#and went all mother bear on him for Nesta

[elidelochans]

Ember in the BAM bonus chapter

[daycourtofficial]

I Know Something You Don’t Know

Summary: Everyone else finds out you and Azriel are expecting a baby before you and Azriel do.

Author’s note: this is something? Isk where it came from, just went with it.

Cassian loved calm mornings. Coming home from training, cleaning up, and enjoying a few hours of calm to himself. He usually just lounges about the house, in various rooms, soaking in the silence, thinking about his day, his family, anything really.

He was sure this was to be one of those mornings, until he hears you bustling down the stairs in a quick pace.

Upon seeing Cassian at the table, calmly eating his array of sausages and bacon, you give him a nod.

The general laughs at his brother’s mate, whose arms are full of supplies to do mother knows what.

“Do you still have a body under all that stuff or are you just a tent with legs now?” He asks, laughing.

“Har har,” you reply, walking briskly through the room, “I told my nephews I’d teach them how to set up a tent and I’m running late. Can you open the door for me?”

Cassian rises, obliging your request. He loved ribbing you, but he also adored you as a person and as Azriel’s mate. You and Feyre were the best people to have as in-laws, a sentiment his brothers likely don’t share about his own mate.

“Well, I hope you all have a great time camping, don’t get eaten by any bears, please.” He says, opening the door for you.

“Ah, we’ll just be in my sister’s backyard camping, but it’ll be loads of fun. See you later, Cass!” You say, walking through the door.

Once the door is shut behind you, Cassian freezes as your scent lingers in the doorway. Your usual scent, of course, with a very soft, delicate undertone of flowers mixed in. So soft, he didn’t notice it while you were here.

Pregnant.

-

Cassian got the relaxing morning he thought he would. No one else came back to the house for several hours, an opportunity Cassian would usually relish and take delight in. Today his thoughts would only allow him to think of his brother and you and your babe.

His first thought was if Azriel knew, and knowing his brother, if he had any inclination you were pregnant, he wouldn’t have let you leave alone.

When the two of you mated, Azriel was insufferable. He was certain you would die from suffocation due to his hovering. On your first time seeing everyone after the frenzy, Cassian went to hug you and Azriel growled at him. You were incredibly patient and understanding, recognizing that it came from a mixture of his instincts to protect and his fear of anything happening to you.

It got so bad at one point you started bringing a spray bottle and would spray him when he was being too territorial.

Nesta and Feyre had walked into the house to find Cassian sitting at the table, pulling on his hair, a mixture of excitement and concern on his face. It was obvious he’d been sitting there for hours, his long forgotten breakfast gone cold hours ago.

“Cass, are you alright?” Feyre asks, coming to sit next to him.

Feyre’s voice breaks him out of his stupor, “Pregnant,” is all he can muster.

Fwyre looks at Nesta, “no no, not me,” Nesta replies, sniffing the air, “not you either.”

Feyre looks back at Cassian, “are you the pregnant one, Cass?”

“Azriel is.”

Feyre’s smirk drops from her face, “w-what?”

“Well okay not Azriel, but she is. She’s pregnant. They’re having a baby!”

Cassian feels ten pounds lighter being able to share this with someone. He jumps from his chair, standing in front of Feyre and Nesta.

“They’re having a baby, and neither of them know it.”

-

This day was absolutely rubbish for Azriel. Boring meetings, messy work, and stupid paperwork had him leaving early and staying incredibly late. All he wanted was to come home, eat dinner, and lay in bed with you on top of him.

He walked into the doors of the house, not expecting to find anyone, let alone finding his whole family in the foyer bickering like children.

“Okay but where will the banner go!” Cassian yelled at Mor.

“We already have a banner, we don’t need yours!”

“Yeah but I hand painted mine! I want them to know I was the first to know and that I’m the most excited for them!”

Feyre scoffs at Cassian, “if you’re the most excited, then why have Rhys and I already hired a team of nursemaids and nannies and have been gathering nursery supplies all day?”

Cassian rolls his eyes at his sister in law and high lady, “okay fine, you’ve spent the most money on the child, but I’ll teach them how to fly and all the best swear words.”

Mor starts to rebuttle, “yeah but I’ll be the best aunt, we’ll go shopping and,” she pauses, the first to notice Azriel’s return home, “Az, you’re home.”

All eyes snap to Azriel in the doorway, and he is no closer to figuring out what he’s looking at. Balloons are strewn about, as are streamers, there’s confetti, cakes, and what look like two banners that he can’t see what they say.

“What’s all this? Is it someone’s birthday?” He asks, walking forward and swiping some icing off a cake as Elain tuts at him and swats his hand.

“Uh,” Cassian replies, “it will be someone’s birthday.”

Azriel looks at him, “what does that mean?”

Cassian walks towards his brother, his arms outstretched, clamping down on his shoulders.

Looking him the eye, Cassian says, “do not freak out in that Azriel way you do when big things happen.”

Azriel scoffs, trying to shrug off Cassian’s hands. “I do not ‘freak out’,” his last words in air quotes.

Cassian continues speaking, “yeah says the guy who hid for two weeks when the mating bond snapped for him.”

Azriel opens his mouth to argue, but Cassian continues. “Speaking of, I saw your lovely mate as she left this morning.”

Azriel looks at Cassian, waiting for him to continue. “And after she left I realized there was a… scent.”

Azriel stiffens, his instincts kicking in as he responds, “what kind of scent?”

Cassian immediately shuts down Azriel’s thoughts, “whoa nothing like that, no. She’d never smell like another male, she’s too obsessed with you. No, it was a-a baby. She’s pregnant.”

As Cassian’s words were registering in his brain, Mor slowly lifted the banner so he could see that it said “Congratulations Bat Baby!”

Azriel looks at Cassian, deep-rooted fear of allowing his hopes to rise just to have them taken from him, “you’re sure? Absolutely sure?”

Cassian, unable to gauge Azriel’s reaction, replies with a quick, “yes.” Azriel wastes no time, sweeping Cassian up into a hug, lifting him off the ground. This show of affection was abnormal for Az, especially initiated by him, but Cassian gladly enjoys the moment.

Cassian can feel Azriel laughing into his chest as he sets him down, and everyone in the room is smiling at him, feeling his joy.

Azriel looks at Cassian, “but wait - do all of us know? Except for her?”

Cassian looks a bit sheepish, “well… maybe?”

-

Walking back towards the house, you walk through the open markets of Velaris, loving the smells of all the flowers and fresh bread. Walking through the vendors, several of them stop you, giving you gifts. You try to decline them, unable to accept their flowers, their chocolates, their breads. But they won’t let you give them back, and they absolutely refuse to allow you to pay for the gifts.

“I can’t just take these without paying!” You tell one vendor you frequent, Lila.

Lila scoffs at you, “it is called a gift! Have you never received one before?”

You roll your eyes, “of course I have, but this is different-“

Lila interrupts you, “it is not different. This is a gift. Accept it. Congratulations.”

You look at her in bewilderment, but a customer comes in at that moment and takes Lila’s attention. You walk through the market, your arms full of gifts from the vendors you frequent, confused as to why you have them.

You walk up the steps into the townhouse, toeing open the door after spending several minutes trying to find your keys.

“Honey?” You call out, removing your keys from the door. “The people of Velaris have gone nuts.”

You start making your way into the living room, still carrying what feels like 50 pounds of flowers. “They kept giving me things. We have like 20 bouquets and 10 loaves of bread!”

You feel him approach, helping grab things out of your arms and setting them down. “Did something happen and I missed it? Lila even congratulated me-“ Your words stop as you see the banners over the doorway.

“CONGRATULATIONS BAT BABY!” in beautiful writing, with little bats painted all over it.

Another one reads, “CONGRATS ON THE BAT!”

One written in what appears to be Cassian’s handwriting says, “I’M GOING TO BE AN UNCLE!”

You look at Azriel, still not understanding. “What’s happening?” You finally take a good look at him, and he is on the verge of crying.

“When you left this morning, Cassian smelled you. I didn’t want to get too excited until I smelled you myself, but oh gods.”

He wraps you in his arms, deeply inhaling you. “You’re pregnant,” he laughs into your shoulder.

“Pregnant?” You ask him, clearly not having heard him correctly.

You and Azriel stopped taking contraceptives a few years ago, knowing it would probably be a century before you had a baby of your own.

“Me? Pregnant?” He laughs, “yes.”

He pauses, thinking about something. “Is this still something you want? We jumped the gun a bit with the decorating, but I assumed because we talked before.” He looks into your eyes, “if you’ve changed your mind, that’s okay. We’ll figure something out. It’s-“

You cut him off, “I haven’t changed my mind, I’m just..” you trail off, looking around you, “amazed I’m the last one to know!”

The both of you laugh, Azriel grabbing your face and kissing you deeply. When you pull away, all of the inner circle has winnowed in, Cassian shooting off confetti.

“Surprise!” They all yell, laughing. The joy thrumming through the bond with Azriel is all consuming from both ends, and you’re sure everyone around you can feel it.

Cassian approaches you, embracing you in a big hug. He kisses the top of your head, then crouches down so he’s eye level with your stomach.

“Hi Cassian Jr.” he says. Azriel scoffs, pushing him so he falls on the floor.

“What? I figured it out, I get naming rights!”

“I don’t think that’s how it works, dummy.” Mor tells him, giving him a pointed look as she sweeps you into a hug.

“I’m so happy for you,” she says, pulling back to look at you. “Me too,” you tell her. She looks at Azriel, who has let the happiness fade enough for his instincts to kick in, “not happy to deal with him during your pregnancy.”

You laugh, “it’ll be a miracle if he lets me leave the house.” He scoffs, as if he’d ever let you out of his sight again.

Feyre approaches you, cradling Nyx in her arms. “They’ll be, what, a year and a half apart?” You smile at her, cooing at the baby in her arms. “They’re going to be best friends,” you tell her.

All of you spend the evening laughing, drinking, eating all the sweets Elain baked, and soaking in all the joy from the newest addition to the family.

[lovemyromance]

Now this has likely already been analyzed and theorized over the course of the past 3-4 years in this fandom, but since I haven't seen it before I am presenting a theory:

We all read the Elriel moment with the potato dish in ACOSF and clocked it as something interesting. It's not necessarily romantic per se, but it's thoughtful. It's odd enough to call attention to such a normal scene of serving dinner that I raised my eyebrows and wondered why SJM even wrote this.

Now, bear with me while I present the same content for the 308th time probably, but this time, like a tour guide at Jurassic park:

A few things to call out here:

See how Elain goes still at the sight of Azriel? It's parallel to that scene in ACOWAR where Cassian & Azriel both go still at the sight of Nesta & Elain.

Then we have Azriel. He "just moved towards her", like it was instinct. AND THEN - here's the real keep-you-awake-at-night point: Mor tenses

Why does she tense? Why are HER reactions to Elriel moments always so peculiar? Even in ACOWAR, we have this moment when Azriel disappears (where did he go?) and Mor stares at where he had been standing? What is Mor thinking?

It's interesting because we don't know what her powers are other than "Truth" - whatever tf that means. What if she sees something between Elain & Azriel that surprises her, even?

The story gets even deeper when you combine Azriel AND Feyre questioning the cauldron. I cannot stress this enough when I say that no other pair of mates has been questioned in this series other than Elain & Lucien. You have MULTIPLE main characters describing their relationship or lack thereof as uncomfortable and questioning their bond.

Now, I'm not going to sit here and say the Elucien bond is fake. I don't think it is, but I genuinely think Elain - as the cauldron's favorite - might have two bonds. One with Lucien - Cauldron Made, likely to provide strong offspring but not necessarily an ideal love match, like Rhys & Tamlin's parents. But then also one bond with Azriel, which is blessed by the Mother, which is more similar to what Feysand and Nessian have.

And I think that entire scene with the potatoes, everything from describing the potato steam like "Azriel's shadows" to Azriel not letting anyone eat before she sits down - I think it's a big hint that Elain & Azriel also share some kind of bond. I think Azriel, at least, is more aware of the traditions and religion so he has an idea of what he's feeling. It's what leads him to ask the question "What if the cauldron was wrong?" (And then later discover it was, in fact, wrong)

I have a theory that Azriel at least suspects there's a bond between them. Maybe that's why he took the potato dish out of her hands, so she couldn't serve him. He didn't want to give her another "You're my mate" PTSD. Or he might not realize WHAT it is yet, be he can feel it. He knows there is something there between them.

It's why he questions the cauldron (nobody is questioning their religion over 'just lust'). It's why Mor sees it too. It's why Azriel can smell the Elucien bond and it makes him sick. It's why he went sicko mode when he realized she had been taken by the Cauldron. It's why Elain knows him so well, even though we only see a handful of their interactions on the page. It's why their BC encounter was so hot and full of UST. Like they are down bad for each other and it is CLEAR.

[a-court-of-fics-and-errors]

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 44

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 2.6K

Author's Note: This is a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

The days stretched on into weeks and the absence of news about the conflict between the Night Court and Autumn Court gnawed at your stomach like a knot. You kept telling yourself that no news was better than bad news, but it did little to ease your worries. Trying to distract yourself, you threw yourself into community housing projects and outreach work. Living in the apartments now, you saw firsthand the changes that needed to be made - everything was too dull and lifeless. Despite hoping that residents would bring their own personal touches to make the place cozier, many of them had nothing more than the clothes on their backs. It was then that you decided to create a fund for hiring interior designers from Velaris' fashion districts to liven up the homes. However, many of them were hesitant to step foot into the lower end of the city, let alone work for its impoverished residents. But there were a few generous souls who gladly offered their time, resources, and expertise to help transform the complex. Plush carpeting, fresh paint, and cozy furniture slowly brought life back into the once dreary space.

Your days were now consumed with work, keeping busy whenever there was a moment of quiet. But despite your efforts, thoughts of Azriel lingered constantly. You wondered what he ate for dinner, if it was anything like the delicious chicken curry that one of the mothers had spent all afternoon preparing but didn't have enough ingredients to feed everyone. Did he reach for you in his sleep, searching for warmth and finding only cold sheets? Did he gaze at the moon and feel comfort knowing you were both living under the same night sky?

As promised, Rhysand came to the apartments three times a week, bearing trays of delectable desserts made by Elain and fabric swatches painstakingly chosen and sent by Nesta. Even though you often found yourself lost in thought, trying to discern the minute differences between the fabrics, Nesta still desperately sought your opinion on the nursery. It was an odd sight, seeing the High Lord of the Night Court seated in a too-small apartment, perched upon a rickety second-hand chair. The residents would bow down in reverence at his presence, but he would just give them a soft smile, urging them not to treat him as anything more than a visitor. You rolled your eyes at this statement, knowing all too well that those who saw him with such admiration would be shocked to see him lounging in an oversized chair in his library - feet propped up in pajamas while Nyx curled into his lap, both of their hair tousled from sleep. It was a familiar scene for you now. How had you become so intimately acquainted with the most powerful male in all of the Night Court?

Your conversations were solely focused on practical matters - discussions about the housing project, funding allocations, building permits and requests for aid. You often also worked on your shielding practice. But there was one question that lingered in your mind - if you were able to build up that barrier between you and your mate, could you return to the safety of the Townhouse, to Azriel? Although a part of you wanted to ask Rhysand for his plans regarding your future, you hesitated. You thought it better to live in the naivety that if you just worked hard enough on your shielding you might be able to go home instead of the more probably reality that even if you could keep everyone out, you wouldn’t be allowed back until everything had been resolved.

—

The bed was like a slab of concrete, the sheets coarse and rough against your skin as you lay on your side. The darkness of the room seemed to press in, with only the faint light from the streetlights outside casting long shadows of trees onto the ceiling. The branches swayed and scraped against the window, causing an eerie rhythm that matched the howling wind outside. You squinted at your clock, trying to make out the time. Was it nearing three in the morning? It felt like hours had passed since you crawled into bed, but sleep still eluded you. With a heavy sigh, you rolled onto your back, feeling the cool lace of your nightdress brush against your fingers. The blankets were suffocatingly warm, so you kicked them off, only to be met with a sharp chill from the drafty windows that refused to seal properly. Another thing to add to your never-ending list of things to fix within the apartments.

You slowly swung your legs over the edge of the bed, feeling the hard mattress beneath you as you sat up. Rubbing your tired eyes, you took a moment to adjust to the dimly lit room. With a sigh, you stood up and your toes touched the cold wood floor, sending a shiver through your body. Your back ached with exhaustion as you walked over to the desk on the other side of the room. Flicking on a small lamp, you pulled on the cozy wool cardigan that was draped over the chair, still warm from when you had thrown it there earlier in the day. The thick material hugged your body as you settled into the desk chair, surrounded by stacks of papers waiting to be sorted through. The desk was cluttered and much too small for all of your work, so instead of working there, you often spread everything out on the floor like a giant map. But tonight, it was too late for that, so you simply grabbed a fresh sheet of parchment and started writing a letter to a contractor who could potentially fix your broken windows.

As you wrote down a few words, a cool breeze brushed against your ankle, causing you to look down in surprise. But there was nothing there. You shook your head, pushing away any creeping feelings of loneliness or sadness. Brushing a strand of hair out of your face, you continued writing. Suddenly, another chill ran up your leg and you couldn't ignore it any longer. Pushing away from the desk, you got down on your hands and knees to investigate.

In the corner of the room, two shadows darted up the wall and disappeared into darkness. You let out a light laugh and whispered out into the empty space, "Hello." Your voice caused ripples in the darkness and for a brief moment, it seemed like something was stirring.

"It's okay," you whispered again, beckoning them closer. "Come down!"

One of the shadows hesitantly crept out from the darkness, moving along the top of the wall like a cautious cat. "Don't be shy," you encouraged with a soft laugh.

The shadow paused for a moment, its edges rippling and shifting in thought. Slowly, it started to make its way down the wall, eventually morphing into a thin line before dissolving into a pile on the floor. "Come on," you whispered, crouching down and reaching out your hand.

The other shadow, slightly smaller than the first, followed suit and slithered down the wall towards you. It stayed close to the floor, wrapping around your ankles as it cautiously approached. As it touched your fingertips, you could feel the coldness of its touch enveloping your hand in a grey fog. But as it recognized your touch, it seemed to gain confidence and began moving more quickly up your arm.

You couldn't help but giggle as the cool tickle of the first shadow joined by another, both climbing onto your lap and wrapping themselves around you. The first shadow seemed to have a mind of its own, making its way up your body until it reached your neck, sending a shiver down your spine with its chilly touch. It then weaved through your hair, lightly tugging at strands as it hid behind you while the second shadow curled around your thighs and settled in your lap.

"Did he send you?" You whispered. The shadows seemed to quiver with excitement and you took that as a yes. "Is he doing alright?" The shadows seemed to pause momentarily, their movements becoming more drawn out as if considering your question. You couldn't bring yourself to hope for good news as the shadow on your lap curled down towards the floor. Suddenly, it slithered over to the lamp, coiling around the adjustable arm and then rearing up as though it was looking right at you. You raised an eyebrow in confusion. "What?" The shadow continued its slithering path, occasionally stopping to seemingly look at you.

You stood up and approached the lamp where the shadow seemed to pause in its journey, staring back at you. "What do you want?" You asked, reaching out to touch the lamp and adjusting the arm slightly downwards. The shadow halted its movement so you stopped yours as well. But when you started moving the arm of the lamp back up, the shadow picked up its pace again. You soon realized that this was how it communicated. As you turned the lamp upwards, the light illuminated against the wall, casting bright rays against the otherwise bland beige paint. In what seemed like pure excitement, the shadow scampered down your arm and back up again before joining its companion on the wall.

You took a cautious step back, your eyes locked on the two shadows as they seemed to merge and shift against the wall. The darkness coalesced into a swirling mass, like ink spilled on a canvas, until it finally split apart into two distinct figures. The larger shadow moved to one side of the light while the smaller one slunk to the opposite, as if in a dance.

Feeling a chill run down your spine, you retreated further onto the bed and pulled the rough wool blanket over your legs. As you watched, transfixed, the larger shadow began to take shape - sharp edges forming and an image materializing before your eyes. It was a male figure, with wings that resembled those of a bat. Your heart caught in your throat as the other shadow also shifted into a silhouette of a female.

The two shadows turned to face each other, their postures mirroring that of two lovers leaning against a windowsill. But then, the larger shadow split into two smaller pieces that scampered across the wall towards the female figure. With awe, you realized that these shadows were telling you a story - how Azriel had sent them to comfort you in his absence.

A small smile tugged at your lips and you felt tears prick at your eyes - tears of joy and longing. But you quickly blinked them away as the shadows morphed once again, shifting back into their amorphous forms before intertwining in the center and taking new shapes.

This time, it was the familiar outlines of Azriel and yourself. The two shadows embraced, their arms wrapping around each other in an intimate embrace. You could almost feel Azriel's kiss pressed gently into your hair - just as he always did when you hugged.

The shadows danced and shifted, creating a mesmerizing display of figures in the dimly lit room. Azriel sat at his desk, his brow furrowed in concentration as he ran his hand through his hair - a nervous habit that you had grown to love. In one swift motion, he crumpled a piece of paper and tossed it away from the light, where it disappeared into the darkness.

You chuckled softly as the shadows transformed again, this time into the muscular form of Cassian with his signature half-up bun. Beside him stood Nesta, her pregnant belly rounded and glowing in the dim light. She delicately hung stars and moons onto a mobile, while Cassian worked on something below with a hammer in hand. The pile of materials suddenly transformed into a beautiful cradle, which Cassian proudly presented to Nesta.

So he had built it after all, you thought to yourself with a smile.

Cassian wrapped his strong arm around Nesta's shoulders as she rested her head against him, her hand gently tracing over her stomach. The scene before you was one of pure love and contentment, and you couldn't help but feel your heart swell at the sight.

The shifting shadows revealed Azriel, standing on a balcony overlooking the moonlit city below. The other shadow, representing the moon, soared upwards as Azriel reached out to touch it with one hand. But his posture was hunched and tense, back rising and falling as though it was sobbing. Your own tears mirrored his as you watched Nesta approach him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. The shadow of Azriel turned and fell into her embrace, continuing to cry.

The scene shifted once again, showing the shadow of Azriel and your own shadowy figure walking together, hand in hand in slow motion. As you continued walking forward, the shadow of Azriel suddenly stopped and reached back for you. Your shadow turned to face him and he rushed towards you, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you up into the air with joy. A bittersweet laugh escaped your lips as the shadow of Azriel brought your figure close to his, pressing a tender kiss against your lips.

In another scene, the shadows depicted a family dinner with Cassian, Azriel, Rhysand, Feyre, Nyx, Lucien, Elain, and an empty chair. As the shadows sat down to eat and a somber silence settled over them, even little Nyx remained still in his seat. The shadow of Azriel looked towards the empty chair – your chair – and you could feel their longing for you.

Once more, the shadows shifted to show Nyx standing on a platform with Cassian, Azriel, and Rhys at the edge of a lake. The shadows moved like waves over the water as Nyx took a running leap off the platform, his small wings flapping furiously before giving out and sending him plunging into the water below. The shadow of Cassian erupted in laughter while the shadow of Azriel pretended to winnow down to rescue the little boy. The scene repeated a few more times until finally, Nyx took a running leap and his wings caught in the air, allowing him to flap upwards with pride. The shadows of the three males on the platform joined Nyx in the air, their wings unfurling in celebration. He had learned to fly, something Feyre had been so worried about.

The shadows danced and shifted, revealing scenes from your old life that you had never truly appreciated until now. Moments with Azriel stood out the most - curling up on the couch together, wandering through the vibrant streets of Velaris. As they settled into place, the cool touch of the shadows caressed your skin, causing a shiver to run down your spine. One shadow even reached out to brush away a stray tear rolling down your cheek. You let out a soft sniffle and whispered, "Thank you."

In response, the shadows seemed to flicker and settle further around you, as if trying to comfort you in their own way. You allowed yourself to fully absorb the sensation of being enveloped by them, knowing it was Azriel who had sent them, directing them to show you what you had missed and how much he longed for you.

Feeling grateful, you shared your own memories with the shadows, including a few moments that you knew would make Azriel blush for slightly different reasons. With a smile, you thanked the shadows once more and watched as they dissipated into the night, carrying your love and longing back to their master who was surely missing you just as much as you were missing him.

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@hauntedpiratenacho

[fieldofdaisiies]

nessian week masterlist

I haven’t done headcanons in a long time, and for this prompt it felt so right to do some fluffy modern Nessian + daughter Alayla ones

while on the outside Cassian is this strong and tough army general, behind closed doors and especially with his daughter, his is this big soft teddy bear

there is not a single wish he would not fulfil his little daughter (or his wonderful wife Nesta)

that can reach from breakfast in bed, to tea parties with her stuffed animals or going to Disney Land

“Try it!” Alayla is beaming, watching how Cassian takes a bite from the chocolate cookie she has just made. She mixed together all sorts of things in the kitchen, Cassian watched her and then helped her bake them (he would never allow her to use the oven alone).

Cassian fights the urge to grimace, tries to force a smile on his lips while nodding, and forcing down the bite. It’s disgusting, but how should he tell her?

“Lovely,” he brings out, still trying to smile.

But Alayla pouts, reading him just as well as her mother. “You hate them?” She furrows her brows, and silver lines her eyes.

So, Cassian is quick, shoving the whole cookie into his mouth and then a second one. “No. Deli-f-oms.” He holds both his thumbs up. “I momf them.”

Alayla also loves to play beauty salon and paint her parents nails, or do their hair

“Your right hand, daddy.” Alayla throws her hands, also the one tightly clasping the nail polish brush with the hot pink tip, into the air. “You need to focus, we are not doing this for fun. This is business.” She rolls her eyes and with the toss of her hair over her right shoulder she reaches for Cassian’s hand and holds it down before starting to paint his thumb and also the skin around it in bright pink.

Nesta laughs, slightly mischievously, from where she is leaning against the doorframe, her gaze moving from her daughter and Cassian to her own hands and the bright orange and pastel green gracing her nails, and the skin around them.

“Mummy always calls you my pretty man so we need to do your hair next.” Alayla thankfully spared Nesta’s hair. She explained to her daughter that it would be lovely if the blow-out she had done just the day before could stay the way it is.

Reluctantly, Alayla had agreed and decided to do Cassian’s hair instead, braiding some strands and pinning others with Barbie and Paw Patrol hair clips. (Also, on more than one occasion has it happened already that Nesta went to work with a one of those hair clips pinned to her hair). 

Rhys and Az will never let Cassian forget that one day he also forgot to remove the hot pink from his nails and fingers and showed up like this to training – “A sight for sore eyes,” as Rhys called it

Az and Rhys have been laughing for a solid twenty minutes, until Cassian came up with some stories about them and their kids

let’s now talk about cuddling

this family loves cuddling

staying in bed on a rainy Sunday, watching Alayla’s favourite shows on the TV in Nesta and Cassian’s bedroom, while eating in bed

“What’s his name?” Cassian asks, taking a big bite from his toast. 

Alayla sighs dramatically and Nesta, laughing, says. “It’s a girl, Cass, and her name is Skye. You finally need to remember.”

“You really do, she’s my favourite.” Alayla grins, mimicking the way Skye, the dog, is flying over the sky. Then she rests her hand on Cassian’s shoulder, and purses her lips. “Who is your favourite?” she asks in a very serious tone. 

Cassian swallows, then squints his eyes at the screen before looking at his daughter. Her eyes are trained on the TV screen and so Cassian throws Nesta a help seeking glance, before mouthing “What is the fire pup’s name?”

Nesta has to hold back from laughing, she bites the insides of her cheeks and then mouths “Marshall.” 

A thankful smile appears on Cassian’s face. “Marshall!”

“Ah!” Alayla taps her chin, nodding slowly. “Interesting.”

Interesting indeed, Cassian thinks when he ends up having to play said dog when Nyx, Dalia and Zada are over for a visit. 

Since they are three girls and only one boy (Nyx wants to be Chase, Dalia Everest, Zada Zuma) they are in need of another male dog and since Cassian’s favourite is Marshall, he earns himself this roll, much to Nesta’s amusement

and lastly, Cassian is a great cook and there is nothing better for Nesta and Alayla to enjoy one of his amazing meals

Cassian who was alone a lot as a child due to his mother working so much learned to cook very early on

He creates amazing meals, some of them are only reserved for his family

Nesta will never stop praising his talent, and the same goes for Alayla who boasts to her cousins and friends that her father is the best cook in the entire world

tags: @helhjertet @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt (no smut) @crushedcloudx @brekkershadowsinger @girasoli-e-sorrisi @ignite-me @swifti-ed @cassiansbigwingspan @burningsnowleopard @banasheefan56 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @bookishbroadwaybish

for @nessianweek����

[verifiefangirl]

I've been rewatching Shadowhunters and just bear with me.

If you want to hit peak sad vibes read it with this is me trying.

Azriel is training with the girls and he notices Gywn seems off. Her smile wasn't as dazzling. Instead of her usual irreverence there seems to be a heavy weight on her shoulders. Her usual teasing and goading non-existence. Azriel is usually observant but he'd been paying special attention to the priestess lately. Even Nesta hadn't sensed something was bothering her yet. He knew better than to push but his eyes stayed glued to the other half of the ring throughout the whole session even though she was technically Cassian's charge.

Most of the trainees had dispersed after class but Gywn always went the extra mile to get a half an hour in alone. On a usual day, Az would either offer his teachings if his schedule wasn't packed which seemed fewer these days with the amount of responsibilities on his plate but today he just leaned against the archway and watched, his hazel eyes lost in thought as he catalogued her moves and her seemingly building frustrations. As she moved to the side of the ring to leave, ignoring his presence the whole time. He gently encircled her wrist with his fingers, stopping her in place.

"Berdara." His voice was deep like gravel, his all seeing eyes flickering over her worn form. Her breathing was rough from exertion, skin wan. Their eyes locked for a brief second and the amount of pain washing through those teal eyes knocked the breath from his chest. She jerked out of his touch and continued her descent down the house stairs without looking back.

It had been couple weeks since that incident and neither had spoken since that day. The following training sessions had followed a similar pattern with Gywn's mood plummeting further. Cassian, along with the other charges made sure to give the flamed-haired, nymph a wide bearth, in and out of training.

Azriel didn't know why he chose to go to the library. His shadows had been pressing on him all day, whispering utter nonsense. He told himself it was because he needed more resources on the otherworlds and nothing to do with the Valkyrie that resided there.

Clotho bowed her head to him in greeting. You seem more restless than usual this evening, Shadowsinger.

"Just some unfinished business." He mumbled back flatly as he disappeared inbetween the stacks. His wings were tucked in tight and body stiff. His fingers skimmed over multiple tombs until he found the one he was after. On a normal occassion he would just grab his books and go back to his office but his shadows urged him to watch, to listen.

He sighed. He could already feel a migraine coming on. He couldn't remember the last time he had gotten more than two hours of sleep in. His tired eyes skimmed over words and symbols. The sound of his pen scratching over parchment filling the silent air of the library.

He didn't know how much time had passed but he could feel a crick forming on his neck. He stood up to stretch, his muscles stiff from sitting for so many hours. He heard a slight shuffling coming from a level below the sound of voices. He stilled, knowing it was none of his business at all what was bothering Gywn but he went below anyway against his better judgement. His shadows were swirling like crazy around him.

He had every intention of making his presence known but stopped in his track when heard a white haired female berating Gywn. Every bone his body straightened at the tone.

"You are worthless, Gwyneth." She sniped as she slammed a tome in front of her.

"How am I supposed to read your sloppy writing." Gywn softly whispered something back that his ears couldn't make out.

"What are you good for if you can't do such a simple task that even five year olds have perfected. Mother above, you call yourself a priestess. Why have you been shackled to me? " She groaned.

Anger so hot choked Azriel. He wanted to roar at her for speaking to Gwyn who was one of the most capable people he knew in such a way. He knew that was a bad idea and took all his restraint to not defend her. He knew how as a male he was already intimidating in this place but add his darkness and shadows and he was terrifying sight, just like his father.

"I-I...I'm sorry, Merill." Gywn voice was shaky and her entire demeanour was defeated. Merill just looked at Gwyn in disgust before she stalked into another row of books.

Azriel watched as Gywn took a deep breath, trying to steady herself but he could see the tremble of her lips and the way her fingers kept opening and closing.

She turned to make a move back to the desks in the centre when she came face to face with him.

"Azriel!" Her voice conveying surprise. He could feel the shame rolling over her in waves. Her eyes were turned to the floor as her hands went behind her back.

"Are you okay?" His tone was soft but his eyes were still a hazel storm.

"Of course." She tried to play it off like it was nothing but her irreverent nature was nowhere to be found. Her lips still trembled and her eyes were like sea glass as they glistened.

"Gywn..." It was one of the few times he used her name and it seemed to break something inside of her. The dam had finally broken and a sobbed strangled in her throat as her hands went to her face to cover her tears.

"Everything she said is true, I couldn't save my sister, I couldn't complete the bloodrite on my own and I can't even write some damn notes for Merill. How can I call myself a priestess let alone a Valkyrie." Her body shook from how hard the tears were pouring out of her.

"She's wrong and you are too." He merely shrugged, knowing this would infuriate her. He could handle her annoyance, her anger, her teasing. Anything but that hopeless look in her eyes.

"You don't know anything about me." She scathed. He shrugged again, feigning calmness when he was anything but.

"I know enough to know this isn't you. You are a fighter and a scholar and the bestest friend Nesta has ever had. You are a Carythian and a Valkyrie and a Priestess. That is more achievements than most would ever accomplish in 10 lifetimes and sometimes what we think to be our greatest weakness is our biggest strength."

The Nephelle philosophy.

Gwyn blinked at him, stunned for a second.

"Thank you." the sound a mere whisper, tears still streaming down her face. She tentatively wrapped her arms around him. Both of their bodies went stiff. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been embraced by a women whom he wasn't in a physical relationship with. She made to pull away, clearly finding it too awkward but he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her in closer. His breath ruffling her strands of hair. She melted into him now and his fingers gentled over her head as his eyes fluttered shut and he just enjoyed this moment. He felt warm and...and something else he couldn't quite name the emotion but it was nice to have a friend such as Gwyn. Who was fierce and loyal and went to the mat over and over again and she was here, hugging him and thanking him...He felt good..in a way he hadn't for many centuries now.

Thank you for listening to my ramblings. I have no doubt I'll have more Az inspo as I continue to rewatch the show and see more of the snacc off a man on screen and the way they both have that long they both have a long suffering vibe about them. Someone give these two characters a break with pina coladas

[yazthebookish]

Chapter 23, 24 and 25

(Aka the "holy shit" and "lore galore" chapters)

A sarcophagus made of clear quartz lay in the center of the space. And inside it, preserved in eternal youth and beauty, lay a dark-haired female.

What in the Snow White...

That here, literally right under them, slumbering in that forgotten coffin … Here lay the evil beneath.

Oh shit.

“What have you done?” Azriel rasped, and Bryce twisted to find him on his feet, wings tucked in, Nesta leaning against him as if wounded, Ataraxia dangling from her grip. The male now held the Starsword at the ready, Truth-Teller gripped in his other hand.

He must have had some sort of Starborn blood in him, then—a distant ancestor, maybe. Or maybe his possession of the knife somehow allowed him to also bear the Starsword.

Hnnnnnnnnghhhhhh!!!!!!! Theories swirling right now!!!!!

“I am your god. I am your master. Do you not know me?”

The female’s nails gouged deep lines into the crystal, but the lid held. She searched beyond Bryce, her gaze falling upon Azriel. Her lips curled. “A foot soldier. Excellent. Kill this insolent female and free me.” She pointed to Bryce.

Azriel didn’t move. The caged female hissed, “Kneel, soldier. Make the Tithe so I may regain my strength and leave this cage.”

Oh?

“The female in the sarcophagus was an Asteri.”

Screeching.

The Asteri’s blue eyes lowered to the dagger. “You dare draw a weapon before me? Against those who crafted you, soldier, from night and pain?”

“You are no creator of mine,” Azriel said coldly. The Starsword gleamed in his other hand. If they bothered him, if they called to him, he didn’t let on. Neither hand so much as twitched.

Az is about to find out the Illyrians were the Daglan's creation!!!

The Asteri’s eyes flared with recognition at the long blade. “Did Fionn send you, then? To slay me in my sleep? Or was it that traitor Enalius? I see that you bear his dagger—as his emissary? Or his assassin?”

The words must have meant something to Azriel. The warrior let out a small noise of shock.

TRUTH-TELLER IS ENALIUS'S KNIFE!!! FIONN'S FRIEND!!! Oh this is delightful. What a lore feast!!! Az owns the knife of the first Illyrian!! Let's fucking go!!!

“You may call me Vesperus.” The creature’s eyes glowed with irritation.

She threw a tantrum about the other Asteri being called the Evening Star when she was one Lol.

“We pooled our power, and imbued those gifts into the Cauldron so that it would work our will. We Made the Trove from it. And then bound the very essence of the Cauldron to the soul of this world.”

Solas. “So destroy the Cauldron …”

“And you destroy this world. One cannot exist without the other.”

Behind them, Nesta sucked in a sharp breath. But Bryce said, “You gave this world a kill switch.”

“We gave many worlds … kill switches. To protect our interests.” She said it with such calm, such surety.

So basically the Cauldron is a nuclear button. The Daglan made sure Prythian's existence hinges on the Cauldron. I mean we knew as much in ACOWAR but it's always interesting when we get more history on why. The Cauldron is an entity but the higher divine being is the Mother/Urd.

Vesperus took another step, steadier now, and smiled past Bryce. At Azriel, at Truth-Teller. “You don’t know how to use it, do you?”

Azriel pointed the dagger toward the advancing Asteri. “Pretty sure this end’s the one that’ll go through your gut.”

Vesperus chuckled, her dark hair swaying with each inching step closer. “Typical of your kind. You want to play with our weapons, but have no concept of their true abilities. Your mind couldn’t hold all the possibilities at once.”

Azriel snarled softly, wings flaring, “Try me.”

Vesperus took one more step, now barely a foot from Bryce. “I can smell it—how much of what we created here went unused. Ignorant fools.”

What more can Truth-teller do...?

Vesperus backed up a half step, hissing at the gleaming weapon. “We hid pockets of our power throughout the lands, in case the vermin should cause … problems. It seems our wisdom did not fail us.”

“There are no such places,” Azriel countered coldly.

“Are there not?” Vesperus grinned broadly, showing all of her too-white teeth. “Have you looked beneath every sacred mountain? At their very roots? The magic draws all sorts of creatures. I can sense them even now, slithering about, gnawing on the magic. My magic. They’re as much vermin as the rest of you.”

YO RAMIEL IS THE ONLY UNEXPLORED ONE!! I'm kicking my feet right now!!!

“There are certain places, girl, that are better suited to hold power than others. Places where the veil between worlds is thin, and magic naturally abounds. Our light thrives in such environments, sustained by the regenerative magic of the land.” She gestured around them. “This island is a thin place—the mists around it declare it so.”

A veil between worlds. Oh, this crossover is going to have some implications on ACOTAR5.

The sacred mountains have a core of firstlight under them...

Nesta had plunged Ataraxia right through Vesperus’s chest.

NESTA 👏🏼 FUCKING 👏🏼 ARCHERON 👏🏼

[sunshinebingo]

idk if your request is still open but i’ll try my luck 😭

could you please do a gwynriel angst where they have to attend a friend’s wedding party and their friends didn’t know they have broken up and they were forced into a seven minutes in heaven game but instead of what their friends have expected, the seven minutes turned out to be tears and heartbreak

i’m feeling kinda sad rn and this idea suddenly popped into my head. If you couldn’t do it, totally fine

Hi anon!! My request is always open so please feel free to send me any suggestion you might have.

Thank you so so much for having sent this one. It made me cry a bit ngl 😂 I hope you like it 🤭

Gwynriel - 1.8k - No warning - Angst only

Read on Ao3 or below the cut

*****

Love is a losing game

Some said better to love and lose than to have never known love. Right now, Gwyn wished she had never known love at all. As she watched the two newlyweds dressed in lace and silks whiter than the roses that filled the small garden, their eyes sparkling with happiness and love, their laughs rising above that of the small party who had gathered to celebrate this new step in their life, Gwyn saw what she would never have. And she wished, more than anything, that she had never known what being in love felt like.

Her own bridesmaid outfit was a mockery of it. The ivory dress that Emerie had wanted her chosen sisters to wear when walking her down the aisle had seemed to laugh at Gwyn with every step she had made, blue bouquet in hand, towards the alter. It was all a cruel, sick joke and she hated it. Hated herself for having so stupidly walked into it.

“Hey,” Nesta’s gentle voice broke through her thoughts.

Gwyn turned to look at sister, blinking away the tears of anger that had started to fill her eyes. Nesta narrowed her eyes inquisitively. “Are you okay?”

No.

“I am,” she offered Nesta one the fakest smile she had ever forced onto her face. Gwyn shrugged at her sister’s silent insistence. “I’m just so happy for them.”

Nesta laughed and picked up her crystal glass. “You’ve always been the most romantic of the three of us,” she said, referring to Gwyn, Emerie and herself. Emerie and Nesta. The only true loves of her life besides her twin and her mother.

“And the funniest,” Gwyn added with none of the joy that usually accompanied her sass.

“And the sweetest and the smartest,” Emerie chimed in across from them, fingers entwined in her new wife’s.

Nesta hummed her approval. Gwyn wondered how long it would take for them to notice the walls she had built around herself to hide her misery. She hoped that the cracks forming in this wall as she watched everyone’s happy faces would not make the whole thing crumble before she could get far away from them.

An eruption of voices caused another crack to form. It got worse when Cassian’s boisterous voice called her name on the other side of Nesta, along with another.

“Gwyn and Azriel. It’s time to find out the truth.”

Gwyn tensed and blurted a, “What?”

She felt a wave of panic rising. Gwyn internally added more bricks to her wall. She slammed her hands against the cracks even as more tears threatened to bring it all down. She couldn’t be weak. Not now. Not in front of him. Not ever.

Not now. Please. Please.

“We need to find out if you two can spend seven minutes in heaven and keep things clean,” Rhysand explained across from Cassian, no doubt mistaking her dread for confusion. His words settled in Gwyn before she could sigh at the fact that no one had yet learned the real truth.

Only then, hours after having stepped foot here, did she look at him for more than a second. His hazel eyes were already on her. Gwyn refused to read any emotion in them. She could not bear anymore lies from him.

“Come on Gwynnie,” Cassian went on. “We already placed the bets. And I know I will win because Az hasn’t stopped looking at you.”

Feyre giggled next to Rhys. “That’s nothing new Cass.”

“I know but it’s different today. His stare has been...,” Cassian placed a finger on his chin as though he was looking for the perfect word. “...harder,” he finally added with a wink that earned him a laugh from everyone around the table.

“It’s probably the white dress,” Mor wiggled her perfect eyebrows at Gwyn.

A flush crept up Gwyn’s cheeks. Not because of the insinuation from the beautiful blond, but because there had been a time where she would have believed everything that they were saying. What a fool she had been. What a stupid, romantic, naive fool.

“Oh that pretty blush is promising,” Nesta teased next to her. “Come on.”

Before she could give any response, Nesta was out of her chair and pulling Gwyn up by the arm. Next to her, Cassian had already pulled a semi-reluctant Azriel out of his seat and was dragging him across the garden towards the small shed.

All words evaded Gwyn. All she could focus on was trying to keep herself together. She could do this. Seven minutes. She would be strong. For seven minutes.

“And no less,” Cassian exclaimed after pushing both her and Azriel in the shed. Gwyn stared at the closed door after the loud click of the lock sounded from outside.

The silence in the small dark place was louder than the faint voices on the other side. It stretched on for what felt like ten times more than seven minutes. Everything was so still around her that despite having her back to him, Gwyn felt Azriel lift his hand and reach towards her.

“Gwy-,”

“Don’t,” she took a step to the side before he could touch her shoulder.

“Gwyn plea-,”

“Don’t,” she said more firmly. Though her next words came out in a whisper. “Please, don’t.”

She turned around and faced him. She begged her heart to keep quiet and pleaded with reason to not abandon her. This situation seemed like a mirror of the last time that they had been in the same room. Suddenly, the last month faded into nothing. Gwyn felt like she was still in his living room, staring into his eyes and wondering why on earth she had ever trusted him. It was pity for herself that she had felt before she had stormed out of his apartment that night.

“Gwyn. Please,” he took a step forward and she took one back. “Let me explain.”

“What I saw was explanation enough,” she snapped.

“It’s not what you think.” His voice was laced with impatience. If she believed in his lies, she would have also discerned hurt in it. But it was probably a bit of wishful thinking from her part.

Gwyn let out a sardonic laugh. “And what would you have thought, Azriel,” she spat his name like it had become the hardest thing for her to say, “if you had seen me doing what you were doing with her.”

He ran a hand through his hair, pulling on the dark strands in frustration like he usually did.

“It was a mistake. A huge, fucking mistake. And I regret every fucking second of it.”

“A mistake...,” Gwyn tasted the word on her tongue. It was the same word he had used that day. That same word that she had turned around and around in her head for the past month while she had thought back on the years that they had spent together.

“This should have never happened, you have to believe me.”

“But it did.”

“It was a fucking mistake.” That godforsaken word again. As if saying it enough times would remove his involvement in the act he had committed. “I swear love, I never wanted to hurt you. She - ”

“She what?” her voice rose above his and made him freeze. “Did she force you to do anything?”

Azriel didn’t react. His silence was answer enough. And when he kept staring at her with those deep hazel eyes that she adored so much, with that same intensity that had made her lose her godsdamned mind so many times since she had first looked into them, her wall crumbled. Her strength to keep it up left her, running away to the darkest corner of the shed along with her resolve to keep her mouth shut.

“I thought that you would be the one to finally make me believe that I deserve this kind of love. But y-you...,” she wasn’t sure what to say except that she had to let out what had been plaguing her mind for a whole month.

“I trusted you. I...”

He took another step towards her but she stopped him with a hand on his chest. She ignored what touching him was doing to her. Ignored that she wasn’t the only one that had touched him and kept talking despite her voice coming out as sobs

“I never forced you to stay with me. You always had a choice. And you chose to hurt me.”

“I didn’t want –,”

“BUT YOU DID,” she shouted.

She didn’t notice the sudden quiet of the voices outside nor did she care. Azriel fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. “Please, my love. This will never happen again.”

Looking at him like this made something twist inside Gwyn. Her whole body was trembling with anger and pain. An endless flow of tears started streaming down her face. How dare he make such empty promises after having ripped her heart out like he did.

“I know you still love me, Gwyn.”

She huffed. “Of course I love you.” There was no point in denying it. “I hate myself for loving you so much.”

Azriel grabbed one of her hands and brought it to his lips. “Please let me fix this. I love you more than anything.”

Another sentence that she had heard back then. As if trust could be fixed by simply snapping one’s fingers. As if those images that had haunted her for an entire month would disappear by simply piling new ones on top.

“If this is your idea of love, then it’s wrong,” she said, slowly removing her hand from his. She closed her eyes as she did so, knowing well that this would be last time she would ever let him touch her. Perhaps the last time she would ever let any man touch her. It seemed impossible in this moment that she would ever trust a man again with her heart. Not when it would always remain with the one kneeling at her feet. The sight was another mockery of the future she had dreamed for them. Another sick and cruel joke of life.

A knock sounded at the door followed by Cassian’s deep voice. “You still decent in there? Time’s over.”

Time wasn’t the only thing that was over. Gwyn was almost at the door when Azriel abruptly stood up and grabbed her wrist. Without even thinking, she turned around and slapped him so hard that the incessant knocking on the door stopped.

Azriel released her wrist and brought his hand to his cheek. His hazel eyes found hers again. His eyes were red and filled with tears, his expression full of something that she refused to acknowledge.

Since she had nothing left to say and so much more tears left to shed, Gwyn turned around and walked out, to somewhere she could mourn the loss of her heart.

[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

Heirs to Empty Thrones (ao3)

In the absence of the king, Nesta finds herself carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, and there's only one knight in the world that can take her mind off it. (For @cassianappreciationweek day 5. We're playing very fast and loose with the term 'lionhearted'...) (psst, @c-e-d-dreamer)

The gold circlet at her brow was heavy.

Heavier than before— heavier than it had been that morning. It was a burden, a chain around her neck, and it didn’t matter how fine or gilded it was— the hammered band was a mantle she did not wish to bear, and now there was an invisible weight crushing and pressing and bearing down on her as the strain worked its way into her very bones. It curled up around her veins and grew tighter, squeezing until it felt like the cold, thin band was constricting, determined to make her bleed.

It ached.

Everything ached.

Her father was gone— abandoned them a decade ago to wage holy war in lands so distant they seemed like another world, and now every day that dawned brought a horde of dissatisfied noblemen to her door, in their fine clothes and gold rings, horses hooves clattering in the courtyard every morning as the gates to the castle were thrown wide. The same men who had decades ago refused to accept a woman’s rule now crowded in her hall, begging her to write to her father and bring him home, as if her words could do anything, as if they were of any value at all.

Nesta shivered, the nighttime chill seeping through the stone of the central keep, and through the thick-paned and lead-lined glass she saw the torches glowing on the curtain wall, flames stark against the night sky, devouring the dark.

Beyond the light of those torches, in the distant miles outside that high stone wall, the realm crumbled. The roads were filled with bandits and rebels, taxes went unpaid, and as each day gave way to night, the laws of the realm seemed ever more breakable, no stronger than reeds swaying in the wind. Her father had left her uncle as regent, charged him with the protection of the crown and its lands, and yet unrest had never been so widespread. There were rumours of men in the forest stealing from the rich to give to the poor, tales of children starving, and with no king to call on there was no solution to be had, nothing to be done.

Nothing— and Nesta dropped her head into her hands now, wondering when exactly she’d been the one to pick up the weight her father had dropped ten years ago. She had been a child when he left, the eldest daughter he’d gotten in place of a son, and for so many years she had awaited his return, watching for his ship on the horizon, counting the sails of every vessel that came to port. In vain— she had waited in vain, and when her mother and sisters had returned to their estates in France, Nesta had stayed behind, a woman now, all alone and bearing the weight of a kingdom on her shoulders. 

Weary, she sighed.

The hour grew late, the darkness deepening, and yet Nesta didn’t move. She remained sitting alone in the small chamber branching off the great hall with only the silence for company. A single candle cut the dim, sweet wax scenting the air as night descended, the flame flickering in the draughts that crept through the stone.

Already, she knew sleep would not find her tonight.

Her head began to throb, the coronet she wore unbearable. Her people suffered, her realm burned, and what was she but a princess in a world that didn’t hear the voice of women, powerless and vulnerable until her father returned? She shook her head, and with a steadiness that surprised her, she lifted her hand and removed that God-forsaken band, casting it onto the thick wooden table before her, leaving it to sit in a pool of candlelight, gold and shining and bright with something she had once thought to be promise. The jewels winked, garnets and emerald and sapphires, cut stones set into the band, and oh, once Nesta had looked at the diadem and thought it pretty.

Once she had thought it beautiful.

She didn’t think so any longer.

And with her head resting in her hand, she sat alone in that chamber, lost, only waiting for somebody to find her.

It didn’t take long. 

Soon enough a knock sounded at the door, echoing through the silence, and Nesta almost opened her mouth to ask for peace— but before her lips could part the door was opened, iron hinges creaking as old wood slid across even older stone. Footsteps sounded, muffled by the rushes scattered across the floor to fight the chill, and as Nesta looked up, fingers still resting against her temples, she glimpsed the bulk of a man slipping around the doorframe, a silhouette against the candlelight.

Somebody had found her indeed, and as she straightened in her chair, she realised that perhaps she didn’t mind so much that out of all the souls in this castle, he had been the one to seek her out. 

Cassian.

The man who had helped her off her horse so many months ago, when she’d first arrived at this particular castle, so close to the coast. He was her father’s knight, a broad span of hardened muscle with hands no strangers to the hilt of a sword, and yet when he’d lifted her down from her horse at that first meeting, when her hands had slid down the length of his chest, his fingers had curled around her waist and brushed her spine, and she’d felt a jolt go through her that had her suddenly wanting to ride every day, if it meant he would be the one to lead her horse to stable when she returned.

When her feet had hit the ground, his hands had lingered at her waist as hers had tarried at his shoulders. He had dipped his head as he took her horse’s reins, wrapping the leather around his fist, and when he’d glanced up at her from beneath thick eyelashes, he’d murmured welcome home, princess— and Nesta had known then that she was in trouble, swimming in dangerous waters, at risk of drowning.

He’d been knighted by her grandfather before the late king’s death, earning his spurs fighting rebels, and daily he could be seen in the courtyard practising with his blade, so lethal it was a wonder her father hadn’t ordered him to lead the armies fighting in the Holy Land. Silently, secretly, Nesta was glad he hadn’t. Cassian was confident, arrogantly so, but loyal to a fault, and since that very first day he’d worked his way into her good graces, slipping so easily among her thoughts it was though he was always supposed to be there, taking up space inside her head. 

And now she prayed for meetings on the turrets stairs, chance encounters in darkened halls, where his hand might brush hers, or his smile might make her heart race.

“You should be in bed,” he said now, looking at her across the candlelit chamber, over the long wooden table surrounded by empty chairs. “It’s late.”

His familiar face eased the ache that had plagued every part of her, and as his eyes dropped to her circlet lying discarded on the table, Nesta tipped her head up to see his face, raising an eyebrow as she rested her hands on the arms of her chair.

“Are you my nursemaid now?”

Cassian let out a small laugh as he stalked closer, prowling through the darkness as his eyes studied every inch of her he could see, as if searching for injury, looking for strain. As her father’s household knight, he was honour-bound to protect and serve her, but as he raked his gaze across her face, Nesta knew with certainty that it wasn’t honour that had him closing the distance between them with even, determined strides. Slowly, he tilted his head, giving her a brazen smile.

“Would you like me to be?”

He rested a hand on the hilt of his sword as he came to a halt, standing on the other side of the long table. His silhouette was stark in the golden light— broad shoulders lined with muscle were covered with a simple linen tunic dyed a watery, washed-out red, the sleeves rolled up to show his forearms. Golden brown skin shone almost bronze beneath the glow of the candles, and his wrist lay idle atop the pommel of the sword hanging at his hip. Nesta dragged her eyes over him, from his leather boots to the silver bracelets at his wrists— a matching pair, each studded with a single large garnet. They glimmered, deep crimson stones shining like molten rubies, and even though they were far from extravagant, Nesta’s eye caught them anyway. Cassian lifted his wrist from his sword as he crossed his arms over the wide span of that chest, his gently curling hair spilling over one shoulder and brushing his collarbone.

He was…

He was everything she shouldn’t want, and everything she couldn’t have.

And yet still she met his eye, his hazel gaze a delectable blend of gold and green and brown— rich and warm and sweet. Cassian didn’t blink, and just as she always did, she felt stripped by the intensity of his gaze. He looked at her now, expectant.

“I can’t sleep,” she admitted at last.

Cassian frowned. “You seem troubled.”

Nesta barked a laugh, one that was bitter and as sharp as shattered glass. She shook her head, and even without the golden circlet around her temples, she felt the pressure still there, pushing in on all sides. 

“Do I?”

“You do,” Cassian nodded, taking another step forward until he stood directly behind one of the chairs tucked beneath the empty table. He reached out and braced his hands on it, fingers curling around the wood as he leaned down to her level, canting his head to the side and sending his long hair tumbling over the other shoulder. Something thick and heady stirred in his eyes, something that seemed like concern mixed with something… something else, something she couldn’t recognise. His face softened as he let out a breath, tension seeping from his jaw as his fingers loosened on the chair.

“Tell me,” he said after a moment. “Tell me what burdens you.”

Nesta blinked. “It’s your brother that’s advisor to the crown,” she said, thinking of Cassian’s adopted brother— Rhysand, the one who was, even now, with her father in the Holy Land, kept deep within the king’s confidences. “Not you.”

Cassian shrugged. “I don’t want to be an advisor to the crown.”

“Just advisor to me, then?”

His lips split into a grin, one that made her heart ache. 

“If you’ll have me.”

Nesta shook her head again, dipping her gaze to her hands, just to stop herself from dragging her stare over every inch of him, over the forearms where his exposed skin shone in the candlelight.

“I can guess,” Cassian continued, his voice a drawl through the otherwise silent chamber. “What it is that brothers you— I can guess. Your uncle is causing chaos outside these walls, princess. Soon there will be riots.”

A chill gathered at the base of her spine. Nesta knew this already— had spent hours being lectured on it by the very men who her father had trusted to keep his lands safe. And now they looked to her, as if she could fix it— as if she had any sway at all over the man who had left when she was a child. The king had become a stranger to her, hardly a shadow in her memory, and she was naught but the princess of a failing kingdom, the daughter of an absent father. What did she have— what power did she hold at all?

“The law means nothing anymore,” Cassian said with a wave of his hand, lips pulled downwards in distaste. “Your grandfather I respected, but his sons leave him a poor legacy. Your uncle takes what he wants when he wants, and his retainers are worse. The taxes he levies are brutal and—”

Nesta let out a sound, somewhere between a groan and a whimper. “I don’t want to think of it anymore,” she said, tired. “I want to forget about it— about all of it, for just one night.”

She looked up, at the warrior on the other side of the table. His words died on his tongue, and the silence stretched for a beat too long as he met her gaze. Her heart seemed loud enough for him to hear, and as the night pressed against the windows and the candle flame flickered, Nesta looked at him with a challenge - a plea - in her eyes. She blinked, but he merely looked at her the way he always did, like he knew her down to her bones.

“I want to forget,” she repeated, a whisper as he pushed away from the chair and took a step towards her, bringing him close enough to touch, now. “Let me forget, Cassian.”

Silent, he nodded. In the gathering dark he reached for her, lifting her hand from the arm of her chair and bringing it, reverently, to his lips. His mouth was warm against her skin, his hand tightening around hers, holding her against him as though he wanted to keep her there forever, and though this ought to have been a knightly gesture, something chivalric and gallant, there was something in the way he held her that made it deeper, made his kiss something far more than a show of loyalty from a knight to his lady.

Something far more meaningful— and something far more dangerous.

“I can help you,” he murmured, his voice little more than a breathless whisper in the darkness. Nesta found her eyes drifting closed, and even though he lifted his lips, he didn’t drop her hand. “I can make you forget all of it, princess. Just for tonight.”

Her eyes fluttered, and oh, it was a kind of treason— to let him touch her, to let him press such a lingering kiss to her skin, to let him speak to her as though he knew her, body and soul. With effort, Nesta forced herself to remember where she was— who she was, because with that raw heat dancing in his eyes… oh, yes. It was treason to touch the king’s daughter the way he did.

“My father…” she began.

“Is absent, princess.” Cassian let her hand slip from his, and the absence of his warmth was jarring. “Your sisters are in France. There’s nobody here but you and I, and no king on these shores to object to anything.”

“Treason,” Nesta breathed, her voice soft. To speak against the king, to speak of him with such disdain… that was treason too, or as close as one could get without lifting a sword. But Cassian only let a grin curve his lips, crooked and charming as he pulled away just enough to draw his sword an inch from its sheath.

“Will you end my life here, then?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Brave, Nesta thought wryly, looking at the hand wrapped tight around the hilt of his blade. They called her father coeur de lion, but it was Cassian who had a lion’s heart. A foolish heart— but brave nonetheless. He smirked a little still, even as he unsheathed his sword all the way and set it on the table. The steel was bright, polished, and the hilt was simple— wrapped in leather with a silver pommel. Her father’s was decorated with gold, vines engraved down the blade, a groove down the middle to wick away the blood he shed. Cassian’s was far simpler, but no less sharp— no less deadly. It lay between them as he nodded.

“Go on, princess.” He tilted his head to the side, eyes dark and daring. “Attaint me. Have me stripped of everything I own, take my name and ruin it.” His voiced dropped lower, his gaze turning heated. “Because even if your father were here, my loyalty would be to you. I wouldn’t go to the edge of the courtyard for a man that abandons his realm for ten years. But for you— for you I’d go to the ends of the earth, and you’re right princess, that’s all kinds of treason, so you should do everything that I’ve just said. Have me attainted, confiscate my lands, and then have someone slit my throat, because death is the only thing that could stop me from doing this.”

With an unwavering gaze, Cassian lifted a hand.

Slowly, purposefully he cupped her cheek, his touch far too bold and far too brazen as his fingers strayed across her jaw, sliding into her hair— braided and bound and up. His rings snagged on her braids, the plain silver bands he wore with swirling engravings reminding her of the woad tattoos she’d once heard about the ancient Scots decorating their skin with, and as his lips neared hers, her heart began an off-kilter beat inside her chest. His touch was one of devotion— unyielding and unshakeable and so very, very treacherous.

She didn’t move— couldn’t. His eyes roamed her face, searching, as her lips parted he looked at her like he’d just found whatever it was he’d been looking for. He risked his life, his neck, and yet something thrummed through her as she felt his callouses against her skin, rough from all those years with a sword in hand. The cool metal of his rings pressed against her cheek, and it felt all kinds of forbidden and yet— she didn’t pull away.

The gold circlet on the table was all the reason in the world that this was a bad idea, but outside the world was already going to Hell, and Nesta just wanted one moment of peace— one breath of it, no matter how brief. Cassian looked at her like she was the closest he would ever come to Heaven, like he’d already resigned himself to his damnation, and she knew without needing him to speak that she was the only thing he’d kneel for, the only altar he would worship at. 

“You can’t,” she whispered as he tilted his head. Those eyes - those damned eyes - were afire, blazing with a kind of heat Nesta had only ever heard about in songs and chansons de geste— epic, lyrical poems. They were certain to be her undoing, those eyes. Her unravelling. But as the candlelight glowed, reflected in that unwavering, steadily burning hazel… Nesta longed to fall, to let herself come undone.

“And why not?” Cassian asked with a rueful smile, daring to drag his thumb across her cheekbone.

“Because I—“ she began, but her breath faltered as he moved his thumb to her lips, tracing the bow in the centre before dropping to her chin and circling beneath her jaw. Nobody had ever touched her before— nobody had ever dared. “My father is the king,” she forced out.

“Your father hasn’t been here for ten years, sweetheart.”

“That doesn’t change anything,” she said, forcing her eyes open even as they threatened to drift closed. 

Cassian let out a breath, and when he spoke next his voice was firm. “Princess, your great-grandmother sank this country into a civil war to get the crown. You could too, if you wanted.” He didn’t waver, and his touch didn’t slow, exploring the planes of her face with a gentleness that contradicted the sword on the table, the scar through his eyebrow. Treason danced on his tongue, but he spoke of war and bloodshed as if it were nothing, as if he’d serve up this realm to her singlehanded if only she’d ask.  “And I will cut down every single person who stands in your way, if I have to.”

“That really is treason,” she whispered. 

“I care not,” he murmured, dipping his head until his lips were barely an inch from hers. She felt his breath on her cheeks, felt her heartbeat grow wild.

“Fool,” she said softly, but there was no ire there, none at all. He only hummed, nodding in agreement.

“Only for you,” he answered, and it seemed, somehow, like a promise. Like a vow. “Only for you would I draw that blade— only for you do I kneel.”

The candle flame flickered in the corner, and with the moonlight drifting through the windows, she let herself, for just a moment, lean into his touch. She turned her face into his palm, and he hummed again, daring to let his other hand curl around her hip. 

She felt herself slipping, falling. With the golden light dancing on his skin and setting his hazel eyes aglow, she felt herself forgetting all of the turmoil outside of these walls. Tomorrow— she’d deal with it tomorrow. For tonight she only wanted this— the man who looked at her like she was the sun and the moon and the sky itself, who offered her the sharp end of his blade, hers to command as she wished.

“No one can know,” she breathed. “About this— whatever this is.”

He smiled softly. “I always have been exceptionally good at keeping secrets.”

Nesta smiled too, and with every beat of her heart catching, stumbling, she reached for the hand he had rested at her hip. She tangled their fingers together, his rough against her smooth, and Lord have mercy on her— she melted at that touch, felt herself sinking into it and letting it enfold her, engulf her. His thumb moved across the back of her fingers, his lips parting on an exhale, and with all of the weight and authority that she could muster - every ounce of regality that circlet gave her, that her royal blood gave her - she lifted her chin and sought out those eyes of burning, burning hazel.

“Kiss me,” she said.

Cassian smiled, his fingers squeezing hers, tightening his hold. Nesta longed to feel the curve of those lips against hers, yearned for it, and just before Cassian pressed his lips to hers - just before he gave her everything she had ever wanted - he let out a soft breath, one hand moving behind her back, resting between her shoulder blades to pull her closer, to hold her pressed to his chest. As Cassian’s lips brushed the corner of her mouth, he smirked.

“As you wish, princess.”

[theladyofbloodshed]

A Court of Tangled Flames - Chapter 26

Home. How could one little word mean so much? Each time that Nesta’s heart beat, it was a call to home. To the man she loved. To the place she’d chosen. Home.

She wanted to go home.

Rovena had seen her to a narrow room with walnut wood panelling it. The room was cosy with a bed warmer already tucked into the sheets despite the early hour of the day. A small chest of drawers was nestled into a corner and within it were several items of clean and neatly folded clothing. There were dresses, leggings, night gowns, new socks and gloves. This was a room for a new arrival who likely had nothing. But that wasn’t Nesta. She had everything waiting for her.

She curled onto the bed then tucked the blankets around her head like when Eris had first spirited her away to the Autumn Court and she’d struggled to get out of bed.

Rovena padded into the room softly then Nesta heard her set down another mug. A hand brushed against the mound that was her body beneath the quilt, but Azriel’s mother didn’t try to peel it away. Nesta was thankful for that.

For a long while, Nesta debated winnowing, but she knew it was foolish. Her winnowing was always done with the safety net of Eris following in case anything went wrong. She knew her limits and knew that she might only get as far as the Dawn Court if she was lucky – and would need to rest. The last thing Nesta wanted was to end up in a foreign place alone and weak, or even in the Middle again. Compared to Cassian as her mate, she’d take a kelpie drowning her though.

The thought of being near Eris and putting him in danger made her want to sob anew. Cassian wouldn’t accept her refusal. He’d continue to claim that Nesta was bewitched by Eris or held in the Autumn Court against her will. If he called the Blood Duel, there could be no happy ending. If Cassian died, the Night Court might declare war or at the very least, Nesta would never be permitted to see her sisters again. The other outcome didn’t bear thinking about. There could be no future without Eris.

Worse than Cassian, was Beron. A Blood Duel made her sick to her stomach but Beron finding out about that wretched bond added a new layer of horror to it.

Every inhale felt fluttery with the fear that was running rampant through her mind.

If anybody other than Nesta told Eris about the bond snapping, he’d be bereft. The thought of Cassian being the one to do it – to throw it at him in a rage to try and hurt him – made her sick to her stomach. She needed to see him.

With every passing year, Nesta had built her fortress a little higher, brick by brick. Many had tried to knock it down and force their way in. Eris had simply knocked on the door and waited. Or, that one time at Orla’s, he had climbed through the window, she supposed.

She just wanted to be home. She wanted her husband.

***

‘You cannot keep me from my mate.’

Varian sported a bloodied lip and Mor’s cheeks were blotted with colour when Rhys arrived. He was thankful that his mate was safe elsewhere in the city. His first reaction had been to get Feyre to the House of Wind out of reach of Cassian. He didn’t truly believe his brother would hurt Feyre, but they were two males on the edge and Rhys wasn’t about to roll the dice and expect luck not to curse them.

‘I can and I will.’

‘This is bullshit,’ Cassian spat.

He was all hot temper, usually, easily cooled with the right sort of leverage. Azriel had always been the more dangerous of the two. As quickly as Cassian’s storms came, they passed.

Mating bonds were complicated. There was no other way to describe them. Rhys had sorted through his own feelings alone, in private, and it was hell. Letting Feyre go to Tamlin felt like carving his own heart out – but he believed it was what she wanted, so he did it. He let her go to him.  

If only Cassian could see that Nesta wanted Eris. There was too much bad blood there, too much history with Nesta to let her slip away. It would ruin him. But he would ruin her.

Rhys stood firm, blocking the door. One small mercy was that Cassian couldn’t winnow. His only exit was through flight.  

‘This needs to stop.’

‘Fucking hell, Cass,’ Mor breathed, pushing back her tangled blonde hair. ‘I don’t even like Nesta and I know you’re only going to push her away if you chase her.’

Cassian’s chest rose and fell as he sucked in breaths. It was a testament to Varian’s skill that he still lived against a frenzied general of Illyria. Or maybe there was some sense still clinging onto Cassian’s mind.

Mor rested against the wall. She appeared exhausted from whatever magic she’d exerted keeping him there. She forced out a breath through pursed lips. ‘Just because there’s a bond now, it doesn’t change anything.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ He snarled.

At his tone, Mor flinched. Rhys took a step closer to his cousin, ready to shield her if need be. ‘I think what Mor means is that Nesta is married to Eris. The bond snapping into place doesn’t alter her marriage vows – or her heart, Cass.’

A fist hit the wall and Rhys heard the crunch of Cassian’s knuckles.

‘Eris doesn’t care about her. He only wanted her to get back at us.’

‘You would be better hitting your stone skull at the wall than your knuckle,’ said Amren. Her eyes narrowed as she took in the dent in the wall where his fist had met it. ‘Maybe you’d knock some sense into yourself.’

‘Or knock yourself out,’ Mor muttered.

‘She’s my mate,’ said Cassian, his voice cracking on the last word.

‘And what does that mean?’ Rhys demanded, tired of this. He wanted to be at Feyre’s side. Wanted to feel his son moving against her skin. Not here. Not butting heads with his stubborn brother. ‘What does it mean to be Nesta Archeron’s mate?’

Cassian swallowed. For a while he couldn’t find words then, ‘She should be here with me.’

Shaking his head, Rhys crossed his arms over his chest. ‘I was prepared to let my mate marry my enemy because I thought that would bring her happiness. I loved her enough to let her go.’

‘It’s Eris. You know what he’s like.’ His hazel eyes turned to Mor. ‘You know what he could be doing to her.’

Soft footsteps entered the room. Elain stayed near the doorway, her delicate hands wringing together. ‘Is there a way you could show them something in my mind?’

In response, Rhys gave a slow nod. This could be a catastrophe.

Elain had no mental shields really. It was like slicing through butter on a hot day. Where her elder sister’s mind had been a stronghold made of wrought iron, Elain’s mind was a meadow on a spring day full of wildflowers – open and unguarded. A memory pushed to the surface which Rhys pressed into the minds of everybody gathered.

Nesta sat in a chair with a large dog wedged in with her. A plate was held aloft to keep it from the dog and her other hand fussed the beast. Perched on the arm of the chair was Eris, with an arm scooped around Nesta. He leaned forwards to kiss her temple then pressed a cup to her lips so she could take a drink. It was the day that Azriel had took Elain to meet the healer of the Autumn Court, Rhys realised. Nesta appeared more relaxed than he’d ever seen her before as she leant closer to Eris. In five hundred years, he had never seen the heir to the Autumn Court so gentle. Eris always touched Nesta as though he couldn’t stop himself from stroking against her hair or resting a hand on her shoulder. And Nesta burrowed into every soft touch.

They were pulled out of the memory.

Elain’s face betrayed her fear, but she held firm. ‘I am sorry, Cassian. Nesta is not under an enchantment. I don’t think there could be any enchantment that would sway her feelings. Eris has only ever been good to her. He ensures her friends can visit. He’s found a way to save Feyre. He managed to arrange a meeting with me and her at the Winter Court celebration. He trains her magic. He hired a tutor to teach her about Prythian. She’s learning to ride a horse. She visits the army with him.’ Elain let out a breath. ‘I wish my sister remained close by, but we have to accept her happiness lies elsewhere.’

***

‘One night. One night. That’s what you said. It’s only one night. The longest night of the year and look what has happened,’ Eris ranted in Orla’s kitchen.

Niamh rolled her eyes. She’d been pulled back from Windhaven. ‘In fairness, it seems to have happened during breakfast so the night wasn’t the issue.’

Do not kill her, a voice in Eris’ mind said.

Orla shook her head. ‘That was not helpful, Niamh.’

‘Helpful? Fine. Tell them that unless the bond is broken, the high lady can die.’

Orla’s eyes went wide at her sister’s suggestion. Where one was soft and encouraged growth, the other preferred to stamp on it. ‘What a horrid thing to say, Niamh.’

‘I am horrid,’ she muttered, crossing her legs on the foot rest.  

‘We need contingency plans for every possible outcome.’ Eris hadn’t been able to sit down since he returned to the Autumn Court. He’d set fire to Orla’s lawn when he winnowed in. He was not in the habit of taking orders from Rhysand, but the high lord had told him to wait at the healer’s house and when he tracked down Nesta, she would be returned.

Niamh was ruthless. Orla was sensible. They’d dragged Ashur back from the Illyrian foothills too to help with planning. Although he’d been an excellent double over the years, Eris didn’t want to sacrifice Asher and place him in Cassian’s path either. His military strategy was useful to their planning.

For hours, they planned for every possible outcome of the next few weeks. Through it all, Niamh scoffed and scoffed at whatever she could find in the kitchen, but Eris could not eat a bite. He couldn’t sit, could barely breathe without his chest constricting with worry over Nesta. Where had their damn shadow singer taken her?

A Blood Duel seemed likely if the bastard was as frenzied as his high lord claimed. He didn’t want to fight. Either outcome caused harm to Nesta. Eris’ only hope with that avenue was that his father wouldn’t allow it because Cassian wasn’t high fae and didn’t have the same status in the Autumn Court.

‘What if you shared Nesta?’

‘Niamh,’ Orla warned.

Every single visit to the Night Court would be overshadowed by Cassian’s presence. What could Eris do? Ban her from visiting her family in case the bond became too difficult to refuse? Or send her there willingly with the knowledge that Cassian would always desire her?

‘It won’t come to war. The high lord won’t waste our blood against Illyrians.’ A crease had formed between Ashur’s brow. ‘Not for love. Maybe a showcase of Nesta’s powers again to your father is necessary, to remind him of her value.’

Eris’ jaw tensed. He knew Ashur spoke the truth. His father equated power with value – but he couldn’t trot Nesta out like a show pony to gain favour.

‘I’d rather she killed him and made me high lord,’ he muttered. Such words were treason, but he was amongst good company.

‘How are you so certain Nesta doesn’t want to be his mate?’

She wouldn’t. Eris knew his wife. She deserved so much more than a male who’d never put her first, who’d chose her sister over her. Again, a voice told him not to kill Niamh.

Orla had been quiet through most of it as she prepared different ointments using herbs from her garden. ‘I can mask the bond for Nesta. I’ve done it before for females who want it numbed so they cannot feel it.’

‘Why is nobody listening to me?’ Niamh asked with a mouthful of food.

‘Because you have terrible ideas,’ sniped Ashur.

‘We don’t know where Nesta is. What if she is contemplating accepting the bond – then what do we do? We need to consider that too because maybe then your father really will go to war to get Nesta back. I’m not dying on Illyrian soil.’

Ashur snorted. ‘Females aren’t permitted to fight so that’s unlikely to happen.’

In response, Niamh clicked her tongue. ‘Excuse me? Our lord and saviour, Eris Vanserra has already proposed in a council meeting that females should join the ranks of guards and soldiers because we are automatically cutting our potential by half, I will have you know.’

‘Enough of this.’ Eris stormed from the room with the weight of the world pressing on his shoulders. He continued out of the house, needing to feel the cold evening air on his skin before he erupted. His temper had never been an issue. Years with Beron had taught him to keep it leashed. But Eris had never had anything he cared so much about before. 

The smoke hounds had bolted out with him and proceeded to race around the garden, chasing after moths.

He took steadying breaths to ground himself back to his home.

The door opened, allowing a crack of light to seep out, as Orla came to stand by his side.

Without a word, she pulled her arms around him. Eris sank into her soft embrace. ‘I can’t imagine how this is for you.’

‘I need to know she’s safe.’

‘I know,’ she murmured. A long beat of silence followed, then she said, ‘Your father would have been better chopping out Niamh’s tongue rather than a finger.’

Mist soaked over the grass like a wave then the smoke hounds returned to Eris, their ears pricked up and hackles raised. He pulled an arm around Orla, to tuck her behind him.

Two winged figures appeared.

Behind one was his wife.

 Nesta.

She surged forwards and he raced to meet her. When their skin met, Eris lifted Nesta into his arms, cradling her to his body.

A rattled sob broke out of her chest.

‘Eris. Eris, I need to tell you something.’ She took in a shuddering breath. ‘Cassian is. He’s my-’

‘I know. I know. I already know.’

She let out a keening cry against his skin as Eris carried her back towards the house. The two males followed behind, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was that Nesta was home. And he’d be damned if he was ever letting her step foot in the Night Court again without him.

‘Eris,’ came Rhysand’s voice.

He turned on the spot, cradling Nesta’s head with his hand.

‘You should go to your safe place. I’ve tried to talk sense into him, but I don’t know how long it will last.’

‘Get out of my court.’

Eris ushered Orla inside with him and the dogs remained on their heels. He didn’t care to wait to ensure Azriel and Rhysand had departed. In his mood, he might try to strike them with his magic.

A silence fell between Ashur and Niamh upon their entry to the lounge. Nesta was unable to peel her tear-stained face away from Eris – and if he was honest, he didn’t want her to. He needed her closeness.

‘Do you go to the cottage?’ Niamh asked.

Batten down the hatches and wait for the storm to blow over.

‘No. We go to the Forest House.’

A small gasp passed through Nesta’s lips. ‘If Cassian goes there-’

‘And we are not there, it will be far worse for us – and maybe him. My father is predictable. He cares only for power. I’d rather bet on him than an unstable Illyrian general.’ Eris pulled his coat from the hook and put it on his wife. ‘Better the devil we know than the devil we don’t.’ 

***

The moment they entered their rooms, Nesta tried to peel off her clothes and Eris’ but he wouldn’t have it. He kept his hands on her shoulders, holding her still.

‘You don’t need to do this.’

‘But I love you,’ she sniffed. ‘Please.’

Again, her fingers reached for him to try and open the buttons of his shirt, but Eris stopped her.

‘You don’t need to prove you love me by giving me your body, Nesta.’

She swallowed against the lump in her throat.

A feather-light kiss was pressed to her forehead. ‘Despite everything, how was the celebration?’

‘Fine. I spent most of the evening with Lucien.’

That brought a slight smile to his face then Eris laced his fingers with hers. It was odd to try and carve some normality after a day that was anything but normal. ‘I know you don’t celebrate, but I do have a Solstice gift for you.’

Eris led her through their bedroom and out onto the small balcony overlooking a thundering river wending through the forest.

He bent down towards a small, wooden cage then scooped up a ball of brown fur into his arms.

‘Astor caught the mother then was raiding the warren. I stopped him before he could eat this one.’ A small rabbit was tucked into the crook of Eris’ elbow. ‘I couldn’t shake the image of you as a child with a pet rabbit. He’s little so I’m not sure how long he will last, but it’s surely better to be in our care than to leave it to fend for itself in the woods.’

Nesta ran a finger along the soft fur between the rabbit’s eyes. ‘Won’t the dogs eat it?’

‘They can be trained not to touch him in the rooms. Would you like to hold him?’

Suddenly, Nesta was a little girl again sat on a wooden chair as a servant tucked an old blanket onto her lap then placed Snowdrop on top. One hand held the rabbit still, feeling its rapid heartbeat as it grew used to contact. The other hand moved in soothing strokes down his body.

‘A snow themed name for this brown rabbit?’

Nesta swallowed. ‘How can you be so calm? So normal?’

Eris crouched down in front of her. His arms went around Safera as the dog leaned forwards to sniff the rabbit. She didn’t try anything. Just watched the rabbit with her big, black eyes.

‘I loved you yesterday. I love you today. Nothing has changed.’

‘Everything has changed.’

‘Do you still love me?’

‘Yes,’ she breathed.

‘Then nothing has changed.’

'The bond.'

Eris brushed his thumb down her cheek. 'We don't need to talk about it today.'

The knock at the door had Nesta clutching the rabbit against her chest. Eris’ brow furrowed as he rose to his feet. It was surely a messenger alerting them that Cassian had kicked down the door to the Forest House and demanded a Blood Duel. Her heart felt like it was giving up.

She couldn’t hear the words that were exchanged. Nesta kept her eyes trained on Eris’ back, searching for any slight hints of tension or alteration to his posture. None came.

‘We are expected to join my father for dinner.’

At the first signs of her distress, Eris had gone to his knees before her. His expression was calm. ‘It’s alright,’ he said softly. ‘Everything will be alright. He enjoys a monthly dinner to instil a little fear.’ A long finger stroked the rabbit. It made her think of the little boy from his mother’s memory, clutching a dog to his chest, unwilling to see it hurt. ‘Snowflake or snowball or snowdrift. What have you decided?’

A quiet smile curved Nesta’s lips. ‘Cotton-tail.’

For a while longer, she sat with her frightened rabbit. The dogs kept casting furtive looks at it, but a strong note of disapproval from Eris had them flopping to the ground to sleep. While she continued stroking the bunny, Eris prepared her clothes for the evening. They played it safe in scorched umber and gold. Eris had even pinned up her hair while she remained rhythmically stroking Cotton-tail, too adrift to think of anything else.

Females were meant to be submissive in this court – and for once Nesta was thankful of that fact. It meant she could follow Eris a step behind. She wasn’t meant to speak unless somebody directly spoke to her. She could focus all of her efforts on keeping her face neutral rather than let the sinking horror settle.

Breakfast played over and over in her mind. How had it only been one day? When Azriel had returned for her, he’d brought the news that they had to make a stop at the Hewn City to meet Rhys because he’d return her to the Autumn Court. Nesta had refused. There was not a bone in her body that trusted her sister’s mate. The compromise had been that both would take her to Orla’s.

She stood when expected. Ate her tiny morsels of food like the dainty female she was. Kept her eyes trained in her lap rather than following the conversation.

Beron’s comments couldn’t hurt her. The worst had already happened that morning. When he spoke of Eris’ failures, her anger prickled. But her husband did not react. He played the doting son, desperate to win his father’s approval, never calling his criticisms harsh or unfair. Eris knew how to play the long game.

Once he had finished inspecting all of Eris’ imperfections, he moved onto each son in turn. It was excruciating. If this was how Beron treated his sons, she dreaded to think what he might have done if he had a daughter.

Not only were the Vanserras present for tonight’s torture, but many of Beron’s long-standing council members were. Despite the number gathered, conversation was dictated by Beron as if even they were afraid to speak freely in the presence of their high lord. These were the males who Eris did battle against every meeting with his words. These were the males who would stand in his way of ruling if a peaceful death did not meet the high lord.

When the talk shifted into politics, Eris rose. ‘It’s loathsome enough to listen to Lord Vode in a council meeting. To do so in my leisure time would be akin to masochism.’

The remark was met with a tittering of laughter from the males assembled. As Eris tucked his chair beneath the wooden table, Nesta knew to follow suit rather than expect a signal from him with so many eyes upon them.

‘With such a pretty wife, you’d be a fool to choose Lord Vode’s company.’

Another lord added, ‘If she were my wife, I’d be enjoying her company already.’

Eris gave a vicious smile, but kept his tone even. ‘And if your wife was mine, I’d make myself a widower, Lord Oswold.’

The silence that fell around the room reminded them all that Eris Vanserra was the first-born son of Beron. One day, he would be their high lord. His tongue was just as sharp as his father’s.

It was remarkable really that he wasn’t worse, Nesta thought. He could have been more vicious, more ruthless.

Despite her storms battering him, Eris had only ever been steady. He could dig his heels in and hold firm no matter what life threw at him. Centuries as Beron’s son had hardened him against every cruel word, every wound that had cut him had scarred, and Eris had become steady. He’d never needed to shout or rage. He had only ever been Nesta’s anchor.

A warm hand pressed against the small of her back to guide her from the dining room.

They had survived another meal because Eris had been her shield. His calm presence despite the upheaval that swarmed them had kept Nesta rooted.

‘If you haven’t managed to breed her yet, I’ll give her a turn, brother.’

Before Nesta had even registered what had happened, Phelan had fallen from his chair. He was on his knees, screaming in agony. Blood spurted from the jagged stump where his hand had been.

She hadn’t even seen the knife. Eris had moved so quickly. He’d been next to her one moment then looming over Phelan the next as his brother bled across the floor.

Raising her head in shock, Nesta risked a glance to Beron. His wife was pale, her lips pressed together until they’d turned white, but Beron had a fierce look of pride upon his expression.

‘I warned you that I would cut off your hands if you dared touch my wife. Your words are foul enough. Be thankful I leave you with one hand.’

Phelan wept on the ground, clutching the stump of his arm to his chest before the council of the Autumn Court. Nesta had to turn her face away before she was sick from the sight.

She felt Eris’ hand again on her back, giving a gentle push to encourage her feet to move.

‘Finally, my son begins to act like a high lord,’ came Beron’s voice as they began to exit the room.

A short whistle came then one of his dogs moved towards Phelan.

‘Close your eyes,’ came Eris’ urgent whisper as they walked.

It would have been better if Nesta had clamped her hands over her ears. Over Phelan’s sobs, Nesta could make out the crunch and slopping of the smoke hound eating the severed hand. She pressed her hand over her mouth as her stomach rolled. If it wasn’t for Eris’ firm hand pushing against her spine, Nesta might have stopped. But Eris had always ensured she kept going.

In a numb disbelief, Nesta was led to their rooms.

‘Don’t look at me until I’m clean,’ Eris murmured, voice hollow.

She couldn’t help herself. Her eyes were drawn to him the moment he had forbade it. Streaks of blood marred his face. His shirt was soaked crimson. Nesta didn’t miss the emptiness in his expression. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, but it wasn’t right. Eris wouldn’t want her near him with blood on his body.

In silence, she waited on the couch with Safera resting a head in her lap. For a long while, Eris remained in the bathroom without any taps sounding. He needed space. From her. From what he’d done to Phelan. From the court that forced him to be that person. She didn’t know. All she knew was that a pit had opened in her chest and threatened to devour her.  

He had cut off his brother’s hand. It was violent. But his court had to learn that his threats weren’t empty. Nesta didn’t feel differently towards Eris because of it. He did what he had to.  

The steadiness had all been an act for Nesta’s benefit. Her husband’s feelings were as tumultuous as her own but he hid it better. Eris was a riptide ready to drown any who came too close – as Phelan had discovered. A desperation to seek Eliška out surged inside of Nesta. His mother had to know that Eris only did it to protect Nesta; her son wasn’t lost. But it was too dangerous to move within the Forest House alone that night.

When Eris emerged from the bathroom, he gave a lack-lustre stroke to the dogs who flocked to him. Red rimmed his eyes.

She went to him at once.

His forehead pressed to hers as his hands cradled her face. She heard his wearied exhale.

‘I don’t want you to go,’ he choked.

‘I’m not going,’ she protested. ‘I’m never leaving here. Never leaving you.’

‘I’m not a good male, Nesta.’

Nesta forced Eris to look at her. His amber eyes were flecked with darker spots, but they were the same eyes she’d seen that day, staring back at his father with defiance.

‘You are the love of my life. Not even the Mother can prise us apart.’

@owllover123 @rarephloxes @fanboy7794 @sugardoll22 @kitkat-writes-stuff @this-is-rochelle @sv0430 @embersofwildfire

[dreamlandreader]

Foolish Fire Chapter Four - Whispers in the Dark

Hello @popjunkie42-blog part four of your @acotargiftexchange has arrived! I was slightly concerned this chapter may seem like a tangent from the lost in the woods mythology folklore vibe, but I really wanted to include a chapter that focused a bit on feysand fluff and ... other feysand related *activities* 👀 I've never written smut before (certainly have read plenty though), so I was really intimidated going into this chapter, but I hope it reads okay.

The story Feyre shares with Rhys in this chapter is Hans Christian Anderson's The Red Shoes. You can find out more about this and other mythology referenced in this series in the fact file here.

To find the series masterlist click here.

I hope you enjoy 💖

Content warning: Detailed smut and references to injury

“My mother never told me stories,” Feyre said from Rhysand’s chest, where she had remained for the last half an hour. The glowing waters magic seemed to recognise the couple’s need for warmth, and so despite the autumn winds, neither of the pair were cold. 

“Not even as a babe? Rhys asked, his hand trailing up and down Feyre’s arm. 

“I don’t think so. She never had much interest in being a mother to me. I doubt it would have even crossed her mind to start sharing stories with any of us,” 

“What about your father? He was a merchant. Did he never share exciting tales of his expeditions?” 

“No. He was always far too busy when we were younger. Then, after he lost his fortune, he couldn’t bear to talk about it,” Feyre sighed. Rhys wondered if he would always get an ache in his chest when his mate spoke of her childhood. He recognised the loneliness of her early years. He saw how gratefully she received love from her sisters, their friends, and even him. It was like she didn’t see that they were the ones cauldron blessed to have her. The brightest of all the stars in Velaris, who showered them with such unwavering love.

Suddenly, Feyre lifted her head, excitement shining in her eyes as she reflected on the memory. “Nesta told us one once, though,” “Oh?” Rhys said, lifting a brow, wondering what sort of story a fiery young Nesta would share with her sisters. “It was pretty gruesome, actually. It was a cautionary tale she’d heard from one of her friends in the village who swore faithfully that her grandfather witnessed it play out years before,” “Tell me,” he said, amused by his wife’s sudden energetic passion. Feyre smiled and began her story. “There was once a young girl whose mother, a wealthy widow, spoiled her rotten. One day as a gift the girl received a pair of stunning red shoes, made with the finest crimson satin,” “I thought this was a cautionary tale. I’m failing to see a problem here,” Rhys interrupted. “Shh,” Feyre replied, a lopsided smirk on her face. “Elated with her new gift and wanting to show off to her friends, the girl decided to wear the red shoes when she went to pray to the gods. She was told time and time again by her mother that the gods would not take kindly to her bragging, and she warned the girl to go in her old black shoes instead. But cocky and full of youthful arrogance, she ignored her mother and continued to wear the shoes and brag of their fine beauty to anyone she met,”

“Okay, I’m beginning to see where this could backfire,” Rhys interjected once more.

“Do you want me to tell this story or not,” Feyre laughed, covering her mate’s mouth with her hand.

“As she was walking to visit the gods one day, she passed an elderly man hobbling along the path.

“What a beautiful pair of shoes! You should not waste them on walking. Shoes as fine as those should be reserved for dancing”. He said.

Scoffing at the old man, who wore nothing but rags, the girl continued walking and didn’t even notice when he whispered, “Once those shoes dance, may they never come off.”

“Oh no,” Rhys murmured from behind his wife’s hand.

“Oh, Yes,” Feyre simply replied.

“Later that same day, curiosity peaked by the old man’s suggestion that the shoes would be perfect for dancing, the girl began to dance with grace and fluidity. Soon, however, the shoes gained their own life, controlling the girl’s feet and causing her dancing to become erratic.

The girl flung herself to the floor, feet still flailing, and tried to rip off the cursed shoes. No matter how she twisted or pulled, the shoes remained, and despite her tears and fatigue, they kept dancing.

Weeks passed, and the girl continued to leap and pirouette her way through the village until she decided to visit the local blacksmith. The girl begged the man to cut off her feet with one of the masterful swords he had crafted, and taking pity on her tear-streaked face, the man agreed and removed the shoes with her feet still dancing inside them.

The girl was relieved to finally be still, and grateful to the kind blacksmith who gave her a pair of handcrafted wooden feet. Though she was free of the endless twirling and prancing, the shoes never stopped dancing, and they followed the girl wherever she went.”

“Gods, that’s dark. I see now why it was Nesta telling that story,”

Feyre gave Rhys a gentle smack on the shoulder, rolling her eyes with a slight giggle.

“It scared the life out of Elain. She refused to wear shoes for weeks. But I liked it. It’s not so much the actual tale, but there is something so intimate about sharing stories. I don’t think I ever felt as close to my sisters as a child as I did that night when we were huddled under the covers listening to Nesta’s tale,”

“Hmm. My sister loved stories. When she was a toddler, whenever I was home, she insisted on a story every night. I must have bought her a dozen libraries full of children’s books, but she wasn’t interested. She wanted to hear tales of my adventures with Cass and Az. So, I gladly shared them all. Well, all the child-friendly ones anyway,” he laughed, tears lining his eyes at the memory of his beloved baby sister.

Blinking back his tears, Rhys decided to change the subject quickly, before the grief became unbearable.

“You know, when I was a few hundred years younger, I was invited by a female for a hike in these woods once. We got … distracted, never ended up getting much further than the first row of trees, but it seems that was a good thing given how many evil beings seem to be lurking here,”

“You know, you’ve never really spoken about your past romances with me before,” Feyre pondered.

“That would be because you’re my mate, and I don’t want you to be jealous, Darling,” he smirked, playful arrogance radiating down the bond.

“There’s no need for me to be jealous,” Feyre laughed, “They may have met you first, Rhys, but I get to keep you. To see the real you. I don’t care if you had sex in the woods with someone 300 years ago, old man. You are mine,”

A shiver went down Rhys’s spine at those words. You. Are. Mine. He knew that he always would be and always had been. He was unequivocally hers even before either of them were a spec of dust on the horizon. 

“I guess I just never had anything serious before you, so there has never felt like anything significant to report. I dated, sure, but it was so casual that I never really had a genuine connection with anyone. To be honest, I didn’t want it for a long time. I didn’t want to fall in love if it meant having a relationship like my parents had. Or if it meant putting a target on someone’s back,” 

“What changed your mind?” Feyre asked, looping her arms around Rhysand’s neck, only a sliver of water separating their naked bodies. 

“It was Miryam and Drakon who changed things. I was so unbelievably happy for them when they found one another, but also so unbearably envious of what they had. Casual flings didn’t have the same thrill after that. Then I met you, and it was like my entire life I was trying to breathe underwater, and then all of a sudden, I reached the surface and found my first taste of fresh air. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t have stopped you from filling my lungs. You consumed me from the very start, my love,” 

Feyre’s heart swelled as she launched herself at Rhys and set her lips against his in a passionate kiss. Passion simmered down the bond as their hands began to roam, and Rhys lifted Feyre with ease as she instinctually wrapped her legs around his middle. The action made his cock harden as he felt Feyre’s wet heat against his stomach, and he let out a groan when she started to rock against him in an effort to create some friction.

Placing Feyre gently on the edge of the pool, Rhys’s hands wandered down her sides, leaving goosebumps in the wake of his touch, before he climbed out and knelt between her legs.

“Gods, Rhys, it’s cold out of the water,” Feyre laughed breathily.

“I can see that,” Rhys purred, leaning over her and gently pinching one of her pebbled nipples between his forefinger and his thumb whilst he greedily took the other into his mouth. Feyre rolled her head back in pleasure as he massaged her breasts with both his tongue and his hands.

“More,” she breathed.

Rhys lifted his head, lips shining as he smirked and replied, “Your wish is my command,”

Feyre raked her fingers through Rhysand’s hair, tugging lightly as he trailed his way down her body with his tongue. Feyre let out a gasp as he reached her core. She swore she would never get used to this. To Rhys’s hands caressing her with his touch, to his mouth and the filthy things it could say and do, to this male who drove her wild and had filled the emptiness in her heart with a life full of pure joy.

He pressed kisses against her inner thighs, teasing, before licking and sucking her to the brink. Feyre came for the first of many times that night, crying Rhysand’s name, her pleasure reverberating around the starlit sky.

[elliemarchetti]

Instinct

The follow up to Habit Rouge, or the actual Halloween party, in Eris’s POV.

I stole LoA’s name from @andrigyn's A Swing in the Dark, check it out if you haven’t already because it’s very good, just like everything she does.

Plot: Eris recognizes Nesta’s scent at the party.

Warnings: no beta, we die like heroes.

Words: 3049

Prev

The music was strangely to his taste, nothing like the electronic crap that nowadays played on the radio wherever he went. For too many years the mortals had depended on technology for everything they did, and the absence of a DJ in favour of live music only served to demonstrate they weren’t welcome at the event. Whoever the organizer was, they certainly weren’t Eris’s age, or they would’ve preferred strings and trumpets to guitars and drums, but he knew how to find satisfaction in what he was given, especially considering the chaos of bodies moving on the improvised dancefloor.

With all those werewolves around, the smell wasn't really the best, and soon the stench of sweat would overtake those of the expensive essences the witches had doused themselves with, but even then, he would bear it, if only to find someone to spend that night of revelry with. It was his last lover who invited him, a witch from New Orleans with long white hair and deep blue eyes, the same shade as the ocean on hot summer days. Appropriate, considering her specialty was water manipulation. He could see her among the patrons of the bar, together with her brother and cousin. To the casual eye, they could all have been mistaken for twins, their features so similar and exotic. The oldest of them had his muscular arm around the shoulders of a middle-aged woman, and judging by the adoring smiles he flashed her from time to time, she must’ve been his partner. In the human world, in the broad daylight he had to avoid for centuries, such an attitude would certainly have caused a stir, but here it was normal, encouraged even. After all, although the sorcerer looked twenty-five at best, he must’ve been at least four times older. Surprisingly, Eris too felt his actual age on that chilly night.

He was born in Spain during a violent period, on a year in which freedom was only a distant memory and you couldn’t trust your neighbour, the risk of being sold to the Inquisition as Jew out of mere envy so high that one barely allowed distant family members to visit. The matter shouldn’t have affected him, the Vanserras were fervent Catholics, and it hadn’t, until Eris turned thirteen. He still remembered vividly the day he found out his mother was pregnant for the seventh time. His father had organized a sumptuous banquet, and had announced the happy news with such satisfaction Eris almost feared he wanted to demonstrate to the guests how active he still was in the nuptial bed. Lucien was born the following year, and despite the mild winter, the blood of the maids who had assisted Lady Vanserra during the birth must’ve run cold. The child had auburn hair, and eyes of the same russet as his mother, but his skin was noticeably darker than that of his brothers, so much so that the whispers he was a half Moor reached Eris’s tutor, who was engaged in a lesson with the three oldest children, before they arrived to Beron’s ears.

“Are you sure?” the man asked under his breath, and although the other two students had taken advantage of the opportunity to distract themselves from their books, Eris listened attentively.

“Half Maghreb, I swear,” the woman replied, before disappearing back into the corridors of the villa. They called it the Forest House, and although there were various woods in Spain, the name was due to the quantity of fruit trees the founder of the family had planted all around the estate. Acres and acres of land that Eris knew like the back of his hand, an advantage he used to smuggle out the suspiciously silent baby.

“Run,” his mother had told him that night, still covered in dried sweat, holding back tears. “Leave Spain before your father comes back and never return.”

Eris had kept his promise, even when he discovered they’d both been burned alive. Helion hadn’t embraced God, and Lady Vanserra hadn’t regretted having loved him.

How a fourteen-year-old boy had managed to keep a newborn alive could only be explained through the compassion of strangers: he’d met women who had acted as wet nurses, and had been offered all sorts of lucky passages; he’d sold some expensive heirlooms for twice their value, and he’d been hired as a kennel master even though he had no previous experience, just a great love for animals.

They’d reached England, where their aunts still lived, when Lucien had already learned how to properly talk and walk. The two women, younger than their deceased sister, had silently mourned Aureliana’s terrible fate, and at the same time did everything possible to make their nephews forget the horrors they had to endure, but in 1563 the plague reached the gates of London, and with it more suffering came. In that wicked year, Lucien lost his eye, and Eris was initiated into the supernatural in a rather unceremonious way.

Everyone knew the symptoms of the plague, the disease that had wiped out nearly half of Europe's population just two hundred years earlier. High fever, headaches and severe weakness were only the first of a long list of ailments that led to almost certain death, and when aunt Drusilla began to suffer from them without apparent relief despite the compresses and treatments her family subjected her to, the only reasonable solution was quarantine. Although it didn’t happen so often, it wasn’t unusual for some members of the same household to get sick and others not, but when the terror reached its peak, and the woman stopped sleeping because of the nausea, officers dresses in long black tunics, with thick leather gloves and masks that still populated Eris’s nightmares, showed up at their door to drag her to the lazaret. Lucien had tried to oppose, to place himself between the bedchamber of the woman who acted as mother and father for him, but someone had drawn his sword, and before Eris could intervene, a long red gash had opened on his brother’s face. The deep cut ran from above his eyebrow almost to his chin, and although they managed to stop the resulting heavy bleeding, Lucien didn’t wake up for days. Seeing his little brother, the one for whom he’d risked his life so many years ago, fighting between life and death had pushed him to extremes he never thought he would reach, and in the middle of the night he’d brought a doctor of ill repute to his room, without the knowledge of his grieving aunt. The man was deathly pale, with deep dark circles surrounding his pitch-black eyes. He spoke with a heavy accent, and something in his movements seemed ancient, dating back to times when there weren’t abundant wealth and urban centres teeming with life, but remote villages and a life marked by the alternation of the seasons. He warned him that he would have to pay dearly for his brother’s recovery, and that Lucien would no longer be able to lead a normal existence.

“A solitary life, with an insatiable thirst,” he concluded, after which he laughed at his determination to stay by his side despite everything.

“You would die, and you will do it long before he goes back to being who you now call brother,” he’d warned, so Eris asked if there was no way to follow him on that path, to condemn himself too, if this would serve to help him.

“It's possible,” the doctor confirmed, “but you'll have to pay double.”

The price to reduce his existence to the shadow of what could’ve been, to be dominated by predatory instincts that scratched his chest and broke his ribs if they weren’t indulged, started with the blood of two servants. Eris had sent for them on a plausible pretext, and then watched the doctor drain them as if they were tasty glasses of fine wine, no emotion in his eyes. Soon he too learned how thrilling the taste of healthy people could be, and how bitter that of the sick and the drug addicts was.

For almost fifty years, Lucien hadn’t forgiven him for that choice. It was too much, death preferable to damnation. Eris had told him that he could choose his own path, go out into the sunlight and burn to ashes if that was what he wished for, but at least his conscience was clear and he would know he did everything possible to keep him alive. Over time, his hatred had weakened, and by the beginning of the eighteenth century the roles seemed to have reversed. The habits and customs of the 1700s definitely suited Lucien’s character more than Eris’s, and the long scar had become the protagonist of daring stories that attracted the admiration of men and the adoration of women. Fame obviously proved to be a double-edged sword, making the borders of unified Britain too small for the comely pairing, so they visited the Empire of Denmark and Norway, Sweden, and the ever-expanding Russian lands, from whose territory they witnessed the fall of the Holy Roman Empire and the coronation of Francis II as Emperor of Austria.

In Moscow, Lucien met his first love. Jesminda was a former serf, a poor woman hardened by work and the constant cold that characterized her homeland. She didn’t care that Lucien was a vampire, nor did he care about the dirty looks they were given when they walked the fancier streets, but her family soon forbade her from seeing a man she wasn’t married with, and since there was no way for Lucien to enter a church without perishing, he had to abandon her. More than Eris himself, who knew very little of love at the time, it was Vasilisa Melentyeva who consoled him. Sixth wife of Tsar Ivan the Terrible, after her husband sent her to a monastery to forget about her and have the freedom to remarry, she fled, resolute in not watching life pass before her eyes, only to end up in the hand of a Death God who first trapped her under the ice of Lake Baikal, and then, when he’d grown tired, cursed her to live the daily hours as a flaming bird, so she could act as a reminder of his immense powers for the growing supernatural population. After a quarter of a millennium, and with the impossibility of communicating when most of the people were awake, Vasilisa found it extremely difficult to adapt to the innovations that had radically changed the daily life she remembered, but in the end she succeeded, and the meeting with a heartbroken Lucien had solidified her will to live.

The latest addition to the bizarre group of redheads, and the one who broke the pattern with his brown hair, had been a sarcastic witch hunter whose soul had been trapped in a disturbing ring decorated with his own eye. The maker of said piece of jewellery had a history with the guy, he killed her sister during a previous job, but Eris pitied the finding he made at the end of the 19th century, and since he needed a specific set of skills to reconstruct a body, he, Lucien and the beautiful Vassa moved to France in hope to win over the leader of a renowned Aquitaine congregation. Grateful for what they did for him, and without any ties to his previous home, Jurian remained with them, discovering to his horror he was unable to age. Immortal and immutable were the only adjectives the magical community had managed to use to describe him, aggravating the quartet’s need to move whenever the local population became suspicious.

In 1915, at the outbreak of the First World War, two vampires, a recently reborn phoenix and a human frozen in time boarded the hold of a merchant ship and fled to America, landing in New York together with tens of thousands of Bulgarian, Greek and Romanians refugees. It was there that their paths parted, and nor for lack of love for each other, but because Eris simply wanted a retired life, far from suffering and prejudice, while Lucien and Jurian aspired to carry on Vassa’s desire to help those in need by bringing a smile and a moment of relief.

It was only much later, after the war ended and the Twenties started to roar, that Eris saw their performance for the first time. The Band of Exiles hid their peculiarities in plain sight, so Lucien, who certainly couldn’t die from a bad fall, was now an improvised acrobat, Queen Vasilisa was a bird of rare plumage and Jurian her tamer, who guided her through courses made of fire rings and mid-air pirouettes. When the spectators had finally emerged from the tent, and the two brothers had a moment to talk alone, Lucien had admitted that they didn’t earn much from the tickets, but at least they managed to lead a life worthy of being called one.

At the end of the decade, when the Great Depression hit the Unites States like a hurricane, Eris settled in Boston on a semi-permanent basis, buying for a paltry price an apartment that at the time could be considered quite luxurious. Finding clothes and sustenance was certainly not difficult for a vampire, and the long immobility to which he was forced by the scarcity of entertainment and jobs suited for his condition allowed him to claim a small number of victims, who went unnoticed thanks to his refined techniques of corpses concealment.

His favourite hunting area was undoubtedly the Public Garden, a place that exuded magic and attracted both supernatural beings and humans alike. There he’d encountered The Morrigan, who he’d helped escape her homophobic immortal family, and there he also met his first male lover, a friend of the aforementioned who was able to merge with shadows. Their relationship had been brief and passionate, but then Azriel had reunited with his friends waiting for him further south, and he’d never heard from him again. Just when he thought his life had fallen back into a monotonous routine, he saw Nesta, a witch with unearthly beauty and an icy gaze, so good at concealing her nature that he tried to seduce her like a fool in an attempt to feed on her. When she laughed in his face, he’d decided she would be his partner for life, no matter what he had to do. The courtship had been relentless, made of expensive gifts, attentions and promises, and when she’d finally been his, Eris had wondered if the Paradise he’d studied about as a child might not be on earth for those who couldn’t yearn for eternal grace. They’d spend years of pure, unconditional joy, until he talked too much, until he revealed feelings she likely wasn’t ready to face. She’d left him after a wonderful night at the theatre, leaving behind her intoxicating scent and a short note of apology. She’d told him her sister urgently needed assistance, and she would get in touch as soon as possible, but it had never happened, and Eris’s local acquaintances had reported that she’d been engaging in a vulgar affair with a werewolf almost five inches taller than him, with arms as wide as tree trunks.

During the 80’s, the neighbourhood where Eris still resided was raided by a gang of thieves. On a mild spring night, they took from him years of memories and the vast majority of the things belonging to the woman he loved, and although he managed to buy back almost everything in local pawn shops and flea markets, her perfume had disappeared from the fabrics, and with it his hope of reliving the moments spent together. Of the few missing pieces, the one he felt most sad for was the red velvet dress she’d worn on that last evening, the one that left her back bare, just a golden chain dangling down her spine. For a brief moment, Eris though he recognized the bodice among the people moving on the dance floor, but his attention was drawn by a lanky witch who nearly spilled the drinks she was holding on his jacket, and when he turned again, the vision disappeared like a cruel hallucination.

“I’m surprised to find you partying in such an unrefined place,” a familiar voice, one he hadn’t heard in over a hundred years, teased. The last time he encountered Vassa, her tone and body had been that of a child, so different from those of the woman in her sixties who had turned to ash one morning in France instead of taking on her usual bird appearance. Now, in front of him stood a decaying beauty, but the playful twinkle in her blue eyes was always the same. Her skin was no longer as white as the day he met her, but pleasantly tanned, a healthy golden colour that highlighted her refined features, and her hair were of a vibrant shade of red, no white in sight, surely thanks to box hair dye. Next to her, Jurian looked younger than he remembered him, but it must’ve been a simple reflection of the years passing for one and not the other.

“I see only one Queen here,” he replied, before pulling his friends into a quick embrace. With the exception of Vasilisa, his small group wasn’t particularly fond of canonical displays of affection, but given the prolonged distance, it almost seemed obligatory to seek for physical contact, a reminder they were all real and alive.

“Where’s my favourite acrobat?” he asked, scanning the crowd behind them with a hopeful gaze.

“He must’ve lost himself in his witch’s embrace. Elain never seems to tire of the old-time poems he recites at every hour of the day, and he…” Jurian started, but his renowned vulgarity was interrupted when Vassa elbowed him in the ribs. To everyone else, his words may have seemed harsh, but Eris recognized the tenderness in his expression as the same he wore when thinking of his brother.

He was just about to ask them if they were going to stay nearby for a while, when an unmistakable scent hit his nostrils, so intense it stunned him.

Nesta was at that party, and he had every intention of finding her.

[feyresdaughter]

A Court of Wings and Ruin, chapter 66:

Frowning at the mirror, I braided my hair and shrugged on my jacket, hissing at the movement in my shoulder. Another day or two, and the pain might be minimal enough to wield a sword. Maybe.

We are not talking enough about the fact that Feyre caught an ash arrow when she rescued Elain???

I quietly asked the nearest camp-mother to dig up some platters of food for my sisters . Elain was likely starving, and I doubted Nesta had eaten anything during the hours we’d been gone. The winged matron only asked if I needed anything, and when I told her I was fine, she just clicked her tongue and said she’d make sure food found its way to me, too. I didn’t have the nerve to request she find some of Amren’s preferred food as well. Even if I had no doubt Amren would need it—

Pls, the way Feyre thinks about gettim them all food 😭 she's so mother

Long-limbed creatures like shards of ice given form stalked past, tall enough to plant the cobalt-and-silver banners atop various tents; wagons were hauled by sure-footed reindeer and lumbering white bears in ornate armor, some so keenly aware when they ambled by that I wouldn’t have been surprised if they could talk. White foxes scuttled about underfoot, bearing what looked to be messages strapped to their little embroidered vests.

Not gonna lie, the winter court sounds amazing

My brows rose. The human girl— Briar— was with them. Now tucked beneath Viviane’s arm, face still bruised and swollen in spots, but … smiling timidly at the Winter Court ladies.I spoke before she could get the first word out, “You gave Briar over to them?” We fell into step back toward our own camp. “Az explained the state you found her in. I didn’t think being exposed to battle-ready Illyrians would do much to soothe her.” - “And the Winter Court army is much better?” - “They’ve got fuzzy animals.”

Viviane is also very mother. And the fuzzy animal comment is VALID

Mor glanced sidelong at me. “You did a very brave thing in saving Briar.” - “Anyone would have done it.” - “No,” she said, adjusting her tight Illyrian jacket. “I’m not sure … I’m not sure even I would have tried to get her. If I would have deemed the risk worth it. I’ve made enough calls like that where it went badly that I …” She shook her head.

I love Feyre so much 😭

"And when I saw you two vanish … I had this thought, this terror, that I might not get to see you again. To make things right.” - “I said things I didn’t really mean to—” - “We both did.” She led me up to the tree line at the border of both our camps,

When I tell you I love them

She leaned against a towering oak, foot tap-tapping on the ground. “No more lies between us.” Guilt tugged on my gut. “Yes,” I said. “I— I’m sorry about deceiving you. I just … I made a mistake. And I’m sorry.”

“I don’t love Azriel.” I remained perfectly still. Listening. “No, that’s not true, either. I— I do love him. As my family. And sometimes I wonder if it can be … more, but … I do not love him. Not the way he— he feels for me.” The last words were a trembling whisper. “Have you ever loved him? That way?” - “No.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “No. I don’t … You see …” I’d never seen her at such a loss for words. She closed her eyes, fingers digging into her skin. “I can’t love him like that.” - “Why?” - “Because I prefer females.”

Idc what you think about this plot I LOVE that Feyre is the first to know

"— I am stronger than him. It was … It was the idea of being bred like a prize mare, of being forced to give up that one part of me …” Her mouth wobbled, and I reached for her hand, prying it off her arm. I squeezed gently as tears began sliding down her flushed face.

I LOVE MORRIGAN

“Her name was Andromache. And she was … so beautiful. And kind. And I loved her … so much.” Human. Andromache had been human. My eyes burned. “But she was human. And a queen— who needed to continue her royal line, especially during such a tumultuous time. So I left— went home after the last battle. And when I realized what a mistake it was, that I didn’t care if I only had sixty more years with her … The wall went up that day.” A small sob came out of her.

I literally can't imagine how hard that must have been for Mor. Ugh, I wanna hug heeeer

I squeezed her hand once more. “You’ll tell them when you’re ready. And I’ll stand by you no matter what. Until then … Your secret is safe. I won’t tell anyone— even Rhys.” - “Thank you,” she breathed. I shook my head. “No— thank you for telling me. I’m honored.” I said quietly. “But I understand. And, again … when you decide the time is right, whether it’s tomorrow or in another five hundred years … I’ll have your back.”

Everybody deserves a friend like Feyre Archeron

“What?” she asked, coming to my side. “I was just thinking,” I said, smile growing, “that whenever you’re ready … I was thinking about how much fun I’m going to have playing matchmaker for you.” Mor’s answering grin was brighter than the entirety of the Day Court.

FEYRE ALREADY PLANNING TO PLAY MATCHMAKER

“If I end my life defending those who need it most, then I will consider it a death well spent.” Lord Devlon, for once, nodded his approval.

Pls that is so hot of Cassian

“We’ll need all the strength we have to fight Hybern,” Kallias said carefully. “Wasting it on winnowing humans—” - “It is no waste,” I said. “One life may change the world. Where would you all be if someone had deemed saving my life to be a waste of time?” I pointed to Rhys. “If he had deemed saving my life Under the Mountain a waste of time? Even if it’s only twenty families, or ten … They are not a waste. Not to me— or to you.” Viviane was giving her mate a sharp, reproachful glare, and Kallias had the good sense to mumble an apology.

We love Viviane in this house

[nikethestatue]

The Blueprint of ACOTAR books is right here

I am not sure why this is not clear, BUT...

Rhysand’s entire speech pre-battle in ACOWAR is the blueprint for the rest of the series. 

Here is how it went:

“I believe everything happens for a reason. Whether it is decided by the Mother, or the Cauldron, or some sort of tapestry of Fate, I don't know. I don't really care. But I am grateful for it, whatever it is. Grateful that it brought you all into my life. If it hadn't... I might have become as awful as that prick we're going to face today. If I had not met an Illyrian warrior-in-training," he said to Cassian, "I would not have known the true depths of strength, of resilience, of honor and loyalty." Cassian's eyes gleamed bright. Rhys said to Azriel, "If I had not met a shadowsinger, I would not have known that it is the family you make, not the one you are born into, that matters. I would not have known what it is to truly hope, even when the world tells you to despair." Azriel bowed his head in thanks. Mor was already crying when Rhys spoke to her. "If I had not met my cousin, I would never have learned that light can be found in even the darkest of hells. That kindness can thrive even amongst cruelty." She wiped away her teas as she nodded. I waited for Amren to offer a retort. But she was only waiting. Rhys bowed his head to her. "If I had not met a tiny monster who hoards jewels more fiercely than a firedrake..." A quite laugh from all of us at that. Rhys smiled softly. "My own power would have consumed me long ago." Rhys squeezed my hand as he looked to me at last. "And if I had not met my mate..." His words failed him as silver lined his eyes. He said down the bond, I would have waited five hundred more years for you. A thousand years. And if this was all the time we were allowed to have... The wait was worth it. He wiped away the tears sliding down my face. "I believe that everything happened, exactly the way it had to... so I could find you." He kissed another tear away.

And then he said to my sisters, “We have not known each other for long. But I have to believe that you were brought there, into our family, for a reason, too. And maybe today, we’ll find out why.”

He goes point by point, with every person and basically explains what and when to expect:

He starts off with Cassian, his first and closest friend. This is what his book was going to be about:  "I would not have known the true depths of strength, of resilience, of honor and loyalty.”

His book was first, and that’s exactly what it was about--strength and resilience with Nesta, persistence and loyalty to her.

He then goes to Azriel:  f I had not met a shadowsinger, I would not have known that it is the family you make, not the one you are born into, that matters. I would not have known what it is to truly hope, even when the world tells you to despair.

What will we find out? What a shadowsinger is, how he came about becoming one and what it means. Next, the concept of family--Azriel’s very mysterious family, his lineage and from whence he hails. At this point, I think it’s safe to assume there is a connection to Dusk Court. Azriel hopes for love, for choice, for his own family, since it’s been denied to him. 

Next is Mor: Most likely her book/novella will be following.  ‘ If I had not met my cousin, I would never have learned that light can be found in even the darkest of hells. That kindness can thrive even amongst cruelty.’

Interesting that Hel is mentioned. Mor, the ‘queen’ of an underworld kingdom. Hewn City (cut-off city) is under ground, and closest to Hel. What was it cut off from? The Night Court? Or, perhaps, from Hel? Let’s not forget the Darkbringers--an elite fighting force that bears loyalty only to Kier and the Stewards of HC. Not NC. Why? Will Mor, in fact, play a significant role with whatever powers she has, whatever her lineage is, in perhaps being a liaison between Hel and the NC?

Finally Amren: the most recent addition to his Inner Circle.

If I had not met a tiny monster who hoards jewels more fiercely than a firedrake..." A quite laugh from all of us at that. Rhys smiled softly. "My own power would have consumed me long ago."

Curious, how Amren has said repeatedly that nothing is by chance and that perhaps Rhys should become High King (it doesn’t matter how you feel about this). Yet, at the same time, she possesses the ability to mitigate his power and helps him control it. With Gwydion, Truth-Teller, and all the talk about High Kings and intergalactic angels and demons, is this not a tale for Amren? Is this why she was brought back? 

Lastly:

About the sisters: And then he said to my sisters, “We have not known each other for long. But I have to believe that you were brought there, into our family, for a reason, too. And maybe today, we’ll find out why.”

He states that they are now part of his family. The 3 blood sisters, who became members of his found family. And he believes that they were brought into Prythian for a reason--to change Prythian’s destiny. And to be part of HIS FAMILY. He is the connector, as well as Feyre--she connects the Archerons and humans to the Fae. He connects the Fae and his brothers to the Archerons and the humans. 

He does not mention anyone else. There is no Lucien, no Varian, no Tamlin, or anyone else. Only the Inner Circle and the Archerons. That’s what ACOTAR is about. 

And chances are--the series will end with Rhys and Feyre again, just as he ends his speech with professing his love for his mate. 

[yourmothersinnerthoughts]

Rhys and feyre have nyx and nesta and cassian have a boy a year after named malakai. About five years after that when nyx is five and malakai is four gwyn and az have a daughter.

She’s named Catrin after gwyns twin. And she’s the absolute baby of the ic. Everyone spoils her cause she’s the first girl in the ic (like the first baby that’s a girl). She’s everyone’s “little munchkin”. She loves her aunts and absolutely adores her uncles and can’t live without her cousins.

She thinks her dad and uncles can be a little scary looking sometimes so she sets about to remedy that. With the help of auntie elain she makes flower crowns for her dad and uncles. Teal for azriel because she knows he loves it because it’s the color of her and her mothers eyes (we’re pretending that they had teal flowers readily available), red for uncle cassian because his siphons are red and pink for uncle Rhys because she thinks pink is pretty. She waits to give azriel his flower crown when he comes back home around dinner time so first she sets off to find her uncles. The problem is they’re in a meeting with the high lords and feyre is at the court of nightmares.

(Catrin is the daughter of two Carynthians and she’s very gifted with her magical abilities and she’s a strong fae so let’s pretend all the kids of the ic are way too strong for their age).

Catrin concentrates hard at finding her uncles and at the ripe age of four, manages to winnow right smack in the middle of the high lord meeting. (Again let’s pretend that’s possible- even though it isn’t a high lord meeting would obviously be very secure). She appears and faces shocked faces all around her till she locks eyes with her uncle rhys. She squeals and runs to him all the while shouting “uncle Rhys! Uncle Rhys!” And runs into his arms. Rhys is already combing through her mind (only the last five minutes in case it’s an emergency and realises she’s winnowed). He asks her how she got here regardless and she tells him she went “poof” to find him. He gives her a soft smile and kisses her on the forehead. She presents the flower crown to him and cassian and they absolutely, instantaneously MELT.

She crowns them and tell them “it’s so that you look less scary and people can see how nice you actually are” and gives them a wide toothy smile (there’s a gap in the middle but that just makes it more cuter) cassian bear hugs and tells her that he’s going to take her for a fly later today and that they can prank nyx and malakai together after he’s done with the meeting in a ploy to be the favourite uncle (Rhys sees right through it and promises he’ll bring her ice cream once he’s done with the meeting). All the other high lords watch mouth agape as the most powerful high lord of prythian and his lord of bloodshed interact with the tiny girl and how they seem to resemble teddy bears in her presence.

Catrin makes eye contact with tarquin and he smiles at her and she takes an instantly blushes and grins broadly at him and tells him that she’ll make him a crown too- “not because your scary looking, it’s because I like you”- to which helion pouts (unbeknownst to the high lord of summer she had already formed somewhat of a crush on him when he came to velaris last week). Soon enough, gwyn arrives since Rhys had already reached out to her mind to mind and takes Catrin away after being greeted by her high lord with a peck on her cheek. The meeting continues and Rhys and cassian don’t take off the flower crowns for the rest of the day. Azriel wears his everyday and is always reluctant to take it off. People still have the common sense to fear him, teal flower crown and all. Though it does make him seem more humane and less shadow singery so at least Catrin achieved that.

Also while we’re at it let’s pretend that the high lords did not object or say anything, we’re pretending for the sake of fluff. Also I get everything about this was highly improbable but it’s a hc and it’s cute idk. Again I realise it’s not well written but it was just to give a general idea.

[tswaney17]

Kingslayer

Here is my Secret Santa gift to the lovely @sncinder​. 💙 I wrote this short fic based off her gorgeous Elain “KINGSLAYER” Archeron artwork that I completely fell in love with. So, please enjoy this little piece inspired and dedicated to her. 

My fanfic account: @tswaney17fics​​​

My ao3 account: tswaney17

Please let me know what you think. I love getting your feedback. Constructive criticism is always welcome. 💕

Trigger warnings: very mild graphic descriptions

Word Count: 1,246

Elain had always been a gentle, kind soul. She’d never been one to be defensive or abrasive like her sister Nesta, to yield any kind of weapon like Feyre. No, she had never held anything more deadly than a kitchen knife in her delicate palm before—though, she supposed that could be used with deadly precision should one need to.

But Elain had never needed that. Not with her elder sister, a snarling wolf at her side. Her constant companion.

And dreaded weight.

She loved Nesta dearly, but sometimes she felt suffocated. Like she slipped out from underneath her mother’s firm grasp, only to be gripped around the neck by another. It was what made falling for Graysen so easy.

Her heart burned in her chest at the mere thought of him.

Elain had been so reckless last night. Had slipped from her tent and the camp at the idea of him calling out her name. But it had not been Graysen.

It hadn’t been anyone at all.

It was the Cauldron, beckoning to her.

Taunting her.

And it got exactly what it wanted. Lured her right from her bed, the safety of her camp, and straight into Hybern’s. The king looked as startled as she did to see her just feet from his war tent. Seemingly having no idea what to do with her, he had her tossed into the tent with the godforsaken pot; chained her with magical bindings that prevented her from using any form of her powers—not that she had any control or idea of how to use them anyways—and gagged her until he could determine what to do with her.

The ancient being sitting next to her purred in her presence.

Even with the blue chains on her, her magic thrummed in her veins in response to its calling. Stifled, yes, but still mobile within her. She shivered, the temperature in the tent somehow cooler than it was outside. Like the life around it was nearly sucked away in some sort of vortex. In only her nightgown and barefoot, Elain seriously debated whether she would make it through the night without suffering some sort of permanent damage.

Or dying of the cold altogether.

The air around her warmed slightly and she felt her lifeblood heat as it traveled throughout her body, the Cauldron and her inner magic working together to keep her alive.

Almost as if the magical bathtub next to her couldn’t bear the mere idea of harming her. Of her suffering. The idea was absurd considering she suffered for months from its gift—hallucinations—until she very nearly went insane from them. From her visions she had yet to understand.

They all thought she had gone mad. She believed them herself until he discovered what she’d been given. What the Cauldron believed her worthy of.  

She wasn’t sure how long she sat on that ground—it could’ve been minutes or hours, time moved differently next to the ancient beast—but the flaps of the tent finally parted and then he was there. All broad-shouldered, Illyrian scaled leathers, and a lethal gleam in those hazel eyes as they pierced through every fiber of her being. Until he was looking through the clouds of her heart and directly into her soul.

It was fear she saw in those hazel eyes.

Fear and worry and steely determination. Like he’d rip apart the world to get to her.

And he had nearly destroyed himself to get her to safety. His wings shredded. His beautiful, precious wings. The black, velvety texture with strands of red and gold, spewing blood. His roar echoed off the canyon as he fought to keep them airborne and coach Feyre into her flight.

When that hound launched itself at them, she just moved, fighting with all her immortal strength and not caring if it took off her foot in the process. She just needed to get it off him. Had to get the creature off his wings; to protect him in the only way she knew how.

She hadn’t thought twice about kissing his cheek when they finally made it back to camp. The moment her lips touched the rough stubble of his sharpened face, something inside her snapped. Not a bond; but something far more primeval and sacred. More precious. A deeper sort of power beckoning her to him.

Something that seemed to say, I see you.

I hear you.

I am here for you.

Elain’s body shuddered as she came back to the present, still pressed into Feyre’s side. The sisters had shared the same bed last night—much like they did when they lived in that pathetic excuse for a cottage. But instead of fighting for room, last night they clung to each other as it could very well be the last time they held one another.

Perhaps she thought it would be when she crawled into bed with her sisters. But Elain knew what the dream that pulled her from sleep was. What she was going to do today.

Even with the limited knowledge of what her powers could do, she knew her visions were subjective. She knew that the dress she wore in the vision wasn’t somewhere in this camp. The beautiful gown of gold, embellished on the front in patterns that reminded her of fleur-de-lis. The waist cinched before expanding into a ballgown. Her golden-brown hair touched with the rays of an approaching sunset—not quite dusk but the onset. The sky dusted in colors of pink and orange and purple.

And she stood there, brandishing a dagger, its obsidian hilt gobbling up any light that touched it. The blade dripped blood onto the forest floor beneath her feet; the coppery scent so distinct, she knew whose blood now soaked into the grass blades without having to look for the body.

The vision was so violent, it threatened to choke her and she woke out of her sleep, gasping for air. Her sweat-soaked body peeled away from Feyre and Elain forced her stomach to settle so she didn’t retch and wake up her sisters.

It was a curse to be blessed with these powers. Gifted is what her family kept telling her. A nightmare is what she told herself. But this was one vision she had to see come true. That she couldn’t let fall through the cracks.

Wouldn’t.

Because she had seen what would happen if she didn’t make the killing blow today. Who would reap the consequences. She glanced at her elder sister, still asleep as she took steading breaths through her nose.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Again.

Nesta and Cassian, both dead on the battlefield. She could not let it happen. Elain would walk through hell and back if it meant giving her sister and whatever that male was to her a chance to find some sort of future, together or not.

A word clanged through her mind, one that would resonate with her for the entirety of her life. It would brand her throughout all of Prythian, the Human Lands, and the Continent. People would know and speak her name based on this moment alone.

It was a vision of representation—of who she would become after today.  

Kingslayer.

It wasn’t one she particularly wanted, but she would endure the name for the sake of her family. Her loved ones.

Taking one last steadying breath, Elain rose with early morning dawn, slipped on her dress, and prepared to hunt. 

~~~~~

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