him.

“Yes. When debt is owed. But you owe no one.” Elandry whispered, “Everyone you listed is indebted to you, (y/n). You saved your own life. You are the reason you have made it thus far. Yes, others may have aided you, but they have no right to ask anything in return.” 

You swallowed thickly, stared at him. “But Helion saved my-”

“You saved his life, Beddor.” He interjected. “Saved him from losing his mind under the mountain. Give yourself that much at least.” 

His words were so concrete that you could only nod tightly. With nothing to say to him you resumed your meal, let him fall into more pleasant conversation.

~

“Nonsense. You’ll have what you please.” Helion boomed with laughter from his spot at the table. Several heads in the room turned, watching your small group dine and laugh as the sun set over the land. 

Chuckling you drank deeply from your glass and nodded, allowing the waitress to refill the glass once more. “Thank you.” 

“Thank you.” Helion replied, reaching across the table to grasp your hand in his own. What he was thanking you for as you sat across from him, you were unsure, but nodded all the same. 

Leaning back in your seat you sighed and watched the changing horizon outside of the window. “I’ll have to return to the night court in a few days time.” You spoke softly, placing your napkin onto the table before you. 

“You could stay here.” Elandry offered. You turned your gaze to him with a raised brow and smiled sadly. 

“I wish I could.”

“Why couldn't you?” He prodded, crossing his arms across his chest. You looked to Helion who sighed and mirrored your position. Surely if you asked, Helion would let you stay. In fact- you were positive of that much. Helion only stared at you and waited on whatever answer it was you would concoct. 

Truthfully- you didnt have one. You stared at them both with pursed lips for a moment and deigned only a soft laugh in reply. The males shared a quick glance but pressed the subject no further- quickly falling back into meaningless and peaceful conversation, enjoying what little time it seemed they had left with you.

~

In your room that night you sat on the floor and stared at the moon. Despite it’s namesake this court had a night that seemed endless. Stars cartwheeled in the sky and a deep velvety blue stretched for miles over the sea beyond. It was gorgeous- but nowhere near rivaled the infinite inky darkness of the nightcourt. There, the stars danced and collided, made shapes in the sky and seemed to reach down to caress all who viewed their beauty. 

Helion had offered you a place here, had made it painfully obvious that you belonged here if you so chose to. Rhysand had done the same- tried tirelessly to make you feel welcome in his home. Your mind raced with thoughts that rivaled the number of stars above you now. Azriel, Feyre, Helion, mystical powers that Helion claimed came from the very stars you looked at now. 

You wondered absently if any of the twinkling lights could be your family- and then you began to wonder what they would think of you now. These thoughts were not foreign, they had raced through your mind since under the mountain- yet here you began to make peace with them. Clare would never marry as she so desperately wanted too, Adam would never turn ten, you would never find understanding for your mother’s ways, and never again would you dance with your father at one of his grand balls. Their lives had been reduced to faint memories and snow efigies atop a mountain no one could visit. You could not change their fates, could not bring them back from the kiss of death, and most importantly- you couldn't change who or what you were now. 

Tears, hot and silent, slipped down your cheeks. 

Tomorrow you would have a choice to make- stay where the sky meets the sea and live amongst Helion’s court whom you barely knew or return to the city of stars in five days and face the fact that Azriel was your mate but be surrounded by what was becoming familiar. Slowly, you lowered your body to the stone floor and began to count every star you saw. 

One

Two

Three

Four…

On the shore which Helion's palace overlooked, Azriel sat watching the sea. Dark waves lapped at the sand and tried tirelessly to reach out to him. He had not laid eyes upon you today, a fact that pestered him now. Above his head the sky stretched for miles and though he could not see it now- he knew his home laid just past the horizon. How foolish he had been to believe that maybe you would care to share that home with him. In contrast to the lengthy life he had lived- you were only a child. In the infancy of your immortality you had experienced more than most fae would experience after hundreds of years. How you had not lost your mind- he was unsure. Though…after his selfish revelation in your room the other night he was not entirely unsure you would be sane much longer. How could he? How could he deign to tell you such things so abruptly. 

Selfishness. That was how.

He hated seeing you with Cassian, hated seeing you laugh at Helion’s jokes, hated the way you sobbed in your room at the house of wind thinking no one heard, and he hated that he wasnt who you came to for comfort. 

If he was a smart male he would have thought that revelation through- would have realized he knew you well enough to know that being your mate would change none of this. You craved to be free and to have a life you had decided upon, that much he knew. 

As he laid back in the sand and stared at the milky moon above him now, Azriel began to think that maybe… he really knew nothing at all. 

~~

The rest of the week swept by with no sightings of Azriel. Despite his absence you still felt his domineering presence through every reach of the palace. You spent the days conversing with Helion’s court, allowing Elandry to take you all over to show you the beauty of the Day Court and its people. It was golden, both figuratively and literally. Helion’s love for riches and jewels extended into his city and through every reach of his court. Streets lined with gold plated lamps, roads crusted with colorful stones and gems, and each citizen seemed adorned with colors so otherworldly they looked like angels traversing the streets. You had never seen anything like it, even in the capitol cities below the wall there was poverty and grime. In the Day court, such things seemed to not exist- or they were so well hidden you never spotted them. Over the past several days you had met so many new faces that the names bled together in the back of your mind. On your sixth day in the Court of Sun you rode back towards the palace with Elandry. Behind you both, the sounds of the city began to quiet- and were replaced with the sounds of the sea lapping at the shore in the distance. 

“Have you made a decision?” Elandry finally spoke, to break up the silence. You horses walked so closely together that he did not have to speak loudly to capture your far off attention.

“I have.” You replied, eyes never leaving the path before you. The sweet scent of jasmine permeated your mind and the warmth of the setting sun was making the thought of your bed awaiting you quite appealing. 

Elandry had become quite a welcomed face in your days. He was soft and kind- where everyone else you had come to know was hard and cautious. He had shown you magic, botany, and so much kindness in such a short amount of time. Each day he urged you out of your room to do something new, show you something entirely unheard of. Of course- he allowed you to say no, but the courtier had a way with words which made it hard to deny him. The two of you had explored every inch of Helion’s gardens, eaten at several places in the capitol, and had spent hours combing through Helion’s more public libraries. 

“May I ask what that decision is?” 

At this question you turned your head to look at him. His pale eyes searched yours as though he would find the answer within them. 

“Im going to return to the night court.” 

The answer shocked him slightly, and it shocked you when it made itself known. 

You had mulled over it tirelessly each night. Made a pros and cons list of each court depiste how silly it felt. The Day Court could be home you had decided- it had the comfort of one but lacked the familiarity that Velaris called to you with. Despite the tear in your heart that seemed to bleed each time you laid eyes upon the Archeron sisters… The Night Court felt like home to you. In your growing list of pros you had realized that the simplicity of life in Velaris was all you had ever wanted. Helion’s home was one you would have craved when you were human - opulent and fit for kings. In this new life you no longer craved gold and riches- you craved reality and the painful reminder of who you were before Amarantha. In some sick way- you enjoyed the pain of seeing the Archeron’s continue onward with their lives. The love Feyre displayed for her sisters would be a stark reminder that your own family had existed- a reality you feared one day you would forget. 

Despite only knowing you a week, Elandry knew he would not change your mind. 

“Will I see you again, Beddor?” 

“We’re going to live forever, of course you’ll see me again.” You replied in jest- reaching out to softly tap his knee closest to you. He seemed to relax then, settling back into his saddle. 

“Race you back?” He challenged. 

“You must have a taste for failure.”

Shooting off into the now moonlit path the night erupted in laughter and pounding hooves. As you approached the grand entry of Helion’s palace your sides ached from the merth. Elandry had let you win, a fact you now pestered him about as you both slowed to a stroll nearing the steps. 

As your duo neared your spine stiffened as did Elandry’s.

Standing upon the top step was the dark figure of Azriel, wings hidden by glamorous. Hands clasped behind his back- he watched the two of you dismount and make your way towards him with feigned disinterest. 

“Helion would like to speak with you in his personal library.” He spoke, forcing his eyes to the great lawn behind you. 

“Misae could have told me.” You replied in a clipped tone, staring at him defiantly. Azriel drug his gaze to your own, face unchanging. 

“She tried to find you. She is presently engaged and asked me to inform you.” His words were terse and his gaze unwavering. Elandry stood quietly beside you, but observed both the spymaster and you with curious eyes. 

“I can take you to his library before my evening meeting, if you wish.” Elandry finally spoke after an awkward moment of silence as you and Azriel just stared at one another. Never taking your eyes off  the master of shadows you nodded. Azriel looked like he wanted to protest, but merely moved to the side to allow the both of you entry into Helion’s home. 

With no further words exchanged between the three of you- you followed Elandry inside. 

-

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[ann-writes-universes]

Archangel (Azriel x Reader) REMASTER Pt. 1

A/N: Hey all <3 I will be re-releasing this series in a total of five parts varying in length. She is almost completely done! Thank you for the continued love and support for this series over the years. I hope you continue to love it just as I have <3

WARNINGS: Gore, Implied SA, mentions of suicidal ideation, GORE, Death. Under the mountain.

W/C: 6.5k (WOOF- guys the smaller parts ARE still on my master list BUT the much more detail oriented and edited version is here :( forgive me )

Everyday proceeded as such; You awoke at seven promptly each morning, met with your nursemaid who dressed you in frilly dresses with frilly gloves and frilly hats, proceeded to breakfast with your siblings and parents (whom you adored), and then spent the rest of the day being fussed over by maids and tutors. Every day was precisely the same. There was, however, some variation when ball season neared. In that whimsical time of year you would be fussed over just a little extra, as the balls your family hosted were a means for your father to show you (as well as your sister) off to potential suitors,  like some sort of lace-wearing cattle at auction. Men and women would come from far and wide to socialize and catch a glimpse at the wide and fanciful halls of your  Father’s country estate. You hated those types of events, always felt out of place despite being right where you were bred to be. You were only 18- a babe compared to the women who attended these events on the arms of their husbands. Their socialization with you was always clipped- shallow somehow despite your attempts to have meaningful conversation. Since your seventeenth birthday you had been up for bid- hushed conversations about your future had been held behind closed doors since before you could even walk. Much of the time you felt like a child still, yet the world your family belonged to was beckoning you forward with greedy hands.

Really, you supposed that getting married before 20 was what you ought to do. Its what your mother had done, and her mother before her, and her mother before her. “Tradition” is what it was called, but the age-old domestication of the Beddor women just seemed like some sort of hell to you. In your own 18 years of living, you had accepted the outrageous dresses, the tutors who taught you how to be “feminine” and smart (without being too smart of course), the maids who raised you up instead of your mother, and the inability to pick your own interests for the sake of your mother’s nagging– but what you had not accepted was the possibility that you would enter into a life void of true love. The women in books made it seem so easy. They lived in houses like yours and wore the clothes you wore but they got to be smart, and they got to stand up for themselves, and in the end, they still got the man they had always pined over and a destiny they had forged. This was not the life you were destined to live. You were meant to live the life your mother had lived, and her mother had lived before her and so on and so forth until the beginning of your family line.

These were the things you pondered, the great “atrocities” of being well to do and a woman in Prythian.

You had never, however, put much thought into the little things in life - such as how the sun felt on your skin, the way morning dew left wet patches on your dresses after sitting, or the tinkling of bells when maids were called to and from in your hill-side manor. These were the ways of your quaint little life below the wall and you never pushed them beyond what they were. There was never an inkling of question as to why the bells chimed louder after dark, or why the sun felt colder in some months, or why the dew never really seemed to fall upon your yard after father planted more trees. You never questioned anything simple in your life, you never had a reason too if it did not involve your immediate future. You had been conditioned to accept your life as it was and to never wonder what it could be otherwise.

As you now sat bound and gagged on your entryway floor, you wished you questioned everything in your life, even the things you thought so trivial. You wished you had questioned your father on the security of your home that the creatures before you had ripped through so easily. You wished you had asked the salesman more questions about the “fae-proof” iron the high-fae male had ripped from your wrist without a care. You wished… Except there was no more time for wishes. Your younger brother’s head had just been removed from his shoulders with the most sickening pop of bone and muscle, and distantly you heard your mother shriek and shriek until- … silence. Her head joined Adam’s on the floor before you. Your father beside you pleaded with the only high-fae in the room, a tall male with tanned skin and dark hair. If you were not so wildly afraid you could have sworn the fae’s violet eyes held some sort of emotion, pity or regret you were not sure. He simply tilted his head at your father and what you perceived as a grimace crossed his features as a leathery hand reached around and aided your father in reaching the same fate as your brother and mother before him. Your eyes traveled slowly to the floor. The swirling marble below you was painted crimson, and the blood of your family painted the tattered remains of your nightgown a sickly purple as it mixed with what was once your favorite pale blue. Silent tears dripped in fast succession down your face as you looked across the entryway to your sister.

         Clare was similarly bound and gagged, the bottom of her nightgown ridden up to where her knees were sticky and coated in blood. Her hair was mused wild and her cheeks were red and stained with tears. You had always favored her in looks, and if her face was any sign, you looked just as horrified. Behind her, a creature stood, the same one who had done your family the favor of removing their heads. It was an awful, bat-like thing with wrinkled skin and yellowed teeth. It spoke in whispers to the high-fae male who stood next to you now (he had been careful to step over the bleeding corpse of your father).

“Which one of you is Clare Beddor?”

The fae male spoke. His voice was stern yet reminded you of a tutor you once had. It was smooth and calming in a way. The gags you both sported were ripped away so that you could speak. Your eyes darted wildly to your sister, she was breathing quickly, and her eyes were trained on the dirtied floor beneath her. Just as you were about to speak out and lie a sharp pain took over your body. It felt as though your head was being ripped to shreds by a butcher’s knife. The pain was so intense that your muscles lost control and sent your body limply to the blood coated floor beneath you. 

‘Do not lie to me Beddor. Let your sister save you.’ The Fae-Male’s voice purred inside of your skull. You glanced sideways at him from the ground. He merely peered down at you before returning his gaze to your sister. Paralyzed you began to sob as you watched Clare’s demeanor change from frightened to defeated.  She now stared hollowly at you as blood began to coat your hair and stick to the skin of your cheeks. The emptiness in her eyes as she accepted her fate only made you cry harder.

“M-me. I am Clare.” Her voice was hardly more than a whisper at this point, hoarse from the sobs that had ravished her lungs only moments before. The fae male nodded in approval and motioned towards the creature of nightmare who accompanied him. The bat grabbed your elder sister with its horrible talons and drug her screaming form into the night beyond. You let out a hoarse scream of protest that was quickly broken by a sob as you realized that your fate would more than likely be the same as your father’s, brother, and mother.

         “You will not suffer the same, though you will wish you had.” The remaining fae spoke, as though he had read your mind. You could not even formulate a response. You were in so much shock. Instead of elaborating, the male picked your bound body up off of the sticky floor and cradled you bridal style in his arms. You were exhausted. Too exhausted to fight. They had ripped you all from your beds, massacred one of the greatest families in Prythian without a second thought- and in minutes no less. From the way he picked you up as though you were nothing you knew any attempt to fight back would be futile. But maybe if you-

         “If you try and harm me I will have no choice but to kill you. Please do not make me hurt anyone else tonight.” The last part of his words were pleading, enough so that you stopped struggling all together and simply stared into his amethyst eyes.

         That gnawing pain returned, and your body lost control.

~

You had no idea how long ago that night in your home had been. It was hard to judge time in a place such as this. It was always dark here, always cold, always wet. There was no variation. Every day was precisely the same. You would be drug from your cell by creatures that resembled

your family’s murderer, meet with whatever high-fae requested your services for the hour, and you would be beaten for sport in a throne room made entirely of creatures from nightmare. Every day was precisely the same. There was, however, some variation in your days when she would get angry. On these days you would be taken directly to the throne room and thrown at her feet. Her. The red-headed queen who spoke of nothing but ruin and demise. Amarantha. On the days where she would be particularly angry (or even particularly chipper) she would have the tanned fae-male use magic to bind your attention to the mangled body of your sister as they tortured her. You would watch them beat and brutalize her for hours upon end until not even the magic could keep her head up-right.

These were the fae from legend. Cruel, uncaring, and evil. Amarantha had no particular use for you it seemed; other than to keep her courtiers happy. When she first offered your services to her minions you fought back. You screamed, and yelled, and raged until you were beaten beyond recognition. You had been out of commission for a week after that. Your brief intermission from being Amarantha’s plaything pissed her off enough that she had allowed you a healer, and shortly after you were back to being everyone’s favorite toy.

Today seemed to be a day where Amarantha was particularly pissed off. You knew the drill by now, when two of those bat-like demons (who you now knew were called Attor thanks to some loud audience members) came to retrieve you instead of one it meant Clare was being brutalized not too far away.

Today, however, was different. When you were thrown at the feet of Amarantha your eyes met (as they always did) with the tanned fae male…. Rhysand. (Yes you thought you had heard Amarantha call him that) And those eyes - they looked back at you in terror. Suddenly you couldn’t breathe. Your eyes ripped away to the spot you knew she would be. Clare was gurgling before you, her naked body covered in gore and burns so extensive that you could hardly recognize her once delicate and pretty features. Instead of the usual procession of fae willing to torture your sister, only one stood before her.

This too was a high-fae male. He was taller than Rhysand, with darker skin and long black hair. His golden eyes stared at Amarantha with defiance and his shoulders were squared.

“Now that the girl’s sister is present, do proceed Helion.” Amarantha purred from her perch behind you. You snapped your head around to look at her. She was smiling like a cat and her left hand was wrapped firmly around the knee of the blonde high-fae beside her. You had noticed him before. He never spoke nor looked at you- though the wolf-like golden mask he wore would have prevented you from noticing if he had or not anyhow. Upon noticing your stare, Amarantha jutted a heeled foot at your head, effectively knocking it back so hard your ears rang.

“Stare not at me little one, watch the show I have put on for you.” She growled as she leaned back into her seat, that vile smile returning to her ruby lips.

With your vision blurred, you turned back to face your mangled sister. Blood was dripping, from where you weren’t sure but you tasted the metallic crimson in the back of your throat.

         Helion, as he was called, looked towards Amarantha once more and shifted his weight. It was then that you noticed it. In his left hand was a scythe inlaid with gold. He tossed it around nervously and tapped his clothed knee with the blade.

“Perhaps this is not something her younger sis-“

“I said proceed Helion.” Amarantha bit back before the nervous male could finish.

Helion offered you a pained look before turning to your sister. Her eyes were swollen shut from an earlier beating but she knew he was there. Her head lifted (at least it tried) and you saw tears stream down her swollen cheeks. Her fate dawned on you then and you began to crawl forward. Your knees were being torn back open from old wounds, your cracked fingers were drawing blood and without realizing it you were screaming for him to stop.

“Rhysand, pacify the young one, she’s ruining this.”

At his queen’s command the fae entered your mind and effectively paralyzed you. You laid on the floor and watched as Helion approached your sister.

‘When I say so, close your eyes and do not open them. I will make sure you do not hear it.’

His voice startled you, but your gut told you not to visibly react. With what little freedom his magic gave you, you reached a hand across the stone floor towards Clare. You hoped she knew that you had tried, you hoped she knew that you were there. As Helion raised his left hand over his shoulder and the metal blade glinted in the throne room light Rhysand’s voice entered your mind once more,

‘now.’

You closed your eyes.

~

After they strung your sister up for everyone to see you clocked out more so than before. Each high-fae was the same and the brutalities they subjected you too made you numb. Without Clare there to torture you became Amarantha’s new toy for a while, and without Clare there you no longer really cared. Your entire family- gone. Wiped out entirely by creatures you weren't even sure were real until they entered your home so forcefully all those nights ago. Days - perhaps weeks, passed until she arrived and you were thankfully no longer of importance.

Feyre Archeron had been a friend of Clare’s. She was a year older than you and when her father had lost his fortune you stopped seeing her around so much. You had always liked her and tried to keep up with her despite your father’s protests. She had gone missing last year, something to do with a dying aunt. Now, as she stood before Amarantha’s rage- defiant and strong you figured there was never a dying aunt after all. With the arrival of Feyre, Amarantha offered you out to the highest bidder. Much to your dismay it was your sister’s murderer. Upon finding out that you were to stay by his side you vomited on the floor. Rhysand had offered you some sort of mental comfort but seemed more focused on the only other human girl in the room. She was angrier than you had ever seen her, and she stared Amarantha down with an ice-cold rage. Her pale eyes caught yours briefly and the sight of you knocked her backwards. She reached a hand out to where you stood at the edge of the gathered crowd. You let out a quiet sob and reached towards her, a token of gratitude that did not go unnoticed. Amarantha’s eyes darted wildly between you and Feyre as she realized you two knew one another and as though she had won the lottery her body began to wrack with throws of laughter.

The sound ricocheted off the stone walls and sent chills down your spine. Feyre dropped her hand and whipped her gaze back towards the dark queen. Your eyes fell to the floor. At some point Helion had sidled up next to you. His hands were clasped behind him, but you were hyper aware of this chest pressing into your shoulder.

“Well sweet Feyre” Amarantha spoke between bouts of laughter “Now that I know your true name, why don’t you tell your human friend why she’s here.”

Your eyes shot up and your brows furrowed. You saw Rhysand shift nervously in his place near the throne and Feyre looked utterly distraught. Amarantha’s fingers curled around the arms of her seat and she leaned forward in anticipation as Feyre turned to face you fully.

“She’s here because I lied about who I was in order to escape.” Feyre’s voice cracked and she looked away from you. Her eyes collided undoubtedly with your sister’s mangled corpse and she shuddered before looking at you once more. “I didn’t think she would do this to you… to Clare.” Feyre looked to the floor then, tears glinting on her skin.

Your resolve broke. A series of jumbled sounds left your throat and your gaze collided with Clare’s corpse. Feyre had been her friend at one point. She had been your friend at one point. The weeks of torture, starvation, and brutality… all because she lied and said her name was Clare Beddor?

“What do you have to say to her little Beddor?” Amarantha purred, that cat-like grin plastered on her too pretty face. You looked at her, and then settled your gaze on Feyre. She was crying, and you had been too but the sight of her tears steeled your nerves.

“I hope that the sight of my sister's corpse haunts you until the day you die.” Your voice was nothing more than a hoarse whisper, but your words did the trick. Feyre let out a mangled cry and the throne room erupted into a cacophony of screams and cheers.

~

Before you could hear Feyre’s sentencing, Helion had ushered you out of the throne room.

         He was stone quiet the entirety of the trek back to his quarters. Entirely closed off as the guards let you two be, and entirely quiet as he moved to sit on his bed while you stood like a caged animal in the corner of his room. It was only when he saw your tears that he spoke.

“My name is He-“

“I know who you are , murderer.” You spat. And your voice felt foreign. You had not used it for more than screams the entirety of your stay here. You remembered an older girl in your village who told you how powerful any information could be to the fae. At the time you had chalked it up to legends and silly tales but now you weren’t sure what the truth was anymore and decided it best to keep quiet altogether.

         Helion sighed at your response and nodded.

“Yes. I am also that.” His voice was taught, and foolish of you to think as much but it sounded pained.

“She was 19 years old, you bastard.” Your voice was quieter this time, filled with pain and grief so thick that it threatened to swallow you whole. You had been so scared to mourn here, so scared to show any emotion other than complacency.

“Be careful how you speak to me here girl. I may know I deserve it but they will not see it as such.” He spat, motioning to the stone walls around you as though they were alive.

With horrible realization you concluded that they very well could be.

“What is your name Beddor? You have given it to no one save for Rhysand who I am guessing has turned your shit into a smoothie by now.” He caught you off guard. So much so that you let out a laugh. Not a laugh of amusement but one of a woman gone mad.

You sank to the floor beneath you and leaned your massacred back against the door. Helion quirked a brow and stood from his position.

“You gut my sister in front of me, watch that woman beat me, and place a bid on me like a prize heifer and you want to know my name?” You replied, dumbfounded at the audacity of the male in front of you.

“Give me your name and I will make sure of it that everything that has happened to you here will be righted. I bet on you so that Amarantha’s sadistic little followers wouldn’t have the chance. I do not care what it is you spend your time doing but now you won’t be subjected to the hell you have been. I’ll give you tasks in here to keep you busy and out of the way, but I need to know your name.” He spoke with such conviction and such pain that you quit laughing. Your mouth snapped shut and your eyes widened.

Perhaps it was the fact that you hoped he was lying and would kill you, or the fact that you were too exhausted to question him, but you nodded and swallowed deeply.

“(Y/N) Beddor. My name is (y/n).”

Part Two

         Helion kept you alive, and as much as you hated to admit it you were growing to hate him less. You attended Feyre’s trials and against the rage still residing in your heart, you silently prayed to whatever Gods were out there that she would survive. You no longer had to warm the bed of random courtiers, and Helion did not expect (nor ask) for you to warm his. You were still on occasion used as entertainment for the fucked-up parties Amarantha threw, and it was there that you watched Feyre begin to crumble under the weight of the mountain. She had been doing well in the trials, but you could see that her mentality was being crushed. Over the past few weeks, you had learned what brought her to lie, what brought her to leave home, and what brought her to come here. As much as you despised her for being the reason Clare was now rotting on a wall for the pleasure of Amarantha, you rooted for her success. Love had made her do what she did, and some buried part of you envied her for getting to love someone the way she loved Tamlin.

         “Do you still hate Feyre?” Helion whispered one night as he lay in his bed. You were curled up on a pallet near the door, more awake than ever. You cleared your throat and stared at the dark stone above your head.

“What do you mean?” You whispered back, unsure if his question was a trick. He had yet to harm you since his agreement with Amarantha, but your guard was still up.

“For giving your family name to them all those months ago. Do you hate her?” He countered. You could hear him shifting in his sheets, presumably to face the direction he knew you were in.

“Yes and no. If she hadn’t given her name to Amarantha, Clare… my family would still be alive. But I also think that if she hadn’t our family wouldn’t have had a chance beneath the wall anyhow.” You weren’t lying. All the small bits of information you had picked up on clued you into what was going on in the more mysterious part of Prythian. You felt as though Feyre had the ability to stop it, and if she had been killed before she got the chance your family would have died anyway. Yet, you still wished that your family could have had the chance to die standing up, fighting back.

         “Feyre is going to save our people (y/n).” Before you could ask what the fuck, he meant by that he had rolled over in his bed and was beginning to snore softly.

~

Helion had been right. Feyre had fought to the fucking death for her people and theirs. You had watched as that wicked bitch forced Feyre to drive a dagger through the heart of her lover and watched as her spine snapped and the life drained from her pretty blue eyes. Rhysand’s bellowing cry and Tamlin’s rage echoed throughout the chamber and when they silenced so did the whole room.

It was Berron who had offered his gift first, or maybe it was Tarquin… their names still dumbfounded you even after all these months of warming half of their beds. When it came time for Helion to offer his gift he shifted from behind you and walked forward, breathing that sweet gift of life back into her body.

And when Feyre came back, she came back as something entirely different.

~

You sat on the balcony, taking note of the way the sun warmed your skin, and the way the mountain rock was slick with dew from the early morning. Tears, warm and salty, coated your cheeks and spilled down your neck. Spring had faded into winter in the outer world. In your home, ball season had come and gone, and you wondered if a funeral had been held for you, for your family.

“Will you return to your home?”

Helion’s voice startled you out of your daze and you turned your tired eyes towards him. The bitterness you had felt for not only him, but the entirety of his kind had waned slightly, though a deep fear settled in its place. Why? You were unsure. Rage had been replaced with an exhaustion that reached the deepest parts of your bones and consumed any emotion you had felt.

You returned your gaze to the mountain range and shrugged. You were bonier now, your fingers had become frail, your knees knobby, and your cheeks had lost their plumpness. You supposed you were beautiful once, but now you were unsure.

“Truth be told, there is no home for me to return to, Helion. Though I’m not quite sure what the hell I would do with myself if there was anyway.” You looked to him; a deep feeling of loneliness had settled.  

“My world looks so much different now.” And truth be told it did. You felt hardened compared to the girl you were six months ago, Changed.

Even if you regained the weight and left this world of fae, the scars would remain. No number of pink frills and lace would cover up the atrocities you underwent here.

         “Come to my home.” He countered. His hands were in the pockets of his linen pants, and he leaned against the archway that led inside. His face held a mask of cool composure, a rival to your utter shock.

“While I am sure you see that offer as a great kindness, I do not.” You replied, Helion’s shoulders slouched momentarily before squaring once more. “In your own way you tried to right what has happened to me here, but I still see you as my sister’s Murderer.” Your voice was cool, though your posture was slouched and unnerved.

“You know I neve-“

“It is not a matter of honor, Helion. I have far too much on my mind and soul now to see anything but the life draining from her eyes when I look at you. I need time.” You were crying. Trying desperately to be thankful for his offer but those golden eyes that stared at you were still the same as they were the day that Clare stopped breathing. When her lungs quit filling it felt like yours had lost the ability to ever hold air again.

“Then where will you go, (y/n)? You said it yourself. You have no home. Come with me, you’ll never have to see me or do anything you don’t want to, but I owe you this.” Helion pleaded, he reached out a hand and recoiled when you pushed into the balcony’s edge.

“I appreciate your kindness Helion, I do, but nothing will ever repay the debt I am now owed. Nothing.” And you were being honest. Though you were glad Feyre got to be with her lover you were envious. Why had she been blessed with a second chance when your family was offered nothing?

After a moment’s silence he spoke, “I understand… My people and I will leave the mountain tomorrow. Please take that time to reconsider your choice.” And with that he had disappeared inside once more. How he could go back in there confused you. The thought of leaving this balcony, leaving the world, terrified you.

Once more you looked to the sun which was now finding its home in the western sky. Above you, millions of stars began to kiss the night and the winter wind made the tips of your fingers chilly on the stone they clutched.

“You were never meant to survive.”

The rattling voice turned your spine into steel. Despite the now freezing temperature, you began to sweat and your grip on the balcony rail tightened so much your nails cracked and bled. Your gaze traveled over your bony shoulder and landed upon its leathery wings first. Talons tapped angrily upon rock and the creature stared at you with a hatred so fierce that your blood ran cold.

“Neither were you.” Your voice was hardly a whisper as you turned to face the attor. It looked like hell, as though it had escaped a brutal beating only moments before. If it was ugly before, the creature before you was horrendous now.

“He has plans for you…” It hissed as it moved towards you. There was no room to run, your back was pressed firmly to the balcony’s edge and your feet were too damaged to run even after being treated by a healer.

“Who?” You countered, tilting your head up. If you were to die here, you would at least die standing.

“The king.” Before you could even begin to scream the attor surged forward and wrapped its leathery hands around your frame. With no hesitation at all it shot into the night sky, taking your flailing form with it. The wails you let out were futile, anyone that would have cared to save you was dead or so far below the mountain that they wouldn’t be able to hear you anyhow.

You kicked out at your captor and clawed at its bodice desperately. Blood was drawing and the attor was growling slowly in its chest, but its grip did not loosen, and its flight did not slow.

“Stupid, stupid, human.” It snarled before dipping towards the ground below. The drop came so suddenly that your head began to swim, and your ears began to ring and then the world went darker than the night sky surrounding you.

~

Pain.

White hot pain coursed through your body where blood once flowed. Your skin felt as though it was being flayed by millions of needles finer than a strand of hair. Every muscle that was left burned and pleaded, your joints groaned and popped as you walked.

This place.

This place was worse than the mountain. Here you could see the sun rise and fall, and here you could hear everything. You listened when you first arrived as the attor and its brethren scurried up and down the hall beyond your prison cell. You watched out of a pinprick sized window as the waves below your prison crashed into its walls and the sun dipped and rose on the horizon for days.

They fed you here. A mixture of mold and rot so foul that not even the starvation you felt would allow you to ingest the vile things they gave you.

They clothed you here. A pretty wardrobe of lashings and scars that no amount of time would wipe clean from your skin.

You laid on the floor of your cell now, tracing a particularly disgusting one that ran down the extent of your right arm. It began at your shoulder and twisted to your fingertips like a vine. It was pink and irritated, not quite healed yet. This one had been from your refusal to get up and just eat something. The lesser faerie in charge of you that day had come in and sank his nails so far into your skin that your screams were sure to have been heard in all reaches of Prythian.

You had wanted to die under the mountain to escape Amarantha but at least there you were fighting for Clare, fighting for the possibility that everything you had endured was just some sick nightmare.

Here there was nothing. There was no revelry you were tormented at, no chores to do, no games to play into. Here it was just you, and this cell that stunk of sea water and rot. You had not been able to see what you looked like, but from what you had felt you assumed it was not at all pretty.

Your hand that traced the puckered scar on your arm fell to the floor beneath you. It was cold stone, colder somehow than the mountain, and slick with perspiration from air that never seemed to thin. Right as you began to contemplate how long the human body could withstand this type of torment you heard it.

Piercing as an alarm a scream rang through the hallway beyond.

A woman cursed and bellowed so loudly that the stone around you shook. The pain in her cry was so loud that you shot upright with more energy than you had felt in months. Your head swam from the sudden movement and your vision blurred momentarily before you were able to move towards your cell door.

“FUCK YOU. AND FUCK THIS FUCKING PLACE.” The woman bellowed. You heard a grunt and an echoing slap that chilled your bones. The door to your cell swung open and before you stood a high fae male.

In any other life he would have been pretty, a tall blonde with tanned skin and lightly colored eyes. In this life, he horrified you. His eyes were steel, and his marred hands reached for you with such anger that you reeled in reply.

“Its your turn now, little human.” He sneered as he grasped your bony elbow and pulled you from the darkness of your most recent home.

 The throne room was a massacre.

You had not met the king during your internment here, but he was not at all what you expected. The fae sitting upon the throne was tall and lithe, not at all the imposing stature you had envisioned during the days you had spent lying in wait.

When you were pulled into the throws of whatever mess had been occurring, the king’s dark eyes zeroed in on you. The room was littered with fae. Feyre was sobbing on the floor, a puddle of what you assumed was her vomit not far from her. Rhysand stood nearby, restrained by two very terrifying guards who were armed to the teeth. You cocked a brow at the sight of them together, Tamlin was standing across the room looking absolutely furious.

From her position on the floor Feyre was clutching the bloodied body of a tanned fae-male with leathery wings that had been horrifically shredded. The male groaned and sputtered on the floor, failing to sit up no matter how hard he tried.

Your heart flipped upside down and your brows knitted in confusion. Who the fuck were these people? Why the fuck was Feyre here with them and not the man she loved?

And then you saw them.

In a puddle on the floor laid Elain and Nesta Archeron. They were naked and trembling. Something about them had changed, they seemed… it hit you like a ton of bricks. Just as Feyre had been changed, so had her sisters.

“How?” You whispered, utterly dumbfounded.

The others took notice of you then, Feyre looked to you and there was no hiding the utter terror in her pretty eyes. From his seat the king let out a choked laugh and clapped his hands.

“Oh, little Beddor, you have missed all of the revelry. Adler, please bring her to me.” The King spoke and his voice sent chills through you. All the air in the room seemed to have dissipated and the fae male that held you jerked you forward.

A pained yelp escaped your throat at the sudden white-hot burn that shot down your shredded arm. A deep growl sounded from somewhere amongst the strangers and your eyes met with the deep brown hues of a male near Rhysand.

He had been wrestled to his knees and stared at you briefly before turning his gaze to the King.

“Strip her.”

The words broke you from your daze and you looked to the King frantically. Before you could begin to protest Adler had released your arm and reached for the hem of your shirt.

“N- no…” You were choking on your words, violently thrashing against Adler’s hands. Without a moment of hesitation, he reared back and slapped you. Your ears rang from the impact and you stumbled backwards. Feyre gasped behind you and the guards that restrained Rhysand and his friend struggled as the males reeled.

Successfully stripping you bare, Adler shoved you onto your knees before the King. Warm tears slid down your cheeks and you raised your arms to cover your chest. Your nose was bleeding, and you focused on the crimson drops that fell to the floor, unable to bring your eyes to the fae before you.

“Why are you crying, girl? You should feel lucky to have received an opportunity such as this one.”

“Enough Hybern. She has no part in this, let her go.” Rhysand ground out. His words were met with the sound of bone cracking and the muted scream of his friend slowly bleeding out on the floor. Whoever it was held some weight in Rhysand’s life, enough so that his attempt to help you was not followed by any others.

Your blood was making constellations on the stone below you. It seeped into the cracks of the floor and began to pool. How hard had he hit you? In your bones you could feel the shock beginning to take hold. Your body had been tormented for months and sitting here, naked before the King of Hybern seemed to be its final straw.

Your gaze finally found the King’s and in it you found nothing but evil so intense it made your stomach hurt.

“Just fucking kill me already.” You ground out, anger was taking hold, or was this feeling acceptance? You had survived the mountain and had one? Two hours of freedom? Only to end up here, naked and shaking so violently you felt as though your head was going to fall off of your shoulders. How poetic would that be? To suffer the same fate as Adam had. The same fate your parents had.

The thought made you laugh.

Hybern raised a brow as he stared at you, bleeding and laughing, naked before him.

“Kill you?” He questioned. His gaze now held some sort of fucked up amusement, of course he enjoyed watching your descent into madness.

You dared to turn your head and gaze at those behind you. A red headed male who you had seen under the mountain was crouched beside Nesta and Elain, the former of the two had gained consciousness and was staring directly at you. There was a murderous rage building on her features, and it startled you so much that you returned your gaze to Hybern.

“I’m sick of these stupid fucking Faerie games. Kill. Me.” You had nothing left to say then. You gathered the blood that had pooled in your mouth and spit it directly onto Hybern’s feet. From his position beside the crowned male, Tamlin grimaced.

Hybern merely frowned and nodded his head. You were pulled to your feet by your hair and drug towards Nesta and Elain. The red-headed male beside them was drug backwards by a masked guard, as if he would intervene in whatever the fuck they were about to do to you.

And sitting there, dark and impending was a cauldron.

It was the size of a bathtub and hummed loudly as you approached. As you neared its edge the glint of swirling liquid caught your eye and you reeled.

You planted your heels into the ground and pushed backwards against Adler with every bit of remaining strength you had.

“You wanted death Beddor, here is your chance. From the looks of the wild cat on the floor you might beg the Gods that it does kill you.” Hybern called from his dias.

Another high fae came forward then and helped Adler lift your struggling form. You began to scream then. Your eyes found Feyre’s and she was sobbing. Rhysand looked as if he was being gutted alive as he watched her, and the kneeling male was staring at you with his mouth hanging open. He struggled against the fae holding him.

“Im so sorry.” Feyre repeated those words over and over as the fae holding you shoved you under, and then the whole world went dark.

-

TAGS:

All Acotar

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[ann-writes-universes]

Archangel (AzrielxReader) REMASTER Pt. 4

A/N: Annnndddd the next parts will be NEW. Thank you all again, from the deepest parts of me <3

W/C: IDK prob like 4.3k again.

Warnings: Angst, Cursing, Mentions of Violence (As always let me know if I forgot anything.)

“So you’ve made progress with her?”

“Something like that…”

“I wouldn’t call it progress, Amren.”

“Shut up Azriel,” Amren spit in reply “She’s gotten better than when we started a month ago.”

“I worry about her being in that cabin alone.” Rhysand spoke from his desk, his hands folded under his chin. A crease had taken up permanent residence in between his brows since the beginning of this discussion with his friends and It was growing deeper the more they argued over the Beddor sister.

“We are with her nearly every day, Rhysand.” Azriel reminded him softly from his spot by the door. He leaned against the wall, lazily twirling Truthteller in his left hand.

“And when we aren’t, she writes us or bakes. It’s not like she’s going insane out there.” Amren chided, pulling her legs beneath her in the chair she sat in before Rhysand’s desk. She was staring him down, willing him to listen to her.

“Yes, but Feyre…”

“Feyre is not (y/n), Rhysand.” Azriel butted in, promptly stopping his motions with his blade to stare his brother down.

“Yes, I know.” Rhysand swallowed, narrowing his gaze on Azriel’s features. As always, they were guarded, hard to read. “But she worries.”

“If time is what the girl wants, give it to her.” Amren concluded, bracing herself on the arms of the chair as she made to stand up and leave. With a singular motion of his hand Rhysand dismissed her idea and had her settling back in her seat.

“Seal the room Az.” And with those words, a thick wall of shadows had encapsulated the room and all threes’ mental shields had been snapped into place.

“With it becoming increasingly clear that all three of them, gained something from the cauldron, I worry that Hybern will come after them. The cabin is safe but Feyre wants (y/n) here, for her own peace of mind,” He cleared his throat then and shifted uncomfortably in his seat “I feel like it would be good for yours as well, Brother.”

The males’ eyes met and Azriel’s jaw tightened. Amren glanced between the two of them, her eyes slowly widening.

“I didn’t even smell it on you Az.” She whispered, twisting her body to face him more fully. He was nervously flipping the blade around now, an emotion that didn’t suit his collected exterior.

“That’s because it hasn’t been accepted.” Rhysand spoke, his voice soft.

“Are you going to tell her?”

Azriel looked to the floor and sheathed his knife, a crease akin to Rhysand’s taking place on his face. After a moment he shook his head softly and ran his hands through his hair, he was agitated.

“No. No, I can’t.”

“You saw how that plan of action went for me… Feyre hardly spoke to me when I finally told her.” It was a gentle reminder from the High lord, but it irritated the spymaster none the less.

“Feyre and (y/n) are different, Rhysand. She has hardly accepted the fact that she’s a fae with capabilities we hardly understand. How do you think she would take it if I told her she was cosmically tied to me by the hands of a creator she doesn’t even believe in?”

Amren and Rhysand both went lax at Azriel’s words, understanding marked their features but a thick air of unease had settled over the room. Shadows picked nervously at Azriel’s shoulders, informing him that the other residents of the townhouse had grown anxious at the trios prolonged absence.

“Feyre wants to know what’s going on Rhys.”

“And I will tell her, but this is your decision to make.”

“No. Its not. Its (y/n)’s.”

Rhysand nodded grimly at his brother’s words and with a sigh he leaned back in his chair, twisting it to face the window that led out to the courtyard beyond. The snow was melting with the fast-approaching Spring and Elain’s flowers were struggling to bloom.

“She needs to know what kind of danger she is potentially in. If Hybern can track the couldron’s magic he will do everything in his power to get the three of them back.” Amren spoke, her eyes were distantly trained on the carpet, her hands tapping a mindless melody on the wooden chair’s arm. “I think it would be smart to train her in combat.”

“Absolutely not.” Azriel snapped, pushing away from the wall he leaned on.

“No… she’s right Az. We will do everything in our power to keep her safe, but war is coming wether we like it or not. Her magic is young and from what you both have told me, her ability to harness it is 30/70.” Rhysand’s eyes were distant too, mulling over the melting snow and muddy grass.

“I don’t think she’s ready to be thrown into a ring with Cas and taught to fight. She’s done enough of that.”

“And what happened to it being her decision?” Amren whispered, her gaze finally finding the wide-eyed stare of the Shadowsinger. “What about it being hers?”

---

The fire crackled in the hearth, warming the cabin and casting lazy shadows on the living room. From your spot on the couch, you watched with little intrigue as the light flickered about the room.

Joining in with the ember’s glow was a small white light, that zipped about and searched the cabin readily. From the outside, darkened windows would light up from within briefly before going dark once more. You watched this little light with a soft smile before calling it back to your palm, relishing in the warmth it created there before dying out.

“Impressive.” Amren cooed, happily stretched out on a chase lounge, mindlessly sipping the tea you had made for her when she had arrived moments before.

“Thank you, not sure how it’s useful but it’s kind of cool.” You replied, letting your gaze find hers finally. She was a picture of relaxation, splayed across the furniture, sipping her tea and twirling her short hair with a ringed finger.

“What is it Amren?”

“What do you mean?”

“Not that I don’t enjoy your company,” You sat up a little, shifting the blanket over your legs “But you’ve never come out here so late.” She smiled tightly at your words and sat up herself, bracing her forearms on her knees as she stared at you.

“How would you feel about coming back to Velaris?”

It caught you off guard, and she knew as much from the way your face blanked and your eyes shot to the fire once more.

“I know you still don’t feel ready but-“

“Im not.”

“(Y/n)…”

“Amren. I have enjoyed you and Azriel’s company. I have appreciated Rhysand and Feyre’s generosity but a part of me being able to heal is not having to watch them every day.” Your hands were fiddling with the frayed edges of the blanket, your mind slowly beginning to drift to a far away place.

“I understand, and I wouldn’t be asking you to return if I didn’t feel it necessary for your safety.”

Your stomach flipped.

“What the hell are you talking about?”                                                                                      Amren sighed and looked to the flames, running a delicate hand over the linen fabric of her pants. How was she not cold?

“When you and the Archeron sisters were… made. Hybern didn’t anticipate for the three of you to take things from the cauldron. Rhysand worries that Hybern will try and track your magic and…” She trailed off, a tight line replacing her easy-going smile.

“And what Amren?”

“And reclaim it.”

The finality in her words turned your spine into steel. With shaky hands you tossed the blanket aside and stood. Your hands rubbed over your face and suddenly your mind was racing with millions of questions.

“Will he?”

“Hmm?”

“Will Hybern try and take it from me?”

“We don’t know for sure, but Fe- Rhysand thinks it would be safer for you in Velaris, its impossible to penetrate those wards and its closer to us if anything were to happen.”

You nodded and crossed your arms over your chest. Mulling over the possibilities and the smart thing to do.

No part of you wanted to be surrounded by seawater and concrete again and yet, the possibility of being in that house, watching as your dream was lived by someone other than you seemed just as suffocating. Amren watched as you paced the room, giving you time to think and praying that Azriel wasn’t freezing to death wherever he was outside.

You had summoned that little light again, and it was flitting nervously about the room. Soft plink, plink, plinks sounding each time it careened with a window and bounced off of it. Summoning it back to you, you let it dance between your fingers, grounding yourself in the warmth it produced.

“I’ll go.”

“You will?”

“I’ll go.”

“Rhysand has offered for you to stay in the house of Wind. It’s away from the city and large enough for you to have privacy. He has also asked if you would be willing to train in self-defense with Cassian.” Amren was standing now, watching you with a soft smile. It was encouraging, bordering on pleading.

You nodded your head and urged the light to die away in your palm, the warmth quickly receding.

“When will we leave?”

“Tonight.”

--

The House of Wind was breathtaking.

Cassian had flown you in, and you had been met with Rhysand who gave you a private tour of the luxurious quarters you would be living in. It was open, airy, and entirely unlike the cramped space you had envisioned when Amren explained that it was built into a mountain.

That little revelation had nearly made you change your mind, though now you were glad you hadn’t.

“There are sparring grounds on the roof where Cassian will train with you. Nothing too insane I promise.” Rhysand chuckled, guiding you back to the main living space. Jasmine and clean linen permeated the air, and the warming breeze of the spring was drifting through the open windows.

“No one else is staying here, correct?”

“No one who will bother you. Cassian lives here year round, and per Elain’s request Lucien has been sent here for some… distance.”

You nodded and sunk into a chair in the living area the tour had stopped in. Rhysand perched on the arm of a chair opposite of you and folded his hands on a knee. His brows were furrowed as he watched your eyes roam over the room, your shoulders slumped and your teeth mulling over a hang nail anxiously.

“Whats on your mind?”

And when you caught his gaze a breath snagged in your throat. It looked the same as it had that night in your family home. Concern, if not pity, was flashing in those violet eyes and you looked away from them, a hard knot forming in the center of your chest. Clearing your throat, you shook your head and forced a smile. It felt out of place, plastic on your features.

“Nothing. A bit tired and overwhelmed is all, thank you for the tour, I think I will be going to bed now.”

He didn’t push the subject any further, but as you stood and made your way to the room, he had deemed yours, you felt a pair of eyes boring holes into your back.

--

 “Please quit looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” Azriel replied, lazily leaned against a rocky wall in the hallway.

“Like Im some kind of four eyed freak.” You grumbled, shoving past him towards the stairs. Your hair was braided neatly and the trousers and top you wore were tightly fitted, a sharp contrast to the oversized knits you had been sporting since your arrival in the Night court.

‘Not having fabric in your way is more conducive to noobie training’ Cassian had said the night before. Though part of you felt as though it was some plot to see if you were actually shaped like something other than a worn out cardigan.

“Ive just never seen you so….”

“Defeated?”

“Encouraged. I have never seen you so encouraged.”

You stopped, a foot on the stairs and turned halfway to face him. He had followed you, light on his feet as ever and was stopped a few paces away from the stairs himself. His brow was creased and those almond-colored eyes were searching yours, for what you weren’t sure.

“Azriel, what the fuck does that even mean.” You replied, a brow raised.

“Just that you don’t look entirely miserable about a five AM training session with the biggest Illyrian known to man. You look almost… excited.”

You huffed and rolled your eyes, hyper aware of his shadow as you began to ascend the stairs to the roof. Excited was certainly not the word to describe the feeling you had as you were met with the gentle glow of the rising sun and the bright beam of Cassian’s smile.

Terrified would be a better term to fit the current mood.

“Have you ever played with Knives before?” Cassian questioned from his place on the roof.

Yes, terrified.

“This ought to be great.” Azriel grumbled, moving to his seat outside of the sparring ring. He was meant to mediate, make sure you didn’t get killed. You had thought that notion absolutely absurd when he brought it up first thing in the hallway, but as Cassian unsheathed a knife from his thigh and turned his wolfish gaze on your frame, you stiffened.

Yes, terrified was a much better word.

“Do I look like someone who has played with Knives much?” You choked out, swallowing thickly. Had your throat been this dry all morning?

Cassian ran his eyes over you, no doubt taking in the absurdity of the way you looked. Some weight had begun to return to your frame, but by no means had your figure recovered from the past year. In comparison to the general you were tiny, fragile. His brows furrowed and his smirk loosened to a softened smile. Sighing he sheathed the knife and walked towards you, his hands on his hips. 

“No. No you dont.” He glanced at Azriel, who merely shrugged and leaned back in his chair, basking in the rising warmth of the morning sun. His wings were splayed behind him and his arms were folded tightly across his chest. “Thanks for the help, Brother.” 

You watched the two of them, your own arms crossed over your chest protectively. Cassian seemed to be weighing his options, trying to figure out how to teach you something when you knew absolutely nothing. His brows were furrowed tightly as he thought and he had taken up a position similar to yours, arms crossed over his chest, legs stanced as he leaned into his hip. 

You were growing antsy, anxious at the thought of being helpless in even such a docile situation. Azriel was in his own world, eyes closed and chest rising slower and slower. Great, you had bored him to sleep and Cassian looked pissed because this seemed to be wasting his time. 

With no further thought you shot forward, using the size difference between you and the general to snatch his sheathed weapon and duck away from his swinging arm, a violent habit encoded in his warrior brain. 

“What the fuck?!” He shouted as you crashed to the ground on your knees, clutching the blade in your left hand firmly. You were panting, absolutely in shock you had pulled that off. Cassian had spun towards you and was staring at you wide eyed. 

From his spot, Azriel opened a single eye and chuckled at the sight before shutting it once more. Standing, you dusted off your knees and handed the blade back. 

“Now. Please quit standing there and teach me something.” You huffed, resting your hands on your hips. Cassian stared down at you, the blade resting in his hand loosely. Spinning it back into place at his thigh he merely nodded and motioned for you to step into the ring. 

“Well little Beddor. We’ll start with defense since you apparently have a death wish.” 

–

Pain. 

Every fiber of your body ached and groaned as you walked down the stairs. It had been four hours of training on the roof, a “short” day Cassian had said. How he was so unfazed, trailing behind you, you were unsure. At some point he had discarded his shirt and the only sign he had even been outside was a slight glimmer of sweat on his toned chest. Azriel had stayed the entire time, watching, sleeping, and making comments on form and technique when he thought necessary. 

“You did well (Y/N).” Cassian spoke, clapping your shoulder with a firm hand. You winced at the impact but nodded and bid he and Azriel farewell before slinking to the safety of your room. All you wanted was to peel the sweat sticky clothing off of your body and run a bath. Every inch of your skin was caked in red dust from the roof and the grime was beginning to make your head spin. 

Halfway through stripping off your pants, shirt discarded in a corner, a knock sounded at your door. Before you had a chance to yell it was creaking open, had you even closed it all the way?

“(Y/N), Cass wanted to know if you needed any-” Azriel stopped speaking. Your spine was rigid. You were faced away from him, an arm crossed over your chest, the other clutching the top of your pants tightly. 

Slowly, you turned your head over your shoulder, just enough to glance at him. He was halfway through the door, a hand on the handle and the other loosely hanging by his side. His wings were flared and his eyes were wide, nearly black from how blown his pupils were. He drug his eyes down your frame, every so slowly before dragging them upward once more. Swallowing thickly he shut his eyes tightly and turned his head towards the hallways. 

“Gods, Im sorry.” He choked out, moving to shut the door enough for you to have privacy. “Cass just wanted to know if you needed a poultice for soreness?” 

Cheeks heated to a new extreme, and hands shaking you turned away from the door and swallowed deeply. “Yes. That would be great. Thank you Azriel.” 

The spymaster didnt even deign a reply, he simply shut the door. Dropping your arms you let your pants fall to the floor and released a breath you were unaware you had been holding. 

–

“You walked in on her changing? So what. It was an accident Az.” Cass huffed, ducking away from his counterpart's swing. Azriel raised a brow and rolled away from the countering swing of the general’s leg. Catching his calf mid air, the spymaster stood and swept his partner to the ground. Chuckling when Cassian made impact and his breath was knocked clean from his chest. 

“Yes an accident but still…” Azriel panted, reaching out a hand to help him up. “I keep replaying it in my head.” 

“Well now you sound like a fucking creep.” Cassian countered, accepting the hand gratefully. Both males were sweating and panting like animals. The sun was baking the roof and their shirts had long been discarded. They had opted for hand to hand this training session, their weapons glimmering in the light, had been discarded as well. “She’s a pretty female, I’ll give her that. When was the last time you got some anyway Az? Maybe she’s the perfect outlet fo-” 

Azriel didn't even let him finish. All technique flew out the window and the shadowsinger lunged at his friend. The two males fell to the hard clay beneath and Cassian was firmly pinned beneath the press of Azriel’s knees. 

“Dont even fucking say it.” He growled. Cassian raised his arms above his head in submission and watched as Azriel stood, a brow raised. 

“What? I didnt mean anything by it, it was a joke.” Cassian sputtered, rising to his knees to catch his breath. Azriel was faced away from him, tugging his shirt on and strapping his blades back to his body. His shoulders were taught and any emotion once readable had been steeled away. “You act like she’s your-” 

Azriel cut his gaze towards his friend. There was a fire there that Cassian had not seen since they were children, fighting for their lives in the war camps. And then it dawned on him, his shoulders slumped and his mouth fell open in shock. “Brother- how long have you known?” 

Azriel turned away from Cassian once more and busied himself with the buckle of his belt. “Since the continent.” Was the only answer he gave before making his way towards the stairs. Cassian wasted no time in following him, haphazardly grabbing his shirt and belongings as he passed them. 

“Does she know?” He pressed, struggling to keep up with the brisk pace Az had set. “Are you going to tell her?” 

Azriel spun around to face him at the door to the stairs, a hand raised in his face. 

“No Cas. I’m not going to tell her. And I will fucking kill you if you do.” 

“I would never.” He spoke, the males shared a look before Azriel merely nodded and made his descent. 

Cas watched him leave, his shoulders slumped and his items hanging loosely in his hands. A small light zipped into his view, and bobbed there. His brows creased and he reached for it, only to be burned upon contact. 

“What the fuck?” He whispered, stepping towards it. As he approached it slowly made its way towards the stairs before blinking out of existence entirely. 

–

You were sitting up in bed, legs crossed and hands pressed firmly into your knees. Eyes closed, forehead creased, you had never focused on that little light harder. In the cabin, it had been able to provide you glimpses of what it had seen, like highlight reels from the outside world. Now, as it made its way through the House of Wind you practiced grasping onto that information. 

Focusing hard enough you gathered that it could show you, and tell you. You heard the conversations of the servants as it zipped through the kitchens, the whispers of the maids as it tiptoed through faelights in different rooms, and the clanging of metal as it approached the roof. 

“Brother- how long have you known?”

“Since the continent.”

“No Cas. I’m not going to tell her. And I will fucking kill you if you do.” 

“I would never.”

Your eyes snapped open and that little light reappeared before you. It bobbed and spun in its place, like a dog happy to see its master after a long day’s separation. With a thought it blinked out of existence and you stared at where it had been without really seeing. He had known what? Had deigned not to tell you something? Azriel was your friend. Yes that much had been made clear over the weeks he had been with you at the cabin. The jokes and the conversations held in the safety of that wooden dwelling between the two of you and Amren. And yet he was hiding something that seemed important from you. 

Swallowing thickly you stood from the bed and made your way to the desk. Scribbling quickly onto a piece of paper you concentrated on willing it away into the awaiting hands of its receiver. When it disappeared into that mysterious universal fold you sunk into the desk chair and stared out the window. Awaiting its return. 

–

It was noon the following day when that tricky little spot in the universe reopened and your reply floated lazily onto the foot of your bed. Hair still sopping wet from your bath you ran forward and clutched it in your palms. Your slick skin smeared the ink but the letters were legible. 

“Mistress Beddor, I am delighted to hear from you. Smart of you to call in your favor, please allow me a week's time to find everything I can. Until then I will send a formal invitation  to  Rhysand requesting you visit my court. Best wishes until we meet - H.” 

Amren had made it clear in her lessons how guarded the High Lord’s were about their abilities, and yet you remembered the information she shared. Helion was the Spellcleaver and his court was famed for knowing a little about a lot of things. 

Azriel and Rhysand’s inner circle may have decided to keep things from you but Helion owed you a favor. If he could help you find out anything about this new life of yours, you were damn sure going to cash in on the favor he owed. 

You dressed quickly and made your way to the roof where you knew Cassian would be.

–

“You want me to take you where?” Cassian huffed between blows, a young male was currently sparring with him, exerting all force against the General who was barely breaking a sweat. You rocked back and forth on your toes, hands clasped behind your back. 

“To town. I would take myself but…” You trailed off and gestured to your back where you lacked a very useful set of wings. Cassian pursed his lips and thought momentarily before nodding. With one swing of his arm the young male before him was flat on the ground gasping for air. Cassian chuckled at the sight before exiting the sparring ring. 

You raised your brows in question as you watched his partner struggle back to his feet. Cassian only shrugged and pulled his shirt back on. 

“What?” He smiled, raising a brow to mimic your expression. You smiled tightly and shrugged it off. “Why do you want to go to town?” He threw the question over his shoulder as he made his way downstairs, highly aware of you hot on his trail. You only smiled and shook your head. 

“I'm feeling- adventurous I suppose.” 

“Okay then…” He muttered. He rounded the turn towards the living quarters and stopped momentarily, effectively having you run into his broad backside. “If you’ll give me five minutes lady Beddor, I am going to clean up and then I will take you to town.”

You smiled sheepishly and nodded, watching as he disappeared into his room. You were thankful he agreed to take you, but you couldn't help replaying the conversation you had overheard. What in gods’ name did he know that he wasn’t telling you?

Patience

A small voice in your head commanded. 

All will be seen in due time.

–

“I'm still confused as to why you wanted to come down here.” Cassian spoke up from around a bite of his food. He was strolling slowly beside you, watching you from the corner of his eye as you took in the sights of Velaris. You were wide eyed and slack jawed like a child in a candy store. 

The music, the smells, the colors… It had assaulted your senses and overloaded you in a way that you had not been overwhelmed since Under The Mountain. But this- this overbearing feeling was different from the sweat and death of that place. Velaris was air, and light, and life. It was exploding with so much life and hope that it had you nearly misty eyed. Why had you not ventured here sooner? 

“I was curious. A little sick of looking at it through a window.” You replied, turning your head as you walked to face him. He nodded and looked forward, shoving his now food-free hands into his pockets. His expression was unfocused, like he had something on his mind he was afraid to voice. 

“What is it?” You prodded, gently nudging his arm with your elbow. 

“What do you mean?”

“You want to ask me something. So ask.” 

He sighed and trained his gaze on the street before you, gently guiding you out of the way of oncoming children who were giggling and chasing a ball. 

“What was it like… down there? Rhys- he doesnt… He doesnt talk about it with us.” His voice was hushed, as though he was scared to talk about it too loudly. You swallowed thickly and looked to the Sidra. 

“It was, without a question in my mind, the worst thing I will ever experience in my life.” You began, shoving your hands in the pockets of your coat. “I went there as a girl, and left as some twisted form of a woman.” 

Cassian’s jaw tightened, and the two of you came to a stop on a bridge over the Sidra, watching the water move and the lights twinkle on her surface. He was silent, letting you tell a story you had yet to utter to anyone but your nightmares. 

“I uhm… I kind of forced myself to disappear I think. I blocked a lot of it out, prayed it was a nightmare.” You chuckled then, an action that had him slicing his eyes in your direction. “Sometimes I still think I’m gonna wake up in my bed to my little brother screaming at me to wake up and play.” 

Cassian smiled tightly and spoke softly, “You had a brother?” 

Your brows creased and you nodded with a smile, as if he should have known, “Oh yeah… yeah I had one.” And somehow saying it that way, like it was in the past cut you deeper than a knife. You were crying, the bite of the air stinging your wet cheeks. 

“His name was Adam. He wasn't even ten yet- just a little boy. But uh… Yeah. Yeah, I had a brother.” And there was some kind of sick finality in the way you said it that had Cassian slumping and leaning his weight backwards against the bridge railing. Your elbows were propped against it, gaze trained on the water below. 

“Tell me about him.” He whispered, and when you looked at him his eyes were intent on your own. Genuinely curious about who Adam was, who he was to you.

You laughed, a broken noise cut with a sob. But you were grateful, grateful someone was asking about him. Who he was. And so, as the citizens of Velaris bustled by and the afternoon wasted away to evening you told Cassian about a little boy who’s birthday fell on the Winter Solstice, his pony named Chelsie, and his dream to become the captain of a great Naval ship one day. And Cassian listened as you cried, laughed with you, and while you may have been imagining it… it felt like he was mourning too. Grieving the loss of a little boy he had never met but now knew through stories.

He had a secret to keep, that you were sure of, but you were grateful to him at this moment for allowing you to remember your sibling in the way he should have been remembered. Not in the way that Amarantha had wanted you to remember him. 

You were giggling over a particularly fond memory when your quaint disposition was interrupted by billowing shadows and a soft wind. Azriel stood, shoulders squared and eyes narrowed on Cassian who fell silent and tight lipped upon his friend’s arrival. 

“Rhysand requests your presence at the town house.” He spoke, glancing between both you and Cassian. 

“We will be there shortly, Brother.” Cassian replied

“Immediaetly.” Azriel’s words were clipped, drawn tight as a bowstring. He relaxed when you smiled tightly and clapped your hands, relishing in the warmth that immediately flowed to your cold-stiff fingers. 

“Well then, escort me to the High Lord, boys.” 

–

Rhysand sat at his desk, a lamp softly illuminating the room in a warm glow. His legs were kicked up on the oak and his hands were clasped behind his head. He was the feline picture of relaxation when your trio entered his office. 

The curtains were pulled back and the windows open, the welcoming sounds of Velaris drifting on the breeze and filling the room. Upon your arrival he offered you a seat, one you gladly took, and motioned to his desk. 

A letter, golden as the sun, lay open on his desk. It's perfectly rounded wax seal had been torn neatly and its contents lay splayed on the surface. Azriel and Cassian had taken up twin positions on either side of the door, and a muscle was thrumming tightly in the Spymaster’s jaw. 

“It seems as though you are quite popular amongst our sister court.” Rhysand spoke, knocking his legs down and leaning forward in his seat to look at you. Feigning innocence you cocked a brow and leaned backwards in your seat, a picture of perfect confusion. 

Humming he drummed his fingers on his desk, “Helion has requested your presence in the Day court for a week, should you be willing to go.” You heard Azriel scoff and then the muffled sounds of a struggle as Cassian elbowed him deeply in the ribs. A quick look from Rhys and the noise settled. 

“For?” You questioned, keeping up with the game you had begun to play days ago. 

“That- I am not sure of. (Y/N)... I am not positive that this is the best idea.” He raised, leaning backwards in his seat once more. 

“Why not?”

Rhysand looked to Cassian and Azriel behind you and sighed deeply. 

‘You are seeking answers to questions you do not really want answered.’ 

His voice was echoing through your head, a quick glance at the men behind you confirmed they had not heard it. When you returned your gaze to Rhysand your brows were dropped and the demeanor you held was gone. 

“How do you know I don't want them answered?” You replied aloud, not quite sure how to accomplish the trick he had pulled. 

‘Because I know the answer, and you are not ready to hear it.’

He had audacity.

You nodded tightly and stood from your chair. Dusting imaginary dust from your pants you made for the door. Cassian and Azriel made way for you and with a hand on the knob you turned over your shoulder to look at Rhysand. 

“Tell Helion I will join him for the week.” Nodding curtly, he glanced between his brothers who looked utterly distraught. 

“And Rhysand?”

“Yes?”

“You don't get to decide what im ready for.”

You left then, keenly aware of the raised voices behind the door as you slammed it that raised for moments before the room was sealed. As you walked down the hall you slowed. Were you really ready for this? 

Answers, yes. Those you needed, craved. But a court entirely foreign to you? With a High Lord who “owed you a favor” but had been responsible (to some degree) for the death of your sister?... No. You could not think of that. Helion had the capabilities to help you, and was willing to try and figure this out for you. And he had been sorry. Remorse would never bring Clare back, would never change that final image of her hanging from a wall- but it softened the blow somehow. Made that pill easier to swallow when you thought of his pain, begging Amarantha not to make you watch. 

You would go to the Day Court, you would ruffle Helion’s feathers, and you would figure out what the fuck the Night Court was guarding so tightly. 

“(Y/N)?” A soft voice called from behind you. Elain was in a pale pink dress, hands crossed in front of her, a cautious smile on her pretty face. 

“Hi Elain.” It had been a long time since you had seen her. One? Two months? Something like that you were sure… 

“I didn't realize you were back.” She spoke, moving towards you slowly. You crossed your arms across your chest and nodded gently. The way she was approaching you like you were some kind of wounded animal made you want to profusely apologize for the scare you had given her all those weeks ago when you nearly took the house down to its foundation.

“Yes and No. I’m… Im not staying.” 

“Oh-”

“I leave for the Day court tomorrow.” You spoke quickly, afraid she would beg you not to leave. Something in the softness of her doe eyes made you think that request would be a hard one to say no to. 

Shock and confusion overtook her features, and as she opened her mouth to speak the door to Rhysand’s office flew open. Azriel stalked out and slammed it behind him, hardly making eye contact with you or Elain as he stormed down the hall, teaming with anger. Cassian and Rhysand emerged shortly after, wearing twin looks of defeat and exhaustion. 

“What happened?” Elain whispered, glancing between the two males. Rhysand waved it off and Cassian shook his head before looking at you. 

“Ready?” He questioned, practically begging to get the fuck out of that house. You nodded in reply and bid goodnight to Elain before following him out of the house. The flight back was quiet, Cassian’s mind was clearly preoccupied. You didn't mind the silence, finding solace in your own thoughts as you thought over the next week.

When you returned to your twin abode the male let you down gently on the balcony before trudging inside and promptly filling a crystal glass full of whiskey. You watched as he downed the shimmering liquid and replenished his glass. Keenly aware that you were watching, the general filled a second glass knuckle deep and motioned for you to take it. 

“(Y/N)...” 

“You wont change my mind Cassian.” 

“Why do you want to go so badly?” He prodded, slouching down into an arm chair not far from the balcony doors. You didn't reply, just took a drink from your glass and sat down. “Other courts- they arent like this one, Beddor.”

You scoffed into your drink, he had just answered his own question. 

“They are going to say things about us to you that arent true. Lies that will make us sound… evil.”

“And who am I to call them liars? I have seen nothing of this court but one city and a cabin in the middle of nowhere.” You snapped, cutting your gaze to him finally. Your words slapped a look of defeat on his features and he sighed. 

“You have seen a city that has been kept  secret for centuries. The Night Court the rest of Prythian knows is not one worth knowing.” And with that he finished his second drink and bid you goodnight. 

-

“Not no but hell no.” You spoke, words laced with steel. Feyre sighed and Rhysand rubbed his temples slowly. You could hear Cassian chuckling down the hallway and Azriel just stared at you as though you had killed his first born. “He isnt coming with me.” 

“You cant go alone, and Cassian’s reputation amongst other courts precedes him in the worst ways possible.” 

“Hey, fuck you man.” 

“Cas you aren't even allowed to enter the summer court.” Feyre mumbled with a smile. Cassian only scoffed and returned to whatever it was he was doing moments before. You looked between them all, dumbfounded. 

“I cant bring Amren?” You offered, grasping for straws in an empty cup.

“No. Amren is to stay in Velaris. You will bring Azriel, I'm sorry but I cant send you there alone. I have no clue why Helion wants to see you and i'm not risking you getting kidnapped by Hybern because you can't fully protect yourself without running the risk of being tracked.” If your words had been steel, Rhysand's were obsidian, honed and sharpened to a lethal edge. And you knew he was right, you were still possibly a target, and an expensive one at that. Yet the company of the shadowsinger would make your quest for knowledge difficult, if not impossible. 

The way he and Feyre looked at you made you heed his words and agree to the conditions of your stay at the Day Court.

“We’ll Winnow in, Helion is already expecting our arrival.” Azriel spoke then, stepping forward. There was an emotion in his amber eyes that was almost palpable- anger, confusion, and hurt mingled together and showed themselves to you briefly before his face was once more a mask of cool composure. He held out an arm and with a wave at Feyre and Rhysand you took it gratefully. 

Arrival at the Day Court was immediate- so much so that you nearly emptied your breakfast onto the cobbles below. Winnowing was still completely out of your wheelhouse. It left you feeling sickly and out of place when it ended. How useful- yet how strange it was. Azriel clasped your shoulder and raised a brow. 

“Are you alright?” He questioned, concern laced in his tone. Bent entirely in half you braced yourself on your knees but offered him a thumbs up and an offset groan. Azriel grimaced and patted your back gently, straightening quickly when the booming voice of Helion was heard approaching. 

“Mistress Beddor, travel has not suited you?” He asked, stopping before the two of you by a few paces. He was flanked by two women, dark in complexion and so stunningly beautiful that you had to avert your gaze. Helion looked much healthier than the last time you saw him. His dark hair was glossier, face fuller, and skin glowingly healthy. He donned a crown of gold that resembled the sun, wow- he really had gone all out for this.

“Im alright.” You replied, straightening your posture and nodding in greeting to Helion and his courtiers. Noticing your gaze Helion smiled and moved out of their way. 

“(Y/N), these are Misae and Suma.” The women (who you had effectively decided were sisters) smiled, revealing shining rows of perfectly white teeth. “They will be taking care of you during your stay.” Without a word they curtsied and in a flash they were gone, the quiet whisper of their golden skirts the only proof they had ever been there at all. 

“Your wraiths never fail to terrify me.” Azriel commented, stepping forward to shake hands with Helion who merely shrugged and chuckled. 

“Wraiths?” The men turned to look at you, both wearing a mask of confusion before Azriel’s eyes widened and he cleared his throat. 

Easy to forget you had not always been a fae. 

“They are like us, but not.” Azriel began.

“Appearance wise they are fae, metaphysically… well they just-” Helion tried to finish and it was almost painful trying to watch the two of them explain something that you didn't understand. 

You hoped this conversation was not a peek into the rest of the week. 

“Anyhow, Misae will return to take you to your room. Please feel free to rest and become acquainted with the palace. I have several meetings to attend and will not be able to rejoin you until dinner. Azriel, if you would join me?” Helion spoke, effectively dismissing you to speak with Rhysand’s emissary. 

It was a slap in the face almost, to be disregarded and thrown off so quickly into your visit. But something in the tightness of Helion’s shoulders, and the tentative nature to his smile made you feel as though he wasn't quite ready to be alone with you. You watched as the men strolled down the cobbled path lined with fruit trees and golden street lamps. 

“Shall we?” A female voice uttered from behind you. It was disjointed, ghostly in a way that made you jump and turn to the woman with a start. It was Misae, smiling softly and tilting her head. Her dark braids fell across her shoulders and nearly to her waist, they were interwoven with golden ornaments and small white flowers. So much gold. Helion must have had a fancy for the fineries in life. 

Briefly you thought that Clare would have liked it here. 

Shaking it off you smiled in return and nodded, following her in the opposite direction of where Azriel and Helion had disappeared. 

“I am (y/n).” You muttered after a moment's silence. Misae looked at you from the corner of her eye and giggled, running her hands over the silk of her skirts. The fashion here was starkly different from that of the human lands. The cut of her dress revealed the slopes and planes of her body, dipped to tease her breasts, and slit to allow her legs to peak through as she walked. Rings and bracelets clinked together melodiously on her hands and wrists and large yellow stones hung from her ears. 

You had never felt more plain in your trousers and thin sweater than you did now. 

At one point in your life you had worn the frilly hats, the frilly gloves, and the lace lined dresses. 

It had been so long since those fineries had been dotted on. 

“You are not from Prythian?” Misae spoke, once more catching you off guard with the tone of her voice. You would need to get used to that quickly. Her words were more pointed than a question, though she disguised them well.

“That obvious?” You chuckled, crossing your arms over your chest and taking in the sights of the palace grounds. Birds sang and swooped through trees, and fountains trickled nearby. It was so open and bright here. 

“Yes and no.” Misae replied, taking a left into an open air hallway. She led you towards its ending where large doors encrusted in rubies and gems were sealed shut. “You just seem much more…youthful than anyone else here.” She struggled for that word, didn't mean it but couldn't put her mind on what she was trying to say. 

Human.

You just seemed more human. 

You only nodded and fell silent as she led you inside. 

–

You tried and failed not to be amazed by the complexity and beauty of Helion’s home. You did not want to seem out of place, or like this was new to you. But then again, it was new to you. You had grown up in what you considered to have been the lap of luxury, but Helion’s residence made your life look like that of a stray begging for scraps. Every surface that was not encrusted with jewels was laden in gold or bronze. There didn't seem to be a single pane of glass in any window, and the ceilings seemed to never end. 

In your own room, art whose frames alone could have fed your village for a year was hung, and the bed which sat in the corner was something out of a fairytale. Misae had given you a tour then let you be, informing you that one call of her name would summon her lest you need anything. 

Taking a glance around, you weren't sure you would. 

In the bathroom a dress hung, a note gingerly attached to its hanger.

It was a dreamy little number, dusty pink and made entirely of sheer chiffon. It was backless, a fact that had your face drained of color and your hands shaking as you reached out to run your fingers over the soft material. 

‘Join me at sunset for dinner in the gazebo. - H’ 

You let the parchment heat and burn to cinders in your hand, watched as that little white light consumed it with blind eyes. 

You chose not to get dressed in the bathroom, didnt look in the mirror as you slipped out of your sweater and pulled the dress on. Ignored the breeze that floated across your back and caressed the silver map of scars there. Deftly you twisted your hair out of your face and secured it with golden pins that had been left for you on the bedside table. As you dressed the twin wraiths appeared and added final touches, politely listening when you refused opulent jewelry and hair finishes. 

“(y/n)?” Came a muffled voice from behind the door, accompanied by a knock. With a nod the sisters had evaporated and you opened the door revealing Azriel. He had dropped his leathers and opted for a black button up made of the finest night court silk, and night dark trousers. With little shame, he allowed his eyes to drag the length of you. 

“Yes?” You almost snapped, urging his eyes back up to your own. Your brow was raised in question and you had yet to fully open the door for him to enter. Clearing his throat he made to scooch beside you, a motion you let slide. “Sure Azriel, come on in…” You muttered beneath your breath.

Shutting the door behind him you made to turn and face him when he sucked in a sharp breath. Your spine became steel and your hand stilled on the doorknob. Without a thought that welcoming heat warmed your skin and the room glowed a faint bit brighter. 

Tentative fingers brushed against the bare skin of your spine, stilling at the center of your back. Could he hear the thrumming of your heart? Smell the fear you suddenly felt?

“Is this why you didn't wear it?” He whispered, gently pulling his hand away. Slowly, ever so slowly you turned to face him, and pressed your back into the door. His hand was still raised, as though he burned to reach out and touch you again. 

“Wear what?”

“The dress. The first dinner you had with us at the town house.” Azriel muttered, studying your features. 

What dress was he talking about? You mulled it over in your mind for a moment.

Oh.

You swallowed thickly and moved around him towards the open windows. The little white dress, that had been so utterly human you had shoved it into the darkest depths of your armoire. Never to be seen again. 

“When you left, Nuala found it. Brought it back to me.” He muttered, his eyes still trained on the bedroom door, his back a wall of steel as you stared at it. So they had found it. 

“Thats not the whole reason I didnt wear it. But part of it, yes.” You replied, lifting your chin as he turned to face you. There was some kind of hurt playing on his features, an emotion you couldn't pin down. 

“What was the other?”

“It was too human. Too- too delicate.” His eyes softened as he realized what you were trying to convey. It wasn't too delicate, it was beautiful, you felt it was too delicate for you. The gesture had been kind, you would give him that, but it broke your heart entirely. 

Without entirely thinking the shadowsinger stepped forward and placed his gloved hands before you, their palms upward, waiting. Head cocked you watched him as he pulled the gloves off to reveal a map of scars, twisted and beautiful. Chucking them to the side he looked at you, searched your eyes for horror or repulsion, and yet he found nothing there but a deep understanding. 

“You can hide them all you want, but they are part of you. For good or bad.” He muttered, unmoving as you took his hands in your own and ran your fingers over the ridges and dips there. He had stopped breathing as you held them, watched from above as you broke eye contact and studied the imperfections. He had hated them his whole life, and yet here you were, making him wish he had uncovered them sooner. 

Looking into his eyes once more he saw a thin layer of gloss there, tears threatening to be shed but held tightly from doing so. “Thank you.” You muttered, for what he wasnt sure. “Thank you.” 

The illyrian only smiled tightly and nodded before pulling you forward by the shoulders, enveloping you in a cocoon of muscle and wing as he hugged you close. You rested your head on his shoulder, and held him for who knows how long. 

“We should go.” You whispered finally, well aware that there was still a dinner to attend, appearances to make, and answers you could not be sidetracked from. Azriel only nodded and pulled away, offering you a hand to hold as you made your way into the hall beyond your room. 

Distantly, music played, and for some reason its haunting melody was less piercing than it should have been, less harrowing as you held Azriel’s hand and made your way to the dining room.

~

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[ann-writes-universes]

Archangel (AzrielxReader) REMASTER Pt. 2

A/n: c: Rolling out two out of five parts this evening. The fifth part will be the long awaited continuation of our tale. Hoping to finish her strong within 8-10 parts. Sue me.

Warnings: WARNINGS: Gore, Implied SA, mentions of suicidal ideation, GORE, Death. Under the mountain.

W/C: 7.3k

You had never felt a pain like this. Not even the torture you had endured under the mountain had come close to this. You gasped violently and your lungs filled with liquid thicker than mud. There were hands holding you beneath the fluid and as much as you thrashed, they did not release you. They were everywhere, gripping, pulling, and stroking. Every bone in your body was breaking and knitting back together, your skin felt as though it was peeling off, and all you wanted was to be able to fucking breathe.

You wondered if Clare had been this terrified while she bled to death on the floor of Amarantha’s throne room. Wondered if Adam and your parents had felt this much pain with the swift death they endured.

As the pain reached a pounding crescendo you hoped that wherever you went after this life, they would be waiting for you.

Suddenly, as though it had never begun, the pain stopped and the hands lifted. The cauldron was being tipped over and you tumbled from it in a tidal wave of liquid and muck.

Nothing in your body worked, you lay there, eyes unnervingly opened wide and staring at the sky through the throne room’s glass roof. Stars dotted the night outside and twinkled faintly. There was no more pain.

There was nothing at all but you and those tiny stars millions of miles away that twinkled and danced in the night sky.

And then there was Feyre. She stood over you gasping and shaking. Without a word she grabbed your arm. Shaking it violently you realized then that she was calling to you, screaming your name.

“(y/n)! Please! Look at me!”

You began to cough violently, realizing then that you hadn’t been breathing only moments before. Liquid bubbled out of your mouth, Feyre rolled you onto your side and you emptied the slimy contents of your stomach and lungs onto the floor.

“Rhysand I can’t carry her… I can’t- we can’t leave her here.” Feyre was frantic. The red headed male had Elain in his arms and Nesta was staring daggers into his back. You had no clue where Hybern was or even the guards that had been surrounding the small group.

“I can.” It was the male who had been kneeling by Rhysand. He was standing now, and his wings drooped behind him. He looked like hell and when he made to walk towards you, he stumbled greatly.

“Azriel you can hardly hold yourself up-“

“I said I can get her.” He snapped. Feyre’s mouth formed a tight line and she nodded. You were scooped off the floor and cradled against Azriel’s chest.

Wind encased you suddenly and the throne room disappeared, in its place was a new room.

Whatever magic that had been used by Rhysand to get your small group here had nearly killed him it seemed. He collapsed to the opal floor and Feyre rushed to his side. Azriel fell to his knees, still cradling you close.

People were shouting and running back and forth frantically. The male with the shredded wings was being rushed out of the room by a small ebony haired woman and two larger men.

“Are you okay?”

Azriel implored, gently shaking you to grab your attention. You slowly turned your gaze to his and marveled at the color of his eyes, the glint of blood on his forehead, and the way his hair curled slightly. Everything seemed so much more detailed now.

“What happened to me?” You whispered. A stark laugh from nearby caught you off guard and you turned to see Nesta being wrapped in a towel by a wraith like fae.

“The same thing that happened to us. They changed you into one of them.” She ground out.

“I don’t understand.”

“What about it don’t you understand Beddor? You aren’t human anymore.”  

There had been a period of time when you were a small child that you were terrified of the dark.

You would beg and plead with your nursemaid to leave your door cracked, or a candle lit. Anything to prevent that inky darkness from swallowing your little frame whole. Of course, this fear had ebbed and eventually disappeared as you grew. In your teen years you craved the darkness of the night, found comfort in the utter pitch that would consume your room when it was time for sleep to take hold.

Now, sitting here, on a bed that was not your own, in a room that belonged to a stranger, in a world that was entirely new, you began to shake. The body you were so unfamiliar with was being wracked with sobs so powerful that your head throbbed, and your chest ached.

It had to be past one in the morning and the rest of Rhysand’s town house was completely silent, save for the few voices that filtered up from the dining room below, more than likely Rhysand and his court discussing what the fuck to do with you and the newly made fae sisters in the room down the hall.

The week since you had arrived in this place, Velaris, had been an utter blur. After Nesta’s revelation you had shut down. Vaguely you remembered the twin wraiths wrapping you in a towel and ushering you to a washroom where they bathed your stone-cold skin and clothed you in scraps that were a dusty pink in color. How you arrived at Rhysand's home you were unsure, but you had not left this room since.

Feyre had visited you on the second day and left the minute she walked in and found you by the window with your back to the door.

“Leave.” Was the only word you had uttered and there was such anger in the phrase that she had not pushed any further.

Now, sitting up in this bed, wrapped in that all too familiar inky darkness you wished she was knocking on your door. Then the light from the hall would flood in and maybe this paralysis would vanish.

When night came, so did the cocktail of scents. Wet stone, blood, and thick seawater would torment you and the pain of old wounds would freshen and rip your skin to shreds until you were sure the white silk sheets had been stained a deep crimson.

That pain was wracking your body now. Your back had healed when you changed, though the one time you managed to look at in the mirror confirmed that a deep map of silver scars still traced the once delicate skin. It hurt now, burning and gnawing pain that had you crying out obscenities into the darkness.

“(y/n)?” A whisper and a tentative knock sounded from your door. A pained sob released you and your body melted into the bed. You shook and sobbed, face down in those silken sheets as the door cracked open and a figure slipped in. Light flooded the room and you sucked in a breath so deeply that your lungs burned.

“(y/n)…” Hands touched your shoulders gently and when your body jerked they left quickly.

“(y/n) its Elain…I- I heard you crying.” Her voice was as soft as you had remembered. You let her touch you then. She crawled into the bed with you and pulled you by your shoulders until you laid in her lap, your head resting on her thigh. She stroked your hair until your breathing slowed a bit.

Your eyes were trained on the hall, anchoring yourself to the fae lights that bobbed and glowed on the walls outside of your door.

“I can shut it if you would like.” Elain whispered finally, noticing your gaze. The only answer you gave was a frantic shake of your head and she nodded in understanding, returning to stroking your hair softly.

You let her hold you. Let her play with your hair and hum quietly until your breathing had slowed significantly and your back quit burning so feverishly. She was Clare’s age. Older than you by a few years, though her demeanor had always reminded you of a small child. She had been friends with Clare when she was alive, you had remembered them gardening and gossiping together. They were always fighting for the attention of men at your father’s balls, though they would spend the rest of the night comparing notes on which ones had better decorum.

Clare had liked Elain the most of the Archeron sisters. For Elain was most like her, delicate and more than willing to become someone’s wife someday just for the sake of being someone’s wife.

When you were small, she and Clare would braid flowers into your hair, and they would chastise Adam when he would rip them from your hair only moments later.

“Elain?” You whispered after a while.

“Yes?”

“D- did they have a funeral for my family?” You questioned. You were too scared to face her eyes as her hand stilled in her hair and came to rest gently atop your shoulder. She smoothed the material of your nightgown there and idly played with the frills on the sleeve.

“Yes. Yes they did, even you and Clare.” Her voice was quiet, as though she were scared that the truth would break you further.

“Well, I suppose having one for me was quite pointless.” You spoke. A laugh escaped you despite your best efforts and a small sob followed shortly after.

“There were white lilies everywhere, and the boy’s choir sang. It was beautiful (y/n)…” She was playing with your hair again. You nodded against her leg and let the tears fall.

“White lilies were always Clare’s favorite, and im glad Adam’s choir sang. However, I hope that Samson boy wasn’t heard, he was always awful.” Elain giggled at this and sniffled, only then did you realize she too was crying.

It hit you then that Elain was probably mourning too. She also had been ripped away from her life and thrust into one she was raised to hate. Vaguely you remembered her being engaged to that Graysen boy, and by the gods did you hope he never found out what she was now.

You sat up then on your knees, facing Elain. The sun was beginning to rise, and your curtains were allowing the room to be painted in a drizzly light. It was raining, how fitting.

“If no one else says it to you, I’m sorry Elain.”

Her expression was one of utter confusion. You reached forward and clasped both of her hands in your own.

“You had a life. Nesta had a life. I had a life. Im sorry they did this to us if no one else is sorry for it.” She understood then and her features softened, and tears fell. She nodded in understanding and tightened her grip on your hands.

“And Im sorry for what they have done to you.” She whispered.

-

You and Elain spent several nights like that for the next few days. She would leave in the morning and go outside, a feat you had been scared to do. No one else bothered you, they respected your requests to be left utterly alone in that room. The door would lay open at night but the moment the sun rose it would snap shut and be locked until the sun fell and the moon rose.

It wasn’t until six days into your stay here that you finally found it in you to enter the bathroom.

You had used it of course, but you would scuttle past the mirror and only stay as long as you had to. After the glance you had seen of your back the first time, you had not stripped bare to shower. You only found the strength now because Cerridwen had made a comment about how sweat slicked your sheets were. And so here, out of pure embarrassment, you stood before the bathroom mirror, utterly bare.

Your body had changed so much.

The weight had not yet returned but you could tell the difference in your features. They were more pronounced, more shockingly beautiful. The once rounded tips of your ears now pocked out from behind your hair and ended in a point. Your hands, once seen as so “delicate” by your suitors were now slimmer, the fingers longer. Every limb had lost its feminine curve though you could see how they had lengthened. You felt taller, though you were sure that was a trick of the mind. Everything about you was utterly fae now.

A pain in your chest rose and you braced yourself on the marble countertops before you. If your father could see you now, what would he say? Would Clare be terrified? You had become one of the creatures that had ended her life and the lives of your family. And Adam? So young and petrified of the monsters beyond the wall that the older boys had told him about in jest. Would he scream and tremble at the sight of you?

Without glancing upwards to the mirror, you turned and drew water into the overly large bathtub. Steam filled the room and thankfully encapsulated the mirror in a wash so thick you could no longer perceive yourself.

Outside of the thick oak door you could hear Nuala and Cerridwen cleaning your room. A window opened and the sounds of the street below muddled into the sounds the twins were making.

As the bath filled you chose not to think about how large it was, how eerily similar the dark marble mirrored the cast iron of that gods damned cauldron.

You turned the water off.

It was not nearly enough to submerge yourself in, hell, it was barely enough for you to properly wash yourself with but it would do for now.

With trembling hands you lowered yourself into the tub. When the water turned murky you realized just how filthy you had become.

As if on command the bath itself filled with bubbles and jasmine scented soaps lined the tub’s edge. The metallic scent of magic filled the room and you wondered if the house would gift you a pony if you asked.

The thought of a small horse sitting in the bathroom made a giggle escape you. The muscles in your back relaxed and you scrubbed away at your marred skin for what felt like hours.

-

When you finally exited the bathroom, wrapped in a towel your room was in perfect condition. Gone were the shredded sheets you had mauled in the throes of a nightmare, gone was the musk of sweat and tears. In their place were clean sheets, candles that smelled of oak and lavender and a new fae light that bobbed happily by your bedside.

On the freshly made bed lay clothes and a letter with the delicately written letters of your name.

You ran a finger across the fabric, a delicate white number with lace sleeves and a high collar.

The sight of it made you yearn for a day in the garden reading story tales to Adam and his friends, the summer sun warming your bodies as your mother gossiped with her friends nearby.

You ripped the dress from the bed and crumpled it into a ball, in a fit of fury you crammed it into the armooire in the corner and slammed the doors shut on it.

In a flash Cerridwen materialized in your room and her face was a mask of concern and confusion.

“Why?” You uttered, clutching the towel tightly to your body. Her shoulders slumped and she floated towards the foot of your bed. She smoothed the blankets and did not face you as she spoke.

“He thought that something more human would be more appealing to you than the fashions of the Night court. I can promise there was no ill intent.”

“Whether he intend to or not, I don’t want to see it again. I-“ You grappled for the words, looking at everything in the room but her as she turned to face you. Your cheeks had heated and tears pricked at your eyes violently.

“Im not human anymore now am I? Please. Just bring me something long sleeved and- and pants. Please.” She nodded in understanding and vanished in a huff of smoke and shadow. You sank into the bed and ran your hands over your eyes and soaking hair, trying desperately to calm yourself.

In an instant, dark trousers and a sweater had appeared.

You dressed quickly and braided your hair with trembling hands, highly aware of the letter that still lay unopened at the foot of your bed.

It took you several moments of consideration but you moved towards it and sat on crossed legs as you broke the seal on the parchment.

‘(y/n),

Please do us all the honor of joining us at dinner tonight at seven. I would be honored to introduce you to my family if you would be willing to meet them

. – Feyre.’

A glance at the clock confirmed you did not have much time to decide for it was already half past six. You tossed the letter towards your pillows and fell backwards into the blankets. The soft down swallowed you and you stared at the intricately painted ceiling above you.

The moon and stars painted in gold swirled and moved across the dark blue arches with some kind of magic, it entranced you entirely.

With trembling hands you peeled yourself from the safety of that goose down and made your way to the door.

Perhaps it was time to meet those you had been living with for two weeks.

To say Rhysand’s house was beautiful would be an understatement. It was less grand than you had anticipated the home of a high fae lord to be but beautiful nonetheless.

Laughter, jovial and light, drifted down the halls and led you downstairs to the dining room. You stood just outside of it, watching as Rhysand and his family talked and laughed.

Elain and Nesta sat next to Feyre, who had commandeered the head of the table closest to you, her back to you. Rhysand sat opposite to her, his lavender gaze trained solely on her.

The two-winged males sat opposite the Archeron sisters, a pretty golden haired, female sitting on Rhysand’s right. Opposite her was an empty chair beside Elain, presumably for you. It was so, quaint. So arguably human and intimate that it made your chest tighten. This scene so closely resembled the nights you spent eating with your family, one of the only times during the day where you would all be together for longer than a moment.

“Hello (y/n).” Rhysand spoke, effectively snapping you from your daze.

“(y/n)! hi” Feyre spoke next, standing from her chair in a hurry. She was dressed in a pretty little two piece that accentuated her newfound curves. It was made of a deep blue satin and sat lowly on her hips. A dark blush creeped onto your cheeks and you cleared your throat, tugging at the sleeves of your knit sweater.

“Please, join us…” She led you to the seat beside Elain, going as far to pull the chair out for you.

Seated, you stared at the table. Rhysand cleared his throat and the gilded plates before you were suddenly filled with food. It smelt heavenly and despite your embarrassment your stomach grumbled loudly.

Rhysand chuckled and picked up his fork, “Let’s eat then, shall we?”

Amongst the chatter, you and Elain found peace in your own silence. Even Nesta, amidst her anger, found parts of the conversation interesting enough to add to it. You were keenly aware of the eyes that were plastered to the crown of your head, bowed so your own eyes could be plastered to your hands folded in your lap.

“I’m Mor.”

A melodic voice chimed above those of Feyre and Rhysand. They fell silent at her voice and its pointedness drew your gaze. The blonde across from you was staring at you intently with honey brown eyes. Her elbows were propped on the table, her head resting lazily on her hands.

She had a mane of pure gold that had been pulled back from her face, it fell in lazy curls down her back. She too was dressed in a two piece that left little to the imagination, though hers was a deep crimson in color and gilded with gold across the breast.

“How rude of me, I did not even introduce you to my court.” Rhysand spoke, his eyes trained on Mor who had yet to tear her gaze away from you.

Slowly, you drug your eyes towards Rhysand who smiled warmly and pointed towards a large male across from Nesta.

“That brute over there is Cassian. He is the general of my armies and a pain in my ass.” Cassian chuckled at this and offered you a lazy salute. He was handsome you guessed, tall and muscular with tanned skin and tattoos that peaked out from under the dark gray tunic he wore. His hair was long and braided away from his face. He had warm brown eyes that lit up when he offered you a welcoming smile. Behind him, tucked tightly were wings that closely resembled bats- though these were much more beautiful than the attor’s.

No.

You would not think of that creature here.

“And my cousin Morrigan. She is- well Morrigan keeps us all in line.” Rhysand sighed, drawing your attention back towards Mor who giggled and drank deeply from her wine.

“Between those idiots is Azriel, my spymaster.”

He was staring at you already, calculating. The spymaster leaned back in his seat, hands folded on his lap much like yours were. He had not spoken the entire meal, rather stared at you. You had been aware of this; it was hard not to be when he was making it so painfully obvious that he was mapping you out.

Like the male beside him Azriel too had warm honey eyes and membranous wings. Unlike Cassian’s relaxed attire, this male wore leathers that glowed with remarkably blue stones.

“They are called siphons.” He spoke, and his voice was like whiskey straight, strong and incredibly smooth. You tore your gaze away from him and back to the table. Elain shifted uncomfortably next to you and reached for your hand beneath the table.

“Amren sends her well wishes though, she could not join us tonight. I am sure you will meet her at a later date.” Rhysand finished. He leaned back in his chair and his purple gaze found Feyre’s once more who merely nodded and placed her napkin on the table.

In the blink of an eye the table was cleared, and the wine had been refilled.

“(y/n) I am glad you have had the chance to finally meet them.” Feyre spoke with caution, when you looked up she was staring at you hopefully. Nesta and Elain were staring at you too. Nesta wore a mask of indifference, Elain one of hope and the smallest inkling of fear.

“Are we not to talk about what happened in Hybern?” You spoke.

Rhysand stiffened beside you and Elain’s face went starkly pale, her body stiffening. Your own limbs had gone taut and your face was heating up.

“What do you mean?” It was Cassian that replied. His hands were clasped on top of the table and he was leaning towards you, his brows quirked in question.

“This whole dinner all you have talked about is – is celebrations and revelry and not a damn bit about what the fuck happened to us.” Your whole body was shaking now as you stared at Feyre. She looked utterly dumbfounded. She shook her head and tried to offer you some form of comfort, but you raised her hand to stop her.

Rhysand shifted at this and made a sound low in his throat, an action that was met with a quick growl from the spymaster.

Next to you, Elaine's attention shot to Azriel, her eyes were dopey and sad. You shrugged off their ministrations and stood from your seat.

“It was a pleasure to meet you all but please until you are willing to fucking talk about what the hell the three of us went through” you motioned to Elain and Nesta then “Don’t expect me back at the table.” And with that you nodded a goodnight to Mor, Cassian, and Azriel (who merely stared at you in shock) and left the dining room.

-

In your room, you paced the floor.

You had changed into a silk nightgown that was far too large on your emaciated frame and picked at its frills anxiously. Your nail beds bled from where you had bit them bare and you were sure there were holes being worn in the carpet.

You felt bad for being a bitch at dinner, but everything you said had been true.

Being stabbed repeatedly would have been less frustrating than listening to them carrying on about moving forward. Moving on.

They spoke of throwing a celebration in honor of your safety as well as theirs and all you thought about as they discussed it were the rotting corpses of your family laying deep within the frozen Earth somewhere below the wall.

You stalked towards the window and threw it open. Below you the street was calm. Fae lights lit it up and only a few people meandered on the street. They were bundled head to toe to ward off the chill of the winter wind.

You slumped into the seat below the window and laid your head on its wooden frame. Stars in the millions twinkled in the sky above and the moon hung low and sultry. Distantly, music played, and lights lit up the sky. The wind blew into your room and brought with it the deep scent of bergamot and pine.

Suddenly, oh so suddenly it was solstice three years ago.

-

You were fifteen, and it was the first solstice ball you had been allowed to attend. In the early hours of the morning Adam had thrown open the door to your room (he had been six then) and bounded into your bed where he shook you vigorously until you awoke with a groan.

“Sissy, sissy wake up! Daddy said that when you come down I can open my gifts.”

He was grasping at your braided hair and tugging on it lightly. You had giggled and wrapped your arms around his small body.

“Im awake Adam. Im awake.”

He had practically drug you from your bedroom and into Clare’s. She was already awake by that time and had been dressed for the day by Mary, her nursemaid.

“Adam insists that he can wait no longer for his gifts or else he will simply die.” You recited your child brother’s words dramatically, flopping into Clare’s bed for added effect. She giggled and ruffled Adam’s dark hair. Cupping his chin in her delicate hands she smiled brightly and nodded.

“Well, we don’t want you dying on solstice now do we?”

That had been a good day Adam had turned six and received a train set and his first “big boy” horse, a chocolate-colored colt he had named Chelsie. The rest of the day had been spent getting ready for the ball.

You remembered your dress exactly.

It was a deep crimson and accentuated the curves of your budding breasts. Your hair had been curled and pinned expertly and littered with pearls. You wore lace gloves and silk shoes that had been perfect for dancing (a hobby you spent most of the night partaking in). 

A knock sounded at your door.

“(y/n)?”

-

The door creaked open and Feyre stood in the threshold, her arms crossed over her chest. She was wearing a nightgown and sweater now, her hair was in a loose braid, messy as though she had been sleeping fitfully.

“Can I help you?” You sighed, returning your gaze to the world beyond. You had been happy in your daydream, comforted by a memory where your siblings were still alive.

“I- I wanted to talk about dinner.” She replied, tentatively moving further into your room. You heard your door shut and the dip of your bed.

“So talk. I will listen.”

“There is no way I can even try and say I understand what happened to you under the mountain before I got there, or in Hybern all of those weeks but I do understand what you are feeling now. Alone… scare-“

“Feyre, I will stop you there.” You turned to face her. You folded your hands in your lap and squared your shoulders.

“Please, listen to everything I am about to say, and listen well.” She nodded at your words and relaxed her posture.

“You were thrust into this life just as stiffly as your sisters and I were, and do not get me wrong I am grateful for your hospitality. Grateful that you are trying to reach out a hand, but you will never understand what I am going through- how I feel.” You stood then and strode to the mirror on the wall before your bed. You stared at your reflection and steeled your nerves.

“You had a choice Feyre. You had a choice, and you came back here. You may not have chosen to become fae, but you damn sure made the choice to stay and you got lucky. You got the love of your life, you got your sisters, hell you even still have your father.” Nerves be damned, you were crying. Feyre was too though she had the good sense to keep it quiet and dignified.

“I am stuck here. I was fucking thrown into this life with no one. And now I am here in a place that is home to you, that could easily become home to your sisters but what do I have here? Sisters who were never my friends but Clare’s? A body that is foreign to me? Pain that is etched so deeply into my soul that it consumes me?”

You collapsed to the floor and let the tears flow freely.

“I have nothing Feyre. Nothing.”

And then you were sobbing. Sobs so powerful that they wracked your body and took hold of your entire being. You shook and shook and shook until you were sure you were dying, and then the entire room was shaking. The faelights glowed brighter and a quiet hum overtook the town house.

“(y/n)… you need to calm down.” Feyre was inching towards you, her eyes wild with fear.

You stared at your palms, the tears finding no stop.

“I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.” You repeated over and over. The hum grew in pitch and the door to your room burst open. Rhysand and Azriel filled the doorway and Cassian stood behind them, his casual clothing from before replaced with leathers.

“Feyre get out of here.” Rhysand spoke his voice thick with worry.

“Im not leaving her Rhysand.”

And when she knelt beside your crumpled form he cursed under his breath and surged into the room. A burst of his magic and the window was closed. Cassian and Azriel made their way in and a thick wall of shadows encapsulated the room, effectively shutting everyone out and locking your magic in.

“I can’t I can’t I can’t” You kept muttering, sobbing violently into Feyre’s arms as she held you.

Large hands wrapped around your upper arms and pulled you forward. Your body was tugged into Azriel’s lap and he turned you so that your back was flushed to his chest. His legs were bent on either side of you and his arms circled around to wrap around your chest tightly. Shadows, cool and strong brushed against your hair and across your tear-stained cheeks.

Before you, Feyre sat on her knees, her hands gently resting on your calves.

“(Y/N) nothing we can say will bring them back, I understand that. Nothing I can say will ever change the fact that I am at fault for what happened to them.” Rhysand began to utter a complaint at his mate’s words but she simply held up her hand to him and continued. “But I can change what happens to you from here on out.”

Cassian was pacing by the door, his eyes darting wildly about the room at the faelights that were shooting about. Rhysand stood behind Feyre, staring at you intently.

You stared at her, forcing yourself to breathe. You were keenly aware that every ounce of your weight was pressed into the shadowsinger who had yet to utter a word.

“How?”

Your voice was hoarse and your eyes wild. Your body thrummed with unspent energy and every single one of your joints were growing stiff with exhaustion.

“By giving you a choice something you haven’t gotten yet.” She grasped for your hands. Her gaze was soft and pleading. So much so that you calmed. The faelights stopped their ministrations and the humming died off completely. A hushed whisper filled the room and within an instant the shadows that encapsulated it were gone, retreating to their master behind you.

“I cant stay here Feyre.” You whispered brokenly. And it was true. You did not see yourself healing in a place where you would have to watch the Archeron’s be happy together. A place that would constantly remind you of everything you would never be allowed to have again.

She nodded in understanding and her gaze fell to the shadowsinger who slowly released you. You brought your knees into your chest and laid your head on them. The tears still fell but no longer as powerfully as they had before.

“Where would you like to go? We can take you anywhere.” Rhysand’s voice was soft, concerned as he spoke. One of his hands rested on Feyre’s shoulder and she grasped it tightly. No. You could not stay here.

“Anywhere but this house. Please.”

Rhysand only nodded and left the room, Cassian and Azriel following behind him quickly.

You were kneeling on the floor, arms crossed over your chest. The straps to your nightgown had fallen down your arms and you were trembling slightly. Feyre scooched closer to you and watched your face closely.

“There’s a cabin in the mountains. Its secluded, and no one can get there without us knowing. No winnowing or flying, nothing. I…” She cleared her throat and found the bed spread suddenly interesting.

You stared at her then, feeling wildly uncomfortable with how bashful she had become.

“I went there to stay for a while when I found out Rhysand was my mate.”

“You were upset?”

“I felt like it wasn’t my choice (y/n). I loved Tamlin and I loved Rhysand, but I felt like it wasn’t my choice,”

You chose not to respond to this. Instead, you focused on your breathing, the threads in the carpet, the faelights that were now incredibly dim, anything but her.

“I’d like to go to the cabin for a while then. To be alone.”

She nodded and stood from the floor.

“Azriel will take you in the morning.” She moved towards the door, a defeated slouch to her shoulders. “(y/n)?”

You angled your upper half to glance at her over your shoulder. She was resting against the door, her light hair hallowed by the hall light. You could see Azriel and Rhysand’s figures silhouetted behind her. Like angels of death protecting their master.

“You will always have a place here, if you ever want it.” You simply nodded at this and the trio let you be, the door cracked only slightly.

Glancing around the room you realized the damage you had inflicted. Pictures hung haphazardly on the walls, your freshly made bed was messy as though you had slept fitfully, the armoire was wide open, and that damned dress had floated onto the floor before you. Feathers from the chaise lounge in the corner still floated lazily about. Reaching out a hand you let one land on your slim fingers, and with a thought it was dancing around your fingers, floating on a breeze that was made entirely of you.

“Ive never seen anything like it.” Azriel spoke from the door, the feather died in the wind and fell into your palm. Curling your fingers around it you glanced at him over your shoulder.

Spymaster indeed, you hadn’t even heard his boots hit the floor.

“How do you mean?”

“Your magic. You. Its interesting to say the least.” He stepped forward cautiously, when you did not react, he moved to sit at the foot of your bed, watching you from your place on the floor.

Reaching forward you let the feather find a home on the floor. You grasped at the lace edges of the dress and pulled it into your lap to study it.

“A year ago, I would have found this quite pretty.” You mumbled, running your fingers over the delicate material. You felt his eyes boring into your back, a feeling that made your shoulders square uncomfortably.

“And why not find it pretty now?” He retorted lazily.

“The sleeves.”

“The sleeves?”

“Yes. They are to see through, as well as the back.” He hummed in acknowledgement then. You let the dress fall back to the floor and turned to face him. His hands were folded in his lap, gloved and hidden. The syphons on his leathers glowed slightly and lit the room in a deep blue haze.

“Your scars are nothing to be ashamed of, you know.” You chuffed a laugh in response to this and he shook his head, “I know how you feel about them.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do. Just like Feyre knows how it feels to lose her entire family.” You couldn’t help the clipped tone you replied with. Hearing ‘I understand’ was becoming quite annoying. Azriel merely sighed and stood from his spot on your bed.

Once he reached the door, he slid off his right glove and raised his hand into the light. The marred skin glinted and caught in the light and you sucked in a breath.

“You’re right. Maybe I don’t understand. Goodnight (y/n) I will see you to the cabin in the morning.” And with that Azriel had disappeared with a swirl of shadows and smoke.

Magic was something you could grow fond of, you decided in the morning. Before you had awoken the house had laid out another set of dark trousers, a black turtleneck, and dark leather boots.

Gone was the strain of being dressed by others or the stress of picking out an outfit for the day, the house simply decided this much for you, something you did not mind at all.

You dressed before the sun awoke for the day and sat at your vanity, fitfully braiding your hair. For a brief moment you wondered what you should pack. And the moment ended with a bitter chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” It was Azriel, standing in your doorway, leaning lazily against the oakwood.

“Do you ever knock, Shadowsinger?”

“I cannot say that I do.” He replied, unmoving from his position. “What made you laugh?”

You stared at him through the mirror before you, your hands making deft motions within your hair.

“I was just thinking about what to pack and then I remembered I have absolutely nothing to pack in the first place.” You smiled, though there was a clipped pain in the words. He nodded at this and stared at your reflection. Shadows curled around the tips of his wings, peaking at you from behind his dark curls.

You held his gaze momentarily before you moved away from the vanity. You fluffed the duvet, straightened the pillows, anything that kept your hands busy and your eyes averted. He was watching you, as he had watched you for the past several days.

“I find you unnerving.” You finally spoke, stopping your useless ministrations and standing to face him at full attention. Even from across the room he was large, his stature nearly blocking the entire doorway.

He had to be well over six foot, and while not as broad as Cassian, Azriel was still a sight to behold. He donned those dark leathers once more, the gloves firmly in place on his scarred hands.

“And why is that?”

“You just-“ Your cheeks heated momentarily and you turned away quickly to face the window. The sun was rising lazily over Velaris, and distantly you could see the city begin to shine in its light. “You just watch.”

He chuckled, actually chuckled at this. You heard him shift in the doorway but did not move to look at him. When he spoke again, his breath fanned against your ear, disturbing the hair there.

“You’re an interesting creature to watch (Y/N) Beddor.”

You sucked in a harsh breath and when you turned to face him, he was already back at the door, moving into the hallway. A small smirk curved at his lips.

“When you find yourself ready to leave, come downstairs. I am sure Elain will want to say goodbye.” And then he was gone.

You released a frustrated sigh, realizing then just how close he had been. Your spine became a rod of steel. It was certainly time to leave.

Elain was devastated to say the least. Utterly broken at the idea that she would no longer have someone to spend the quiet nights with. Now she was left with the overly loud males, and Nesta who never seemed to quit fussing over her.

Feyre hugged you cautiously, but said nothing, figuring you wouldn’t want to hear it anyway. She was right.

“The cabin is like the house; it stocks itself with anything you might need so don’t worry about starving or being cold. Like Feyre said, no one can get in without us knowing so you will be safe there for as long as you want to stay.” Rhysand was speaking to you from behind Feyre who’s waist he held in both hands.

You nodded at his words and picked anxiously at your fingernails. No one else had come to your departure, an observation you were not upset by. Having to speak to that many people again would have sent you spiraling, and you were sure that wouldn’t end well for the gold gilded picture frames that lined the entryway.

“Are you ready then?” Azriel quipped from the door. Your only response was to head outside. Rhysand raised his eyebrows at your retreating figure and chuckled wearily into the crown of Feyre’s head.

“Good luck with that one, Brother. Long flight ahead.” The only reply Rhysand received was a one fingered salute from Azriel as he followed you out the door.

-

To say flying with Azriel was terrifying would be a lie. This flight was much different than the one the Attor unwillingly took you on. It was smooth, and magic kept the wind and cold at bay. He cradled you against his chest bridal style, making sure his hands were at a respectful distance from anything you wouldn’t want touched. The snow capped mountains beneath glistened in the afternoon sun and you could see the glittering surface of the Sidra far below.

“Pretty isn’t it?”

You hummed in agreement and tightened your hold on his leathers as Azriel took a particularly swift drop, effectively eliciting a squeal from you. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips before it disappeared quickly.

“Why do you have wings and none of the other high fae do?”

Azriel’s brow quirked though his attention stayed focused on the open sky before you.

“Because Im not a high-fae. Im Illyrian.”

Your brows knitted and Azriel merely sighed and dug deep for an explanation that would make sense to you, who, up until last year didn’t know more than two types of fae (high and lesser) existed.

“We’re like the high fae, no pointy ears or strange habits though.” You nodded at this and took note of his rounded ears. You remembered that yours no longer looked like that and swallowed thickly.

Distantly, a cabin came into a view. A plume of smoke left its chimney and the front windows glowed with the promise of a warm hearth.

-

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[ann-writes-universes]

Archangel (AzrielxReader) REMASTER Pt. 3

A/N: Part Three of the remastered version of Archangel <3 Pt four will be posted shortly and then tomorrow evening two NEW parts to the series will be released. Thank you all <3

W/C: 4.3k ish

Warnings: Mentions of Violence, Angst, Cursing. (Please let me know if I missed anything.)

~

“So all I do is will it to whoever I want?”

Azriel nodded and watched as you stared at the piece of paper. When it disappeared into thin air and appeared in his hand across the room you smiled widely and clapped your hands.

“This way you can contact us whenever you need to.” He smiled in return and shadows enveloped the paper, effectively making it disappear. Your shoulders sagged in relief and you relaxed into the chair you sat in. A content sigh escaped your lungs and your ran your hands over your legs as you looked around the main living area of the cabin.

Feyre had added her touches everywhere, and with the fire going and the sun setting outside it made a cozy little scene. Azriel leaned against the wall nearest the fireplace, his arms crossed over his broad chest as he watched you, brows quirked.

“I can’t thank you enough for showing me how to do that. Makes me feel like I will be a little less alone out here until…” You swallowed hard and stared at the floor, “Until I can get myself together.”

The spymaster nodded and pushed away from the wall. He made his way to the front door, turning his head over his shoulder to look at you once more before leaving.

“Take as much time as you need (y/n). We’ll be here when you’re ready.”

You stared at him, and without warning a tear slid down your cheek. Nodding quickly, you wiped it away with the sleeve of your sweater and chuckled quietly.

“Thank you again, Azriel.”

“Anytime Beddor.”

-

Six days.

It took you six days to fall into a routine of your own.

Each day went precisely the same. You woke up before the sun, made breakfast to eat on the porch and watch the sun crest over the mountain peaks, drew a bath, got dressed, and then roamed aimlessly around the living room. Each day went precisely the same. There was however some variation during the night. When the sun fell to its lowest point and the stars began to shine you would stand outside of the cabin, bundled in blankets and void of shoes to stare at the sky in awe. Without fail, you would sob each time. The marvel of its beauty ignited a pain in your chest that gnawed and tore until your chest was caving in and breathing was suddenly the most difficult thing you could force your body to do.

How?

How had you lived in darkness for a year? With nothing. Nothing but rot, and torture, and darkness.The mountain had been void of starlight and powdery snow that now froze your feet but ignited a pain that was so real so much more tangible than the emotions you were experiencing being “free”.

You hadn’t.

You hadn’t lived, you had survived for a year.

On the seventh night, you sat. Sat in that freezing powder and dug your hands into it. That familiar pain of freezing enveloped your legs and fingers and you relished in it. For a year the pain you had experienced had not been of your choosing, this…this was yours. This feeling was your doing. Not the doing of Amarantha, or Hybern, or anyone. Just you.

The stars somersaulted and twinkled above you and the tears fell once more, though this time you laughed. A deep belly laugh, so powerful that you threw your body into the snow and began to flail your arms around wildly.

You flailed until the tears were replaced with only laughter. When you stood to admire your work, you thought about how similar your silhouette in the snow looked to those of Cassian and Azriel’s winged figures.

A year.

You hadn’t lived in a year.

This new body, this new world, it was yours.

-

When the sun rose into her rightful place in the sky, you were seated on the porch. A pen and paper sat on the ground by your legs and a steaming cup of tea was perched between your frozen hands.

In the yard, five snowmen now sat.

One was rather large, his partner smaller, two medium sized, and one just two snowballs tall. You had spent the night perfecting them. The tallest donned a dark jacket you had found in a closet inside (Rhysand’s?), His partner in a fur shawl that was sprinkled with snowflakes. The first medium sized snowman wore a crown of purple flowers that had somehow withstood the harsh winter. The tiniest of them all wore a smile made of pebbles and had

Sticks for arms that were splayed wide as though it wished for a hug. Only the second to last was barren.

You picked up the pen and paper.

Quickly, oh so quickly, you scribbled the words before you got too scared to send them and willed that little piece of paper out of existence.

When it returned you were back inside, feet kicked up on the couch, splayed out with your head resting on the plush rug.

Plans solidified, you smiled lazily and watched as the embers glowed in the fireplace. Tonight, you would try and cook something. You had never tried to cook anything other than simple meals for yourself. Maybe it was time you picked up a hobby you wanted to enjoy. Not one someone else chose for you. One of your own.

-

The cabin smelled like burnt food. The kitchen was a mess, and you were running about with the sleeves of your cream-colored sweater rolled up to your elbows. Your hair was plastered to your face and flour coated your hands and forearms.

Juggling pots and pans alike you huffed in frustration. How had the cooks at your estate managed to do this three times a day?

A knock sounded at the door.

“Shit.” You muttered, dropping a pan in the sink, its blackened contents splashing onto you, effectively ruining your sweater. With a grumble you dusted your hands off on your trousers and made your way to the door.

“Well, you look like you have been having fun.” Feyre smiled. Behind her, Rhysand chuckled lightly, clearly observing the damage you had done in his kitchen only moments before. You smiled nervously and moved out of the doorway.

“Well, I can’t say a renovation on the cabin was due, but it might be now…” Rhysand smiled, a hand Clasped at the back of his neck.

“Sorry about that.” You replied, motioning for them to sit at the dining table. They sat and Feyre looked around, a smile donned as she roved her eyes over her own history on the walls, now joined by flour that had seemingly exploded.

“I was going to try and make pasta but uhm… Well, I hope you aren’t starving.”

“We’ll survive.” Feyre replied, her eyes finding your own. They softened as Rhysand found his place beside her at the table, his hands clasped in his lap.

You didn’t sit immediately, you stood, watching them. How easily they relaxed in one another’s company. They were puzzle pieces, perfect for one another in every way. Like your mom and dad had been. Like you should have been with some well to do human boy, handpicked by your father.

They let you observe them, let you handpick the words you wanted, and simmer in that blissful silence, albeit awkward. It took longer than you thought it would to find the right thing to say.

“I wanted to thank you both for your hospitality, and I wanted to apologize for my outburst last week. I was, am, scared. I am so scared of everything going on and I have felt trapped in my own body for the past month and- and I just…” You were ringing your hands together and staring out the window at that little snowman with outstretched arms.

Feyre shifted in her seat and looked out the window. The moon was illuminating their frosty bodies and she sucked in a breath when she saw them.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, everything you said at dinner that night was true.” Rhysand began, leaning forward to capture your attention. His expression was void, entirely serious as he spoke, “We should talk about what happened. Take responsibility.”

“What happened to me is not your fault…” You interjected quickly. And it hadn’t been. They did not force Amarantha to torture you or force you into that cauldron with their own hands.

“No- but you are in part our responsibility now. We should have been there for you more, helped you transition into this life instead of just throwing you out to the wolves.” Feyre spoke, staring at her hands as she thought of what to say next. When her eyes found yours, they were glossy with tears.

You let your hands fall on the back of the chair before you, ran your fingers over the grain of the wood and dug your nails into it. You nodded at her statement; it was all you could do.

“I want to understand what I am, now that I know I can't change it- Feyre. I- I want to do something with my life now that I know it’ll never end naturally.” And gods, was that something you hadn’t stopped thinking of this week. You would never experience growing old, never be mourned by children and grandkids when old age finally took you in your sleep. No. No, when fae died it was gruesome and unplanned. They never got old, or weak, or sick and tired and frail. When they died it was because they were unlucky.

You contemplated that reality and realized slowly that you had nothing but time.

“Im 19 years old and I’ve already died and come back, isn’t that fucked?” You chuckled. Rhysand smiled sadly and looked away from you. Your lips thinned when neither of them laughed and you moved to sit across from them finally.

“I want someone to help me figure out what happened in the townhouse the other day when I… well when I did whatever it was I did.” Feyre nodded quickly, reaching out her hand for you to grab. You took it willingly and sighed, gazing once more at those snowmen outside.

Jacket.

Shawl.

Flowers.

Smile.

“We can send Amren to the cabin tomorrow. She’s a bit severe but would have the most answers.” Rhysand replied. His voice was distant, those snowmen looked so cold. ‘How Silly to think that, they’re made of snow’ you thought.

Jacket.

Shawl.

Flowers.

Smile.

“When we figure it out I know what I want to do.” You whispered. Feyre’s brows creased and she muttered a quiet “yes?”. Gods they were made of snow and you were worried about them being cold?

Jacket.

Shawl.

Flowers.

Smile.

“I want to kill Hybern.”

Feyre and Rhysand left not long after your revelation.

They were speechless, concerned, but deep down they understood the pain and anger you felt. Hybern had taken things from you, forced you into a body and a life that was never supposed to be yours. After a brief goodbye and a promise to send Amren to the cabin the following morning you were left in solitude once more.

That night was a fretful sleep.

Jacket.

Shawl.

Flowers.

Smile.

--

You awoke mid-day to a knock on the door, short and rapt.

A woman, short in stature stood on the porch, Azriel stood behind her. You were a mess; dark circles graced your features, and your hair was mused and awry.

“You look like shit.”

She murmured before shoving past you and into the living area of the cabin. Azriel visibly grimaced at her words and nodded towards the doorway. You sighed and moved out of his way, making your way to the kitchen for tea.

“I thought  just Amren was coming?” You questioned your back to the two who had made themselves comfortable at the dining table. Amren murmured something under her breath.

“Yes but she had no way to get here unless she was flown in. I can leave if you would like…” He offered, when you turned to him his brows were creased and he was leaned forward in his seat, poised to go if you asked.

Your shoulders slumped, and your grip on the warm mug you held tightened.

“No,” You shook your head “You might want to stay, in case whatever the hell I did the other night happens again.” He merely nodded and relaxed in his seat. From her own position, Amren was studying, pale eyes roving over your disheveled figure.

She was unsettling to say the least.

Her pearl-colored eyes seemed to swirl and move like smoke in a mirror and yet you could tell they were trained solely on you. They honed in on your very being and seemed to peer deeper than muscle and flesh itself, further.

“Can you explain to me what happened the other night? Rhysand tried but he wouldn’t know his own head from his ass if someone didn’t help him sometimes.” Azriel snorted at Amren’s words. Your cheeks heated and you swallowed thickly. Leaning against the counter behind you, you cleared your throat and found comfort staring out the front windows.

“I was- panicking. I couldn’t stop crying and my chest felt like it was going to explode. I kind of blacked out but the whole room was shaking, and the lights were flickering in and out.” You were struggling to remember what happened when Azriel butted in.

“She was glowing Amren.”

“Like day court glowing?” Amren looked to him with a creased brow, her hands flat on the table.

“No… no this was different.”

You had been glowing? You remembered how hot it had been in the room, how suffocating your skin felt but never once did you stop to think that the heat was coming from you .

“And she was warm, it was like I was holding fire.”

Amren hummed and turned her gaze back to you.

“(Y/N) were you scared?”

“Terrified.”

“Interesting.”

As if your eyes had fallen out of your head, the room vanished into nothing. You let out a gasp and the mug you held shattered in a spray of heat and clay on the hardwood below. Azriel’s chair scraped against the floor but a soft tut from Amren and the spymaster settled.

Then the room began to smell.

Rot and seawater consumed you and a symphony of screams began to fill your head. A sweat broke out across your forehead and your knees gave way beneath you.

“I-“

The air was no longer breathable, thick with the stench of death and gore. And yet still, you could not see. Utter darkness, a pitch so thick that you were sure you had gone blind. You flailed your hands about, keenly aware of the sharp ceramic on the ground as it sliced into your palms eliciting a pained cry that had the shadowsinger releasing a deep growl.

Heat.

It was unbearably hot, the sweater and pajama pants you wore were becoming soaked with sweat, too thick for the temperature now scorching the cabin. Fear, murky and thick settled in your chest and tears slid down your cheeks as those damned screams reached a crescendo.

“Make it, make it stop.” You choked out between pants and gasping breaths.

“You, make it stop.” Amren replied cooly. A small hand grabbed your shoulder firmly. You grasped for anything in your mind, light, memories, something other than that horrible screaming and that smell that grew thicker and thicker.

The empty chairs began to shuffle across the floor and pots in the kitchen began to rattle violently from their places within the cabernets. Glass hit a wall somewhere, and shortly after it, more shattering followed. Azriel cursed and his chair scraped violently against the floor once more. Amren hummed and as quickly as it had come, the darkness disappeared and the screaming died off entirely.

You sucked in a deep breath and coughed violently, steadying yourself on your elbows. You were laying in a puddle of tea and broken glass. Your body was slick with sweat and the cabin looked like shit. Pictures had fallen from the wall and with a sickening realization you concluded that the glass that shattered had been plates that had flown from their respective cabernets and hit the wall opposite the kitchen.

Azriel was hunched next to the table, a protective wall of shadows blocking him from the projectiles you had produced. Amren was perched, unharmed, on her chair and staring at you with a quirked brow.

“It’s a fear response. Energy manipulation at its core but there’s something else you’re doing that I can’t quite put my finger on.” Her tone was so nonchalant that it made your blood boil. Fear was quickly replaced with anger as you stared at her from your spot on the floor.

“What the FUCK is wrong with you?!” You screamed, pushing yourself off the floor to stand before her. The pots began to rattle again.

A soothing lick of shadows snaked up your spine and Amren began to smile. She quirked her head to the side and looked out the window.

“Not just fear, anger as well.”

“I feel like there was a way better way to figure that out than blinding me.” You hissed, stalking towards the back hallway.

“Not really. None that would have been that effective.” She shouted after you.

In the safety of your bathroom you stripped the tea soaked clothes from your body and drew a bath. The scalding water filled the room with steam. A knock reverberated through the room and you let out a string of mumbled curses.

“(Y/N)? How long will you be? We have a lot to get done today.” Azriel spoke from the other side. With deft hands you wrapped a towel around your frame before swinging the door open.

Hazel eyes widened and membranous wings flared slightly. Azriel sucked in a breath before clearing his throat and quickly turning away from you.

“Shit im sorry Azriel!” You sputtered, closing the door just enough to block your frame. If you looked in a mirror you were sure your entire body would be the most horrendous shade of pink. Azriel cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably.

“No, its alright, I should have waited until you were done.”

“I won’t be long, I promise.” You whispered. He simply nodded and left the room, not once looking at you.

You spent two weeks with the two of them. Amren would find different ways to send you spiraling each day until at some point without even realizing you were able to summon that energy on your own and overcome the scenarios she created in your mind.

It happened by accident really, the three of you had been outside, snow falling in copious amounts. Amren had launched a snowball at you in jest, and before you realized it you were sending down a thunderous amount on her lithe form.

You erupted into a fit of laughter and smiles, which were returned by Amren who ran across the yard to embrace you in a hug.

Truth be told, in those two weeks, you had grown quite close with her and Azriel. They were the only people you spoke to; save for the letters you would exchange with Elain on occasion. And their presence had become quite comforting.

Your trio sat now in the living room, perched on different couches and staring into the blazing hearth before you. It had been a couple of hours since Amren had called it quits for the day and you had all fallen into pleasant conversation about the different abilities some fae possessed.

“And Tamlin…”

“The one Feyre was held captive by?”

“Yes… that one. He can take the form of creatures. It’s a trait that most high lords of spring possess.” Amren informed you. She had already gone over the powers other High Lord’s possessed and was sure to make It known that many of them kept their power under lock and key.

“It’s a little unfair…” You whispered then, distantly staring at those flames as they licked at their stone enclosure. Amren tilted her head and uttered a soft hum in question. “That you- we get to live forever and have mystical capabilities while the human beings are powerless against us.” You finished, turning your gaze then to Amren’s own.

She frowned slightly and looked at her tea.

“But that’s a beautiful thing isn’t it?” She asked, finding your gaze once more. “That they get to live, knowing that, inevitably- they will die.”

“That’s a bit morbid Amren.” Azriel chimed in from his relaxed position on his own respective couch. His brows were raised at her comment though his posture was lax.

“No, not at all. Living when you know you will not live forever is a wonderful thing. You seek to give love and for it to be reciprocated. Every experience is new and there’s an endless number of experiences to be had. When you live as long as I have, as you both hopefully will, everything sort of blends together I guess. Not much tends to be exciting except for war and the occasional fuck.” And when she finished you were crying.

She was being honest with you, and you had known that little soliloquy was indeed directed at you. Not once had her eye contact broken. Of course, she hadn’t meant to make you cry, that much was evident when she quickly stopped speaking at the first sign of tears. But something about the finality of your immortality seemed so cosmically ironic that it made you want to curl into a ball and never get up again.

“If you both would excuse me for a moment.”

And then you were standing and leaving your now cold tea on the coffee table to walk outside. Snow was still falling lazily from the sky and your snowmen had begun to lose their shape. With deft hands you began to touch them up, beginning with the smallest one and working your way up.

When you were human, before all of this mess, you envied the faes’ immortality. What young woman wouldn’t? The tales of beautiful fae women who never got old, or sick. Fae Women who could bring a man to his knees with how striking they were. Fae who got to experience the world without fear of death or disease. It all seemed so magical.

Now it just seemed like a curse.

Forever was an incredibly long time. Staring at the little snowman before you, you realized that forever would be a long time to miss someone. To mourn someone. And the tears just didn’t stop.

“It gets better.” Azriel spoke from behind you. You sniffled and wiped your running nose with the sleeve of your sweater. You hadn’t even heard him come outside.

“Oh?” You replied, never turning away from the work you were doing on the frozen pile before you. Your trousers were growing wet from kneeling and your hands were freezing, but you didn’t care.

“Yes, believe it or not. It does.” And something in his voice made you not want to question him any further.

The snow shuffled and Azriel was standing beside your kneeling form, watching as you worked. He observed the three others and cocked his head to the side.

“Why is yours bare?”

“What?”

“Your snowman. It has nothing special.”

Your hands fell still.

His gaze found yours, and he quirked a brow in question. Swallowing thickly, you looked back at the creation before you, and its lopsided grin.

“And what if that snowman isn’t even supposed to be me?”

“Well in that case you just got lazy. But from what I have gathered,” He moved towards the tallest then, and adjusted its jacket, dusting the snow off of its sleeves. “This one is your father; manly, proper, dashing even?” The second snowman then, adjusting the fur shawl that was sliding off of it, “Your mother; elegant though a bit overwhelming I’m guessing since all she has are eyes made of… is that?”

“Coal, yes.”

“Anyhow….” He moved to the flower donned snow lump and smiled softly, “Your sister; gentle, loving, admired.” Skipping the third he moved to the smallest in front of you and kneeled behind it. He was so large that even on his knees he was peering down at you through his lashes as he spoke, “And your brother; young, happy, joyful.” His gaze fell to the blank snowman once more, “And then there’s you. Void of everything that makes you unique.”

Despite the pain in your chest, you released a gentle chuckle that was met with a look of confusion from the male before you.

“You got all of that…from snowmen?”

He smiled ever so slightly and flared his wings proudly, “It’s kind of my job to understand details when I am given nothing else to go off of.”

You hummed in understanding and looked at your snowman. Tilting your head you thought deeply. And then an idea seemed to strike your peer. He held up a finger at you when he stood and made his way towards the house, motioning for you to await his return.

“Don’t look!” He shouted from the porch as he began his return, and despite how silly you felt, you looked towards the mountain range beyond the house. You could hear him struggling to adjust whatever he was tweaking on your yard art and his wing grazed your back when it flared against the struggle.

“Okay you can look now.”

Your snowman was no longer bare. He had fashioned her pointy ears made of paper and shoved one of your broken plates into the frozen ground before her. And above her head, hovering like a hallow was a fae light, warm and bright.

Azriel smiled softly down at you and extended his hand to help you up. Taking it gratefully, you wiped at your eyes and chuckled at the sight.

“Broken plates and fae lights, huh?” You muttered

“Broken plates and fae lights.”

 ~

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