#autumn court blood duel

[elleybug]

Autumn’s Blood duel 🩸🍁🗡️

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Been thinking a lot about the Autumn court’s blood duel. I remember it being rare to call for one . I want it brutal, scary, ritualistic and very unique to the court.

Red painting the duel chamber. Vines and leaves red from the blood spilled. Sprouting red flowers. Beautiful and terrifying.

[bloomingdarkgarden]

B L O O D D U E L | Helion ⚔️ Beron

Flame and daylight ravaged in a deadly, breathtaking spectacle. As if the molten core of the earth and the sun were trying to swallow each other whole. Read the scene here.

[cactusboil]

Theory/rant about day court, autumn court, sjm exploring rejected mates, Helion+LoAC, possibility of blood duel (a little elucien?)

I think atp we all kinda know that Helion and LoAC (Lady of Autumn Court) are mates/rejected mates. We also got hints that sjm might explore how rejected mates and blood duels work in future books. This is just a theory about the future book/s that make sense to me:

Helion and LoAC are rejected mates. We'll get more insight on Helion and LoAC's past relationship, LoAC rejecting the mating bond with Helion for the sake of her children and the effect of rejection on both of them.

Beron is working against Prythian and Helion takes it upon himself to challenge him to a blood duel for LoAC and Prythian, so we get stuff on blood duel. Beron ends up k!lling him and winning the duel, and the Day Court power goes to Lucien. That's when Lucien finally discovers his true heritage.

Now, Beron's elimination could happen in three ways:

LoAC finally rebels against him and k!lls him

LoAC rebels against him, Beron tries to k!ll her, but Eris takes the opportunity to end him once and for all.

Lucien k!lls him right on the spot of the blood duel out of rage of Helion's death.

Ultimately, Autumn court power goes to Eris and he becomes HL while Lucien has to take over Day Court. Elain joins Lucien to help him out at DC as everything happened rapidly, that way she can stay close to her sisters and be with lucien, so we get elucien too :)

[silly--fangirl]

okay I KNOW a blood duel would be just a bit out of character for Lucien

BUT my ovaries CRAVE the damned man, so what can a girl do if not daydream

[azrielsfavoriteshadow]

I also find it interesting how sjm brought up the rejected mates idea in acowar which is the same book we learn about loa+helion. Sarah always has patterns to how she writes mates and foreshadowing to those mates. She includes this in the same book to tell the readers the rejected mates is them, not Elucien as many want.

Yes, great point! The context reaffirms this is alluding to LoA and Helion (imo). This teaches us how rejected mates might “return to challenge the male she chooses for herself”. How in other territories, males believe their mated female belongs to them.

This does not at all fit the Lucien we know. However, it does fit the Beron we know. Beron’s abuse and misogyny are canon.

Later we also learn about the Blood Duel. Whose tradition is that? The Autumn Court’s. Everything Rhysand is describing here sounds exactly like what we learn about the Blood Duel.

Beron enacting the Blood Duel over LoA is completely on brand for him. She would of course fear this out of worry for her children and out of worry for Helion.

We don’t get many details about the Blood Duel. Is it enacted just by a mated male? With Beron’s possessiveness and misogyny, LoA “belonging” to him mate or not still stands.

We also learn Az thought about enacting it for Mor which means that the Blood Duel can potentially be enacted by the other male as well.

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

updated: 3/20/2023

gust & flame - masterlist

Eris Vanserra has been a prisoner in his own home since the day he was born. He has done what he had to in order to survive and protect the few he loves. And he is playing the long game. Waiting, waiting, and waiting for the right time to make his move, to usurp his wicked father and become High Lord of Autumn Court. But things become even more complicated when a human girl drops into his life. Perhaps Eris can wait no longer to take his throne.

--- takes place after the events in A Court of Silver Flames

🍁 Eris Vanserra x Reader

Chapter I || Chapter II || Chapter III || Chapter IV || Chapter V || Chapter VI || Chapter VII || Chapter VIII || Chapter IX || Chapter X || Chapter XI || Chapter XII || Chapter XIII ||

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Ten

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Mentions of cannon-typical violence. Azriel and Y/n have a late night conversation. Fluff and other stuff.

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

“Gwyn says hi by the way.” 

Azriel choked on his coffee, bitter flavor rising in his throat. Nesta sauntered into the kitchen, cool eyes glaring at the back of his head. Your familiar silhouette was nowhere to be found. 

Not here. His shadows whispered. With Rhys.

“Calm down you idiot.” Nesta’s voice dripped with unrestrained contempt as she poured herself a cup and sat. His tan skin glistened with sweat after his morning training session, inky tattoos splashing across his bare chest and trailing over his shoulders, down his back, and up to his neck. In the cloudy afternoon light it was difficult to tell where his shadows ended and where his tattoos began. 

“Y/n’s not here. You’ll have to walk around half-naked some other time.” 

Azriel winced. “That isn’t what—”

Nesta brushed him off with a wave of her hand, eyes narrowing over her mug. Azriel felt like a bug pinned down under a microscope. A crushed butterfly about to hang.

“How is Gwyn doing?” he asked gingerly, casually. 

“She’s fine. Believe it or not, the world did not end when you broke up with her.”

Again he flinched. “I’m sorry, Nes,” he whispered rather pathetically. 

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to. But you already know that.” 

There seemed to be no shortage of people he needed to apologize to: Elain, Mor, Emerie, Gwyn, even Lucien ��� especially Lucien. His cheeks burned to think of the absolute mess of things he’d made. Feyre had been the quickest to forgive him for the debacle with Elain and Gwyn. But as Cassian had mentioned at dinner, there was a reason everyone was staying away from the River House, and the reason was him. 

Two years ago he’d challenged Lucien Vanserra to a blood duel for Elain’s hand. It had felt so right at the time, so obvious: three sisters for three brothers. But it was only when their deaths had loomed over her head with shocking reality that Elain realized what a horrible mistake she’d made. The mistake they’d made together. 

“Call it off,” she’d commanded him, blocking Lucien’s bloody, heaving body. The son of Autumn’s sword had been kicked away, scraping across the rock with an eerie scream and disappearing over the cliff edge. But Elain had stayed, soft brown eyes begging, “Do this and I will never forgive you. What we did… it wasn’t right. It was a mistake.”

A mistake, she’d called it. Years of silent longing and bare bone brushes of their hands in dark hallways. All a mistake. Those words had haunted him. They’d chased him into Gwyn’s kind arms where he once again mistook the friendship he felt towards her as love and broke her heart in the process. Add that to his lackluster response to Mor’s coming out and… well he had a lot of work ahead of him. 

He hoped he would be forgiven in time, but that didn’t mean he’d twiddle his thumbs until that day came. He scoured Prythian’s publishers for new releases of adventure, mystery, and romance books — the raunchier the better — and they showed up every month at Cagniv Library like clockwork. The priestesses still thought it was part of a trade bargain with the Day Court. He’d sent Elain and Lucien plenty of letters and gifts, but either they weren’t being opened or they weren’t bothering to respond. He wouldn’t blame them either way. As for Mor and Emerie, they were gone with the wind, too busy infiltrating lands and enjoying an extended honeymoon on the continent to bother with him. 

That cold stillness in Nesta’s eyes transformed into pity. It was hard not to be reminded of her own failures when she looked at him. Seeing him angry. Watching him crawl into the darkest corners of himself and burn every bridge he crossed had been a shock to Nesta’s system. A plunge into freezing waters that brought pain and clarity. 

She sighed, rubbing her temples. “Just give them time, Az. They’ll come around. If they did it for me, they’ll do it for you.” “I think our situations are rather different.” 

“I don’t.” 

“You didn’t try to kill anyone.”

She grimaced. “I came close.”  

He stayed silent for a long while. He washed his cup. He dried it. He put it in the cupboard. 

“Can you—can you please not tell Y/n?” he begged. His voice was small and quiet. He’d been a fool in the past and made terrible decisions in the name of love. Mor, Elain, and Gwyn. They’d all lived more in his mind than in his heart — people he could never fully grasp, and therefore never lose. They’d been safe. Easy. 

It didn’t feel that way with you. You felt solid and warm, even if he’d only touched you once. You felt more real to him than anyone else. You felt like someone he could actually have. Which meant he could lose you before you’d even become his to lose. 

“You can’t keep her in the dark forever. Not about your history, not about the bond. If you’re going to learn anything from your brothers, learn that.”  

“I know,” he whispered. “I just want to get it right this time.” He had to get it right this time. “I want her to fall in love with me because she wants me, not out of some sense of obligation. I want…” I want to be worthy of her.  

Nesta shook her head, a laugh escaping despite her best attempts to stifle it. Azriel looked at her like she’d gone mad.

She giggled again. “It’s funny. For a male as handsome and desirable as you, you have the worst fucking luck with women. The Mother must have a twisted sense of humor.” 

Maybe she did. But Azriel was still enough of a romantic to hope that he had learned from his mistakes, and that his bad luck would end with you. 

You shoved the notebook off Rhysand’s desk, loose papers flying out like uncoordinated doves. 

“I told you notetaking was a futile effort.” The High Lord didn’t even look at you, too busy searching for invisible dirt beneath his manicured fingernails.

You groaned and dropped your head against the book he’d handed you two hours before. 

Rhysand had to smile at your frustration. It was a wholly different experience teaching you magic compared to teaching Feyre. With Feyre, her greatest barrier had been her lack of knowledge (and her hatred of him at the time). She’d been thrust into the world of fae without preparation, but it had left her malleable and adaptable. It was like teaching a newborn how to walk — a mind that could absorb more because it knew so little.

But you knew too much. You could spout off magical theory at the drop of a hat. You were a pedagogical master with a thousand mnemonics to your name. You were the first to wake in all of Velaris, making your way to the Library before bodies could fill the streets, and you only returned when the crowds had either turned in for the night or gone out to drink until daybreak. You swallowed every history book on the Night Court, Clairvoyants, daemati, and death gods until you felt untethered from the earth — until your mind began to float outside your body, buzzing with thoughts that never went away. 

But none of that mattered. Your power was an immovable object that couldn’t be controlled by logic or studying. 

You shoved against that power now.

“Good,” Rhysand nodded, leaning against the window, “You’re getting better at it.” 

He lingered in your mind, hovering over the depths of your emotions and memories like a bird ready to break water. It had taken some time before you felt comfortable with the intrusion. Your first lesson together, Rhysand’s presence in your mind had made it impossible to focus. Panic had seized your mind and your body until you could do nothing more than brace your hands and feet against the chair’s leather upholstery. You could have sworn you saw a head of silver hair to your left. The gentle pitter patter of rain had sounded like dripping blood. 

It wasn’t like that anymore. Henna had left you with a useful skill — you could wind your consciousness around Rhysand and keep him there, suspended in that indescribable space where your thoughts lay so he could do no more damage than you permitted him. 

Through your mind he felt the narrowing of your power. You imagined it like a blanket wrapped around your body, suffocating but familiar. It was this power that laced your skin and made contact with others so hard. You imagined the fabric shortening, creeping up your arms and legs, curling around your torso and squeezing like a snake. Inch by inch you tightened it around you, burying it within your chest instead of carrying it openly like a wound. 

You held a music book between your hands — Nyx’s to be exact. The little Lordling showcased a certain aptitude for the piano his father could only dream of, and being as young and protected as he was, the worst kind of emotion imbued within its pages was agitation. You could hear one of the ballads written within it as clearly as if Nyx was sitting beside you plucking out the melody. 

Tighter. Tighter. Tighter. You swallowed your power. Pulled what was outside inwards. Slowly but surely the music faded away until the book was as all books should be — silent. 

Sweat beaded your brow. This was the most difficult part — not tuning out the music, but keeping the volume at zero. 

Rhysand checked his watch. Waited. Checked it again. 

You lasted thirty minutes before your power burst out along your skin once more like a thousand prickling needles. You shuddered, half-disappointed, half-grateful that you could hear the melody again.

Rhysand clapped his hands, slow and proud. The grandfather clock in the corner of the room was dangerously close to five bells. Rhysand nodded. 

“Perfect timing. We’re done for today.” 

“I can go for longer,” you pleaded. 

“I know you can.” Rhysand pushed off the wall, polished leather boots gleaming. He was wearing his Illyrian leathers this time, the scent of wind still clinging to his skin after a visit to the northern war camps.

Old Illyria lasted thousands of years. The clans used to flow up and down the Steppes, following the tundrabeast that lay claim to those mountainous regions and were said to speak for their god Ramiel — Starbreaker, Night Herder — after whom the mountain is named. They don’t move with the cold winds anymore, even if they’ve kept their names: Ironcrest, Bloodborn, Windhaven, Seawhip, Hawkseed, Timberbane, and a dozen others. And they don’t make sacrifices, although the Blood Rite might be a close—

Rhysand rapped his knuckles on the desk to grab your attention and splayed his fingers wide. “I also know that the moment I dismiss you, you’ll scamper off to the Library to work until you can’t see straight.” 

You shifted in your seat. “I like it there.”

“That’s besides the point. If you keep going at this pace you’ll burn out. Then you won’t be able to help anyone. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” 

Your eyes widened ever so slightly. You hadn’t thought he’d noticed. “I know what it feels like to burn out and it’s not going to happen anytime soon. I promise.” 

Rhysand suppressed the urgent need to roll his eyes as you gathered your things and walked out the door. “And here I thought I worked too much,” he muttered beneath his breath. 

You carried Henna’s journal tucked within your new Librarian robes — black with ivory detailing and wide sleeves that narrowed at the wrists. You kept a hand on it during late nights at the Library. You ate with it propped open, black splotches swimming across the page like worms. You slept with it beneath your pillow. 

But alas, it would seem the book was going to make you work to wring meaning out of every odd symbol.

You were muttering to yourself as you walked back and forth in front of the fireplace. You’d effectively commandeered one of the reading rooms on the seventh floor, leaving the library only when required for Rhysand’s lessons. Helion’s most recent letter lay open on the table with Cherp’s resting just beneath it. A map hung crooked on the wall, four athenaeums circled in bleeding red ink alongside a list of books that had gone missing — the ones that people knew about at least. 

The Alcove, Ares House, Folkmen’s Bard, and most recently, Argot’s.

 Three Librarians dead. Their throats slit. Blood dribbling down their burgundy robes as they’d sat hunched over their desks. The week before it had been two from Ares House caught swaying from the third floor balcony. 

No one has any idea how it happened. The wards were never set off. Nothing in the Library was disrupted. I tell you this only because you deserve to know what’s happened to your people. Continue your training. Continue your research. Do whatever you need to do. But leave the court business to me, dear. I’ll write to you again when I can.

~ Helion 

“It doesn’t make sense,” you mumbled, drumming your fingers against your hip where the book remained silent. “None of this makes sense.” 

You’d used every ounce of Rhysand’s training on the book. You’d imagined your power sliding over it like water, fire, needles shooting through cowhide, a hammerstrike, every metaphor imaginable. You’d glared at it with an intensity that would have disintegrated a lesser object. 

When that failed, you had moved onto solving the murders and thefts at your father’s court. You couldn’t content yourself with sitting in one of the cushy, high-backed chairs in Rhysand’s office sipping imported tea in porcelain cups while athenaeums were on lockdown. 

The pattern was shockingly simple — Koschei was going after books that could be traced back to him. Books that might give his enemies the upper hand: folktales alluding to him and his siblings, translated texts from old Bauldish that might have proved useful in deciphering Henna’s book, secondary accounts of the age before High Lords ruled. 

If you were Koschei you’d go after Godswoods next — the collection of athenaeums dedicated to religion. Then on to The Gallows — the athenaeum on death and dying. The two were intricately tied to one another, but people tended to write books on dying before coming up with explanations for what comes after. You’d spent a great deal of time there following your mother’s death, and you could picture it now — solemn black bookshelves looping around a circular room that tapered up into a point like a blade pointed to the sky. 

You finished writing your letter to Helion, along with the list of books you wanted pulled from the archives. Cagniv Library may have been a glowing beacon in the Night Court, and a place of sanctuary for the priestesses, but it was nothing like you were used to.

You held the paper out in front of you, Helion’s glimmering pen tucked behind your sharp ears, and blew. The black letters lifted off the page and faded away like a breath in cold air. The message was already writing itself back into existence in Helion’s office.

“It doesn’t make sense.” 

You scribbled out another note, this one for yourself with another pen. You ripped it to pieces and fed it to the fire. 

What was Koschei looking for now? Was he still looking for the book that now rested against your hip, or had he turned to some other prize? And why kill the Librarians and set all of Day Court on high alert? 

Henna had been careful. She’d stayed hidden until she was forced to tear down the Alcove to get the book. Whoever was causing the killings now was either a showman or a fool. They left bodies hanging from rafters. They carved smiles into throats. They let the Librarians know what they were stealing whether they meant to or not. They left patterns scattered among wreckage for someone like you to figure out. 

It all felt… juvenile for lack of a better word. Someone young. Someone who wanted to prove themselves in a loud way. Someone whose ego hadn’t been tested yet and wasn’t listening to Koschei’s commands in their entirety. 

Azriel. 

You couldn’t help but think of him. 

Azriel was nothing like that. 

He wasn’t loud. He didn’t vy for attention. He didn’t seek the light in a room. His confidence was quiet and true. His kindness took the shape of the shadows that lingered by your ankles. It took the shape of the robes you wore now. He was the only one who’d seen them at The Alcove. He was the only one who could have requested the court seamstress to make a copy and leave it hanging in your closet.

No. Azriel was nothing like that.

Azriel’s eyes lit up like embers when you slid through the front door, weary but bright-eyed and cradling your journals against your chest. The shadows he’d left behind with you slithered across the floor like mist. 

She’s been in the Library all day. Working. The shadows whispered in his ear. She thought about you. 

Azriel smiled. He’d thought about you as well. “I was wondering where you’d gone.” 

You gasped, closing the door louder than you intended. You’d developed a talent for sneaking in and out of the River House unnoticed to the point where Cassian considered hiding bells in your pockets. Nyx had tried to do it as a joke, but you’d caught him giggling too loudly in your bedroom. 

You brightened immediately, a broad smile appearing on your face. Azriel felt his heart leap, then quiet as he caught the scent of parchment paper. 

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be back until tomorrow?” You whispered, tip-toeing through the dimly lit hallway to where Azriel was in the sitting room. You sank into the couch with a groan. The hardwood desks at the Library had not been kind to you. 

He shrugged and brushed back his wind-thickened hair, shifting to face you better. A crumb-coated plate lay on the table and he still wore his leathers. He must have just arrived home. 

“I flew as quick as I could. I wanted to be home.” With you. 

He’d gotten so used to the feeling of you sleeping across the hallway that he’d flown the last three days without sleep. It was worth it to see you again. From the looks of it, you’d not fared well in his absence either. Your eyes had that glassy, half-there sheen: a perfect mixture of exhaustion and mind-crackling clarity. 

“And how were the Mortal Lands?” You tucked your knees beneath you and leaned against your hand, fighting the sleep that seemed to grapple for you now that Azriel was home. His wings were spread wide and you resisted the urge to close the last few inches between you and the talon that glimmered in the faelight like obsidian glass.

You’d never been that far south. You’d never had reason to. But Azriel flew far and wide. The Continent was now Mor’s domain, but the secret goings of Prythian and the Mortal Lands belonged to him and him alone. The Spymaster of the Night Court. The Shadowsinger.

Azriel shook his head. “Quiet. Koschei hasn’t touched them yet as far as I can tell, and the Mortal Queens don’t care. They seem to think that they can handle Koschei because he’s agreed to bargains with them in the past.” 

You made a noise of disapproval. “Like they handled Hybern? The only reason they’re still standing is because fae fought their war.” 

The scattering of human armies that had arrived on that battlefield had belonged to no crown. They’d either fought for the bloodlust or the money. You could respect them for that. 

Azriel tipped his head to the side, following the curling of his shadows around his shoulders. “But they are still standing. They don’t know what we sacrificed to keep them safe. That’s the problem with humans. They forget too quickly and get complacent” 

“It would seem we have the opposite problem. We can’t help but remember everything,” you said, with no small amount of bitterness. 

He wanted to keep you talking. He wanted your thoughts. Wanted to fall asleep to the sound of your voice after three weeks of silence. You weren’t aware of it, but the bond had felt thin the further he’d traveled away from you. Like a tightrope stretched to its snapping point. Now that he was back, and you were here, his heart didn’t feel like such a strenuous burden.

He smiled. “I think that’s just you. I know plenty of fae who are forgetful and empty-minded.” He leaned back, stretching his wings out to the side, and winced. They were whipped raw and tender from the flight. 

Without thinking you got up and moved to the fireplace, feeding wood to the flames until it crackled happily. There was a reason Cassian and Azriel loved to bath their wings in sunlight every chance they got. The heat helped the soreness and eased the wind’s rough edge. 

It also drove color into your cheeks and set your hair alight in a soft golden haze. You were a marvel. An angel with a halo to match and Azriel drank in the sight. 

“Like who?”

“Cassian.” 

You smirked and chucked the last of the wood into the flame’s gaping mouth. 

Cass was far from empty-minded, but after decades of being feared as the Lord of Bloodshed he was grateful that people loved him enough to be just a little mean. He gave and received friendly blows like kisses on the cheek and smiled all the wider for it. To threaten his life was the same as saying I love you. It must be why the Mother had made Nesta his mate. She said I love you to him all hours of the day. 

Azriel asked you what you were thinking, and when you told him he felt some of that pain slide off his shoulders like rain. He threw his head back and laughed until his chest started to hurt again and you thought about how rare that sound must be, and how much you loved it. 

“How are the others? Rhysand told me Feyre’s sister is down there along with your friends.” 

Azriel sobered up quickly and cleared his throat. “Yes. Elain, Lucien, Jurian, and Vassa.”

His voice caught on two names: Elain and Lucien, and it didn't escape your notice. He sounded... nervous.

“And? Are they alright?”

He rolled his shoulders and looked out the window to the inky black sky. Vassa would be sleeping now in her human form, and if she was lucky, she’d wake up in the morning still within the manor’s grey stone walls. Safe. Home. 

He shook his head gravely. “They’re nothing short of terrified. Koschei has Vassa under a spell that would normally keep her tied to his lake. He let her go during the war against Hybern and he’s been allowing her to stay, but… everyone’s just holding their breath and trying to prepare for the day he’ll take her back.”

You shivered and wrapped one of the spare blankets around your shoulders. You couldn’t imagine a life where every waking moment held the risk of being torn away from everything you held dear. The anticipation would have broken you more than the act itself. 

“I’ve heard of her. The firebird.” You murmured softly. You imagined a creature with glowing eyes, blue-red feathers streaking behind like ribbons set on fire. Azriel narrowed his eyes in confusion, and you explained, “Ares House records all wartime information. I read the reports. We’re very thorough.”

Azriel smiled. “I would expect nothing less.”

Silence passed in comfort, and you couldn’t stop thinking about Vassa.

“Do you think they’d be able to stop it if Koschei did make her go back?” 

“I don’t know, Y/n.” And it was driving him mad to have Koschei hanging around like a forgotten word at the end of his tongue.

“I hate this,” you spat out, “The not knowing. I hate it.” 

Azriel stared at you, hazel eyes silently begging you to continue. Shadows curled around your body, gently tugging you closer to him until your knees were a whisper away from touching. 

You both sighed softly into the quiet air. Even the River House seemed to be at rest for the night. The usual background hum of cooking and cleaning were absent. It was just you and the Shadowsinger. 

“How are things going? With the book?” 

You slipped your hand through the slit in your robes and pulled it out. The gold chain rustled, glowing faintly from your touch. 

“It’s going.” You shoved the book back out of sight. You couldn’t even stand to look at it after the hours you’d spent agonizing over its pages. “Rhysand’s been teaching me to contain my power better. I can actually touch some things now.” 

But not him. Still not him. And it was killing you. 

Azriel gave another one of his small smiles. The ones that never failed to make the world a smaller, more manageable place. “That’s good.”

“I just… this may sound silly but, I’m not used to things being this hard. With my powers a lot of things just sort of came naturally for me. But now people are dying and I’m just sitting here on this very expensive couch and I can’t do the thing I was brought here to do and I… I don’t like feeling this useless.” 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Azriel murmured. He closed the space between you even more, shadows hovering over your face in silent permission. When you didn’t pull away they brushed back the strands of hair that had fallen over your face with a cool, silky touch. 

Azriel was all calm darkness and you imagined that if you reached out to touch his chest your hand might just slip through him like he wasn’t there at all. He seemed too good to be real. 

But he was real, and he was sitting close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath fan your cheeks. 

“You’re not useless. Never believe that. Not even for a second. And even if you were useless, it wouldn’t matter. You’re worth more than the things you can do, remember?”

“I remember.” Your voice was quiet and thick. 

You rested your cheek in the crook of your arm as you gazed at him wearily. 

Azriel kept his hands out in the open, one hand reaching across the couch cushions before stopping mere inches away from yours. His shadows closed the remaining distance, slipping in between your fingers to mimic Azriel’s touch. 

“Did you uncover any more secrets of mine while I was gone?” Azriel asked as your eyelids began to droop. 

“I confess I forgot to look. But maybe now that you’re here, I’ll start again,” you mumbled into the encroaching dark.

“I look forward to it,” were the last words that filtered through your ears before you fell asleep to the untranslatable whispers of shadows. 

Nyx bounded down the stairs, leaping the last six steps before landing soundlessly on the floor with a soft bend of his knees — just like Azriel had taught him. Feyre gave a proud nod before ruffling his ebony hair and Rhysand beamed. 

Let me. Feyre adjusted the wrappings around Rhys’s chest that kept Velaria’s plump body swaddled and comfortable. Her pink lips opened in a yawn that had both mates sighing. 

“Uncle Az!” Nyx raced forward towards the sitting room and then froze, mouth opened in a surprised oh.

Azriel slept like the dead on the floor, chest rising and falling with the beat of his gentle breath. You lay stretched out on the couch, one arm propped beneath your head and the other dangling over your waist and off the cushions. Your fingers swayed an inch above Azriel’s chest, shadows swimming over his torso and creeping up your arms so that even in sleep you were connected to one another. 

Feyre gasped softly at the picture. The sunlight blanketing the both of you in peach fuzz. The faint uptick of Azriel’s lips and the smoothness of his brow. The way you looked like you were bleeding into him. The black of his shadows and your robes. 

Rhysand rubbed Nyx’s shoulder and kissed Feyre’s cheek.

Let them sleep, Nyx. We’ll get breakfast at Huth’s today.

Nyx let his parents lead him towards the door without protest. He’d never seen Uncle Az sleep so soundly in his life. 

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Author's Note:

Yeah... this slow burn is burning... but I just love it so much and I love writing all the sweet little moments they have and their conversations with one another and I hope you're enjoying it as well.

[readychilledwine]

Peace in the Violence

Eris Week - Day 5 - War and Adventure

Summary - When the battle for Autumn doesn't end by your one year anniversary, Eris has no choice but to share one more night with you during the heat of war

Warnings - war, mentions of death, smut, using sex as a coping mechanism

A/N - I will be completely honest, I was most excited for this prompt for @erisweekofficial, and I almost was not going to partake this day until this happened. She is only a little thing, but I do love her and her potential.

So many people bash on the sex scenes on ACOWAR, but I don't think they see the bigger picture with them. Those scenes are meant to remind you of what the characters are fighting for. The sex is meant to be symbolic of so much more than sex. SJM, in my opinion, can not properly execute a smut scene during war. Hopefully, I conveyed what I feel those scenes are supposed to represent with this.

🍂Eris Week Masterlist🍂Eris Masterlist🍂Master Masterlist🍂

Dividers by @tsunami-of-tears

A rough roll of his hips had you gasping as Eris began to lose his gentleness. He was desperate to feel anything besides the looming fear of the battle that was coming. Eris was a skilled warrior, a natural fighter, and had been preparing his whole life for this, but the efforts to dethrone his father were making him question everything.

The war in Autumn had left far too many wounded and more dead. What was supposed to be a simple siege of the Forest House was now more. It was Beron with a legion protecting him. Eris with 6 High Lords in a tent waiting to call their armies. It was Beron refusing the blood duel while Eris put all of his magic into containing battle to just the area they were in to protect the fae of this court. His fae. His court.

You gasped below him before a strangled cry of pleasure tried to leave your throat. It was as if Eris couldn't hear you below him, like he was using all of his tricks to drive more noises from swollen lips. “Eris,” it was a broken call of his name, trying to pull him back to you. To remind him you were the one below him.

His wife. His mate. His love. The one he had set this very fire for.

His eyes met yours and he slowed before forcing you both to roll over, silent admission he could not be in control tonight. He wanted to laugh. One year. One year of marriage spent in bliss, and it was bliss he hoped to seek in this moment of peace you two shared.

Hands. Hands touching your thighs, your hips, your back. Hands roaming every inch of you. Desperate. Aching. Yearning. This wasn't the trip he had planned for your anniversary, but war waits for no male.

When you began to move slowly, he couldn't stop the whimper that fell through his throat.

He was seeking sex.

You had been seeking to make love.

Every bounce was at the pace he was hungry for, his hands settling on your hips to help guide you. You leaned down to kiss him, hands on his chest as he began to meet your movements, pace slowed to savor this instead of rushing.

There were no promises of this happening again, no guarantee that after battle tomorrow your husband would be in bed.

But you had tonight.

You had now.

“I love you,” the words left his mouth in a hushed tone. He needed to say them, to whisper them until his voice and words were etched in your bones.

Eris knew as he was making love to you, as he cherished you on his night, that tomorrow he may die. He knew he was the target in these battles. Not his brothers who so bravely came to his side. Not the soldiers he had been recruiting in secret. Him.

And tomorrow, before you woke up, Rhysand will have taken you to Velaris, hiding you from Beron if Eris will to fail. His mother was already there. His hounds. His wife belonged there too, safe, beautiful untouched.

He memorized every inch of you as you leaned back, pace increasing to give him what he was desperate for. He memorized every freckle, curve, the exact shade of your lips and eyes.

He memorized the noise you made as his thumb brushed your clit, the way your body seemed to shake before you could continue.

He memorized your face as you fell apart for him, forcing his own body to hold back to listen to every note in the song you began to sing.

And when he finally tumbled over the edge, you memorized his soft cry.

This wasn't how Eris planned to spent your anniversary, handing Rhysand your things as you slept clueless to what was happen. This wasn't what he wanted as he kissed you for what could have been the last time. It wasn't all he needed to say as he whispered he loved you again.

His world shifted as Rhysand winnowed your sleeping form to Velaris and he began to pull on the dark illyrian leathers he had borrowed, Azriel waiting in tow, watching Eris prepare to assassinate his father in his sleep.

Risky, unhanded, and cheap.

But war waits for no man.

Not even in his sleep.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites @littlest-w01f

[littlest-w01f]

Relax, my flame

Eris Vanserra x (Azriel's sister) Reader

For @starfallweek [hosted by: @azsazz and @writingsbychlo]

Starfall Week 2024 Masterlist

Day 3: Characters A & B realise they won't make it to Starfall. They make the most of what they have to celebrate.

Summary: Reader and Eris decide to tell the Inner Circle that they are together, and mates, on Starfall, but the fear of her friends and family not being accepting of their relationship freaks Reader out.

Cw: Cuddles, Mentions of the previous night's activities *wink*

You rolled over, landing on Eris, covered by sheets, a warm fire crackling in the edge, a pleasure-filled soreness in your body as you looked at your mate, your sleeping mate who looked absolutely content, your wings like covers on his body. Eris looked so peaceful it made your heart ache, you moved to stroke the side of his face, eyes downcast in sadness.

Eris' eyes fluttered open, and with a groan he smirked, pulling you close to him to pull you over him, kissing over your shoulder, "Of course you would flood me with all your concerns and wake me up."

"Well, I'm sorry..." You chuckled softly, nestling into his warm body, settling on him, breathing him in. "I'm just worried..." You had asked him to attend Starfall with you, to tell your family then that you were mates, and together.

Eris smiled lazily, stroking your hair, "I don't mind waking up beside you, you know."

You smiled back, kissing his cheek, "Well, thank you, I suppose." You rested your head on his shoulder, trying to fight your sleep as he stroked the base of your back and wings with his hand warming further with every stroke. "Stop that, we should talk."

"Why talk when we can just cuddle and make love till your family tells you to stay away from me?" Eris smiled against your neck, kissing over the column of your neck.

You frowned slightly, "I want to tell them, I do... I want to be with you freely."

"You helped kill Beron, saved people of Velaris." You offer, "Maybe they would accept you."

"Or maybe your brother would take me to his dungeon and torture me till I die." Eris replies instead, earning a slap on his chest from you.

"You're High Lord now." You point out, a reason how you were in bed with him, he had more easily covered your tracks than he could've while he was an heir, "I'm sure you could match him before too."

Eris smiled at you lovingly, "I would never hurt your brother, you know." He kissed your head, "Because he is your brother, I couldn't care for him less. I just hope for your sake he doesn't call a blood duel against me."

You frowned, "It won't get that far... I won't let it." You nodded to yourself, pressing your face in his chest.

Eris kissed over your head, burying his nose in your hair, scenting you, tugging at your bond, shoving all his love for you down your bond so hard it nearly made you cry.

You and Eris had been together for years, meeting behind everyone's back, you were his secret, and he was yours. "I love you, Er..." You breathed down in his chest as his arms tightened around you, his emotions affecting the fire in the room and making it crackle more.

"They have to see that I love you." You stressed, "That you aren't as bad as they think you are."

Eris kissed the crown of her head, "All I care, is that you know who I am."

"But is that enough?" You frown slightly, "Why is this so hard for us? Being mates is supposed to be fun and happy... Not wondering whether your family would accept or not."

"That's why I don't worry." Eris winked at you playfully, "And you worry about this enough for the both of us." He cuddled you closer, kissing over every part of you he could reach in comfort.

"I really care about them, Er..." You mumble, playing with his hair, "They're my only family."

"Then stay here in Autumn forever, we can have our own family, my Court will be yours." Eris offered, "I want you to."

You sighed, dropping down on his chest to snuggle into his warmth, "I would like that..."

Eris smiled but frown instantly as you added, "After we tell them."

Eris sighed, "Fine, if they aren't accepting of us, then we run away together, my Court laws allow me to keep you, I will use them if I have to. Deal?" He smiled, lazily stroking your back again.

"Deal." You nodded back, melted in his hold, a small heart tattoo forming over your collarbone, same as his.

Eris flipped you over, smirking, "Till then..." You chuckled as he began kissing down your neck. "I think we should just relax and make the most of us being in bed together, don't you?"

You hummed softly with a smile, lacing your hands in his hair as he kissed down your bare chest, marking you as his for anyone to scent.

{General taglist: @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria}

{Eris taglist: @fxckmiup @amygdtjhddzvb @slut4acotar}

[cressidagrey]

I breathe flames each time I talk - Chapter 1

Summary:

The story of how Oriana Fireborn Belmont finally meets her mate's family.

Also the story of how Rhysand, The High Lord of the Night Court, finally recognises that by the cauldron, there is no fury like a female scorned.

Azriel would just like everybody to get along.

Warnings:

Rhys Bashing, Serious Injury

Notes:

I put a lot of world building into this. If you don't recognise it from canon, I probably invented. Or I forgot that canon existed.

(thanks to @firefly-graphics for the super pretty dividers!)

There weren’t many things that shocked Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court. The sight of his brother, brutal bruises painting his face after what should have been a simple retrieval mission in the Winter Court… that did it. 

It had been supposed to be a meeting to exchange intelligence on whatever was currently going on with Tamlin in the Spring Court. 

Instead…it had apparently turned into…a mess . 

“I was caught in an avalanche,” Azriel said, his voice harsh. “Rhys, I told you that it probably wasn’t gonna end well. There was nobody there…and that avalanche wasn’t natural.”

Nobody but a trap waiting for Azriel.

That was the last thing that he wanted to hear. Peace in Pyrithian was hanging on by a thread, somehow seeming all the more precarious to Rhys, ever since Nyx had been born. 

Maybe it was the instinct of a young father…maybe it was something else, but he couldn’t dare to not trust them. 

And so he had wanted to keep his allies close, but the ones that kept away from it all…even closer.

“Right. And I told you that this was important,” Rhys responded just as sharply. “I’ll write to Kallias. And you should probably do something against the blood that is currently dripping on my carpet,” he said pointedly. Azriel wiped at his split lip. Rhys opened his mouth to tell Azriel to go see Madja damnit, but Azriel beat him to it.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it,” Azriel’s voice was dripping with disdain, and Rhys opened his mouth to respond, but Azriel’s shadows were already converging onto him. 

Mother help him. 

His brother was gone, shadow travelled away, before Rhys had even dismissed him. 

He sighed as he sat back down at his desk, fingers tapping against the dark wood of it. 

There were so many moving pieces and so little time. 

And still, his mind turned towards his brother. Not Cassian, who seemed as content as Rhys had ever seen him with Nesta in the House of Wind…but Azriel . 

Azriel, who had, ever since that Solstice nearly 3 years ago, pulled back from him. Who had still not forgiven him for what Rhys had done. 

At the start, Rhys had thought that Azriel would get over himself in a few weeks. 

Azriel was infatuated with Elain. It would be a few weeks and then it all would be back to how it was before. 

Oh, but he had been so wrong. 

He had not been wrong about what he did. He hadn’t. 

Rhys had done what needed to be done.

They couldn’t afford a fucking war with Autumn and/or with Day or a blood duel that would be called because Azriel had wanted to…had decided that seducing Elain was his fucking right . 

It wasn’t, it hadn’t been, it never would be and Rhys had needed to stop that from happening. 

So he had. 

So he had ordered his brother away from Feyre’s sister. An order, not from one brother to another, but from The High Lord of the Night Court. 

Azriel had…listened. 

The question was just if the price Rhys paid for it, hadn’t been far steeper than he had realised. 

If the prize hadn’t been his brother’s…happiness. 

Azriel hadn’t rebelled against the order. 

And at the beginning…Rhys had seen that as…well, as another point in his favour. If Azriel was really in love with Elain, he would have fought against the order. Azriel hadn’t. So Azriel had been infatuated, but not in love. 

Azriel had done nothing. Azriel had stayed coldly detached. He had even attended the wedding of Elain and Lucien, nothing but sincere words for the happy couple. Not a mention of what had gone down between him and Rhys…to anybody. 

Elain was happy with Lucien. So especially now, when they were married for close to a year…when it was clear that the mating bond had worked out for them…Rhys had expected Azriel to soften. At least a little bit. 

To realise that what Rhys had done was right. To understand why he had done it. 

He had waited for that. And waited. And nothing of that sort had happened. 

Azriel hadn’t budged one inch. Maybe Rhys shouldn’t even be surprised about that. Azriel had always been…stubborn as a mule.  

Azriel did his work. Efficient as always. But Azriel only came to as many family dinners as Rhys outright ordered him to attend, and otherwise kept away from anything that was…well, personal. 

His mind, which had once been an open book to Rhys, few secrets kept between them…nowadays it was guarded. An iron wall around it, slamming down whenever Rhys wandered even just in the direction of anything that wasn’t work-related. 

Azriel kept quiet. Kept on moping after three years, regardless of how much Rhys tried to draw him out of it. 

Morrigan finding Emerie and being happy with her…Rhys had thought that maybe that would pull him out of it. But Azriel had only wished her all the happiness in the world, sincerity dripping from every word. 

He was sincerely happy for everybody around him…and kept Rhys and the rest of their family as far removed from him as he could get them. 

Rhys had tried to order him to come to dinner with Elain and Lucien, a part of his mind hoping that Azriel would finally have enough and his temper would flare, his magic would crackle and he would attack Rhys. Maybe then they would be able to clear the air. Maybe if Azriel just got pissed off at him…maybe it would be better afterwards. 

Azriel didn’t. His temper stayed even, especially for him. He sat through that dinner, even let Lucien have a few barbs at him and then even helped him, even when nobody thanked him for that. 

And then Azriel disappeared to cauldron knew where somewhere which he clearly much preferred over the presence of anybody else these days. 

That had been a few months ago. It hadn’t changed any since then. 

Cassian tried to play the mediator of sorts between them. Cassian tried. Cassian teased Azriel about a non-existent lover and Azriel took it in good humour, only shutting down the theories when they were outlandish. 

Or when it was Gwyn. 

Rhys had really thought that that…that could have worked out. 

If Azriel just gave her a chance…if he just opened himself up for the option of it…but Azriel was as stubborn as a mule. Azriel wasn’t interested, that was so very apparent when he had slipped into his brother’s mind. He liked Gwyn as a friend. But there was no attraction there. 

None whatsoever. 

And even the suggestion had been shut down by Azriel so harshly, that there was no question what he thought about this. 

None. 

Azriel had cut him out of his private life. Built a wall around it that kept Rhys out…and Rhys had no fucking idea how to bridge it anymore. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Master is coming. It was the only warning she got because then Azriel was already materialising in their kitchen. 

“ Sweetling .” It only took her seconds to take in the bruises painting his face, the blood that was dripping down his split lip…Seconds for her to fit herself under his arms, to half drag him into one of their kitchen chairs. 

It wasn’t the first time that Azriel came home to Oriana bleeding and hurt in some way. Though most of the time, it was things that she could patch up easily. She couldn’t do anything against the bruises, but she could clean out scrapes and ply him with pain potions. 

But today, his usually olive skin was nearly ashen-faced, his jaw tight as she got him to sit down. “You don’t look good,” she said quietly. 

“It’s fine,” Azriel promised her, his voice rough as gravel and she cupped his cheek, turning his face. His eyes closed as she very gently prodded the scrapes at one side, the split lip…the dried blood. 

“It’s really not fine,” she disagreed. “Anything else?” 

He shuddered, hands clutching the fighting leathers he still wore. He started taking it off, and she took over from him after just a few seconds, sliding the buckles open, taking off the leathers, piece after piece. 

His torso was painted every which shade of blue and black, violet…maroon. 

“You should have seen a healer,” she said quietly. It looked… excruciating. She couldn’t say if there were any broken bones. It didn’t matter. It must be painful anyway. So painful. 

“I missed you,” he murmured, closing his eyes as she wet a clean dish towel at the sink, making sure that it was warm and gently started cleaning the blood off him. The split lip stopped bleeding sluggishly after a moment. 

“Still should have seen a healer,” she quipped.

"But then it would have taken longer until I came home," he responded, even through his pain and she sighed.

He didn’t even flinch away from her touch, even when he had every fucking right to it. If anything, he leaned into it. 

Leaned into the pain that she was sure she was creating, even when she tried to be as gentle as she possibly could be. 

“What happened?” she finally asked quietly. He didn’t often talk to her about his job. Nearly never. Whenever pushed either, because this was nothing that he needed to know. This was nothing that she needed to be aware of. This was a line he had created because he didn’t want her to touch any of his work that was so very….so very harsh.

She accepted that because she knew that for him she had become a sort of island in the middle of everything, untouched by it. 

And it was better that day. She didn’t wonder what he did. As long as he came home to her. That was all that mattered. 

“Bad intelligence. Got caught in an avalanche,” he murmured. “I knew it wasn’t going to work, but did Rhys believe me, of course not,” he muttered under his breath. Since they had consummated the mating bond…Azriel had opened up to her, in some ways. He still knew more about Oriana’s life than she would ever know about his past, but she knew that it didn’t mean that he didn’t love her. She knew that for him it was difficult to open up because he expected everybody around him to use any knowledge about them to hurt him. 

Still, Oriana wasn’t stupid. And she had put together her own version of Azriel’s past through all the snippets he had shared with her. 

And so she knew that Rhys and Cassian were his brothers. And that Rhys was short for Rhysand and that that was the fucking High Lord of the Night Court. 

Who was still as annoying as he had been two centuries ago. 

And somebody that Azriel both loved and also loathed sometimes, especially when he decided that he knew better than everybody around him. 

Cassian…Cassian seemed more interested in who Azriel was seeing romantically than anything else if Oriana could believe the stories Azriel told. 

Hyacinth had been the latest possibility. Hyacinth had found the whole thing hilarious and spent the last night out dancing teasing Evander with it.  

“I think this calls for an early night,” Oriana said as she handed Azriel one of the pain-reducing potions that she kept stocked, watching carefully how he rubbed his temple. 

She got out the salve she had bought at an apothecary a few weeks ago, squeezing some of it on her fingers and carefully kneaded them in Azriel’s neck, just there where his neck met his skulls. 

He shuddered, though she knew that the heat the salve created would loosen the tightness that he had there in his muscles. He could get horrid headaches. 

She had learnt that too since the two of them lived together. Like a whole other list of details, like that he loves every form of berries he could get away with, his sweet tooth was so bad that on occasion he ate lumps of sugar straight out of jar…he absolutely adored doting on her in that quiet, calculated way of his and he had a real problem with giving up any sort of control in the bedroom. Her pleasure seemed his singular goal, his own just a byproduct of it. 

“You are the best thing that ever happened to me,” he murmured, pressing his head into the soft flesh of her belly. 

He found so many different ways to say I love you than to utter these three words to her. 

You are the best thing that ever happened to me. Coming home to you is the best part of my day. Every time I wake up to you, I am so grateful that you are there. 

Sentence after sentence, said in that earnest, sincere way of his and Oriana squirrelled every single one of them away, like precious gems. 

“Better?” she asked and he hummed. “Alright. Eat some of the sandwiches I made and then we’ll go to bed.”

That’s what they did. 

He collapsed into their bed, and she pulled the blankets around them, careful not to tangle them in his wings, gently running her fingers through his hair. She had only cut it for him a few weeks ago and it was only just starting to curl again. She was quite sure she had done a hack job at it, but he had seemed pleased with it. But then she was sure she could dye his hair bright pink and make him completely bald on one side and he would still kiss her and tell her thank you.

She pressed a kiss to his head, and then she fell asleep herself, no more worry about Azriel being somewhere else, because he was right there, next to her. 

It was his retching that woke her up. 

She immediately reached out, feeling his skin burning up underneath his fingertips. 

“Azriel?” she asked quietly, hearing more retching, immediately sitting up to find him leaning over the edge of their bed. 

“Sorry,” he was shuddering as he brought out the words and she opened her mouth to respond, but by then she saw the blood that was trickling out of her mouth, another sound of retching and then he fell to the side like somebody cut all the string that held him up. She managed to catch him at the last moment, her eyes wide, ice-cold fear clawing at her heart. 

She could see the shadows dancing around him worriedly, taking her weight from her, helping her to get him to lay back against the pillows. 

She could hear them call for him, but getting no response.  

“Azriel!” she tried, panic apparent in her voice and getting no response. 

He was unconscious, knocked out. After vomiting up blood. She had never seen anything like that. 

She cursed. 

Master is hurt, The shadows stated the obvious. 

She jumped out of the bed, tugging the first best dress she could find over her head, forcing her feet into shoes. 

“I know. Can you bring me into the mountain?” she asked the shadows. Alternatively, she would need to get out of her ward boundaries and winnow to the ward boundaries of the mountain. 

We can, Mistress.

“One of you stay with him, please,” she requested, holding out a hand for the shadows, as she cleared her mind as best as she could, taking one last back to Azriel, so pale, so still, and then thinking as intently as she could of their living quarters in the mountain. 

It was a whole lot less smooth than when Azriel did it for the two of them, but then he was the shadowsinger, and Oriana was only his mate. She could ask, he could command. 

But they were willing to listen to her, to drag her through wards she had placed on her own, to take the magic that she offered them and turn them into the strength they needed as they flung her across Velaris and shoved her into the mountain. At least it felt that way. 

She landed in their private living quarters, surprised to find Kiran, Toron and Samson sitting there, playing cards. And drinking. The scent of Fireale was unmistakenly

“She’s really here, I am not just seeing things, right?” Toron said, sounding like he had definitely drunk more than a little bit of their self-brewed Fireale. 

“No,” Kiran muttered. “That’s Oriana. What are you doing here? Where did you come from?” her older brother demanded, slightly slurring. 

“Are you drunk?” she gave back because she had never seen him quite like that. He just shrugged. Samson still stared at her wide-eyed, waving his hand in her direction, like he wasn’t quite sure if she wasn’t a figment of his imagination.

“Where’s Enya?” she demanded. She really didn’t have time for that. 

“Working,” Samson answered, nodding sagely, and nearly tipping to the side. 

Thank the cauldron for that at least. “Great,” she muttered, flinging herself in the direction of the door.  That was something. She was going to check the infirmary first, and then Enya’s bedroom, when she wasn’t there. 

She knew these halls, knew the mountain better than anything else, and so it only took her minutes, before she reached it, pushing open the door without even bothering to announce herself.

“Oriana?” Enya asked, sounding shocked, having risen from her chair as Oriana came running. 

“I am kidnapping you. I mean I hope you come willingly but otherwise, I am kidnapping you,” she blurted out, the shadows coming to a stop behind her. “Enya, I need your help.” 

It spoke of her sister's unflinching trust in her that she only rose and reached for the bag that she kept stocked behind her desk and grasped her coat. 

“What happened?” she asked, as she came around the desk. 

“He vomited blood, Enya. I don’t know who else to…He was fine and then he wasn’t and he lost consciousness and…” she blubbered. the panic that she had tried to keep at bay, threatening to overwhelm her. Azriel. Azriel . 

“Let’s go then,” Enya answered, turning in the direction of the door, but they didn’t have time for that. She grasped her sister’s arm,  letting the shadows take them both. 

Home. Home. Home. 

They landed in the bedroom, Oriana staggering at the impact, the shadows trying their best to keep her upright as Enya looked like she had lost all colour in her face, her skin was the same black colour as Oriana’s own looking decisively grey. 

“If you vomit, I am sorry,” Oriana forced out, pulling in a harsh breath on her own.

“What was that?” Enya asked, staring at the shadows that swirled around the room, then at Oriana, then at Azriel, on whom the shadows seemed to converge. 

“ Shadowsinger ,” she breathed and Oriana just stayed silent. Managing a nod. 

Yes. That. 

They were stupidly rare. She herself had done a double take the first time she had met Azriel. Nearly mythical in nature. She had never once met one before. So shadow travelling…like she had just done…dragging Enya through two sets of wards, was highly unlikely. She knew that. 

But her sister shook herself out of it, already taking in Azriel with an analytical glance, crossing the room, her hands slightly glowing. 

“You, sit down at his head,” Enya snapped. “I don’t need you fainting while I try to work.”

Oriana did as her sister asked, knitting her fingers through Azriel’s short curls, her whole body shaking with fear and nervousness that suddenly seemed to make an appearance. She didn’t even know where it was suddenly coming from. 

Just that it slapped down onto her heart, as she swallowed to keep tears at bay. 

She had gotten Enya here. She wasn’t alone. She had done that. Azriel was getting help. 

So why did it feel like her whole world was caving in around her? 

Her sister’s magic was so unlike her own, thanks to the High Fae ancestry that Enya didn’t have. But Oriana knew it, had felt it move around her own more times than she could count. It was safe. she knew that. 

“He has inner bleeding. Quite extensive,” Enya said quietly and Oriana forced down the panic that wanted to rise in her throat. 

Enya’s eyes met her own. “It will be fine,” she said quietly. “He will be fine, Oriana.” There was promise there in her eyes, glowing like coals in her face. “I swear to you. He’ll be fine,” she repeated again. Oriana just nodded, closing her eyes. 

It was all she could do. 

She kept quiet as Enya worked, pouring whatever potion her sister told her down Azriel’s throat. She tried not to shudder at the sight of blood-flecked metal as Enya worked, Azriel’s blood all over the sheets of their bed, all over her dress where it had dripped down. 

Time seemed to stretch and warp and finally, Enya stepped back. 

“I am going to bandage him…and then you’ll need to let him go because I going to put him into a healing trance. Just for a day,” Enya said quietly. “Are his wings gonna be alright with him laying on them?” she asked, and Oriana managed a nod, carefully stretching out the wings so they covered the bed. They seemed strangely cold to her touch, not moving like they usually did to respond to her touch. 

“Thank you,” she whispered as she worked, as Enya gathered up the blood-soaked linen that Oriana knew she was going to need to boil to get the blood out.  

“Of course,” her sister responded. Oriana pulled up the ugliest blanket she had ever seen from the end of the bed, covering Azriel with it, straightening out his arms and then leaning forward to press a kiss against his forehead. She could feel the even, deep breathing of him, the warm puff of air…the pulse underneath her fingertips…

She stepped back. Enya raised her hands and the whole bed was enveloped in a green dome just seconds later, burning brightly for just a moment before settling in a subtle glow. 

“He’ll be fine,” Enya repeated. “You saved his life with your quick action.”

“No, you saved his life,” she corrected her sister.” “Thank you. You didn’t need to do this.”

She really hadn’t needed to. She hadn’t needed to let Oriana and the shadows drag her into Velaris.  

“You married Wynstan for me,” Enya said at that moment and she stared startled at her sister, who grasped her hand in hers. “You endured decades of being married to that idiot for me. You lost your ability to have children, just so that I wouldn’t need to get married.” She opened her mouth to protest but Enya shook her head. “This…” she waved to Azriel. “This…. This is the least I can do for you. He’s yours, Oriana. He’s family .”

She swallowed.

“It’s not your fault,” she finally whispered. “What happened…it’s not your fault. It was on Wynstan. It was on…Enya had saved her life. She had done everything she could. But even Enya hadn’t been able to…

“I know,” Enya said quietly. “Still. You always wanted children.”

She had. When she was young, she had wanted them. And then she had married Wynstan and first, he had wanted to wait, to finish his mastery, even when Oriana would have been fine with starting to try immediately. And then when he finally wanted kids, their marriage had been more than questionable. Questionable enough that OOriana didn’t want to put a child anywhere near it. Didn’t want to give Wynstan anything he could yield as a weapon against her. 

And then he had taken even the option from her. 

“I made my peace with it,” she said softly, watching Azriel lay there, still, silent, but gloriously alive. She hadn’t had any other option. Still, when she saw Cyyrus with his three children, so close in age, a miracle in itself… “He doesn’t care,” she finally said quietly. Azriel didn’t care. “I don’t think he thinks that he could be a good father,” she said softly. She thought that that was the main reason why he didn’t care that she couldn’t give him children. Why he was so alright about it just being the two of them. He seldom thought that he even deserved her. “But he would be. He would be the best. ”

“That’s not the only way to have children, you know,” Enya said quietly. She knew. Under the mountain, adoption was… if there was a child in need of a family, that was never a problem. But they had rules for that kind of thing and one of the biggest ones, the unspoken one, would be that the child would be raised in the community in the mountain. 

“I know. But that only works in the mountains. Not out here,” she said with a shake of her head. 

Enya watched her for a moment. 

“You know…if I have learned anything then that…Fate has a funny way of working. If you are supposed to have a child…Fate will provide. One way or another.” 

It was a nice thought. 

“And now, we need to get some alcohol into you, because you look like you are going to faint,” Enya said briskly. “You keep Fireale around?”

“I don’t think Healers are supposed to be proponents of alcoholism,” Oriana said weakly, but her sister just ignored her, dragging her into the living room and depositing her on the couch.

“I am not a proponent for alcoholism, I am a proponent of you not fainting,” Enya said drily as she pushed a glass filled to the brim into her hands. “You aren’t feeling it, but you are shaking. And your magic is leeching all over the damn place,” Enya said pointedly and Oriana stared in front of her, only now seeing the sparks that seemed to come off her. 

The shadows around her throat pressed gently, just a touch, never constricting. 

Master will be fine, Mistress. Thank to you and the healer.

[olenvasynyt]

It is so interesting to see what an E/riel thinks Elain’s book is going to be about. They assume there’s going to be a training montage with her and Az and she’ll train her powers and have sex and discover her and Az have a secret mating bond and she’ll break it off with Lucien.

…that’s what you guys want the book to be about? That’s just so boring idk. There’s no significant plot, no conflict or struggle, unless we are assuming Lucien will get mad she broke the bond and do a blood duel, which we all should understand that Lucien would never do that?

And also, there are literally no signs of any of this happening besides a random thing Nesta said where Elain snuck up on her and she wondered it Elain was getting spy lessons from the wraith twins (assuming hardcore), and a tweet from ages ago that SJM posted about having two soul mates? And sure Elain is going to train her powers but why Az?

There’s little evidence that E/riel will happen even if you just look at the future plots. You know what will be future plots though?

Koschei. Vassa. The Human Lands. Beron, Eris, and Autumn. And you know who connects with those plot points? Lucien AND Elain because Elain sees visions (she saw Vassa and Koschei), she wants to travel, she wants to be human, she wants to get out of the box the Night Court and the IC puts her in.

Elain is already starting to go down the path that leads to Lucien. Her and Azriel are going down different paths. Idk why this is a debate.

Edit: also to add onto this: some E/riels will admit that Elain will help Lucien with Koschei but she will still be with Az in the end.

???

So…Elain will spend almost the entire book with Lucien, her mate and also a kind and attractive person, and she…won’t fall in love with him? In a fantasy romance book where fated mates is the biggest trope?

She’s stronger than me if that’s the case.

[bright-side20]

SJM took the scene in Acowar with Feyre and Rhys and recreated it in the bc from Azriel's POV

Acowar

"Why not make them mates?” I mused. “Why Lucien?” “I’d keep that question from Lucien.” “I’m serious.” I turned toward him and crossed my arms. “What decides it? Who decides it?”

Rhys straightened his lapels before plucking an invisible piece of lint from them. “Fate, the Mother, the Cauldron’s swirling eddies …”

Bc

Azriel stiffened. Let his cold rage rise to the surface, the rage he only ever let Rhysand see, because he knew his brother could match it. "What if the Cauldron was wrong?"

Acowar

“You said your mother and father were wrong for each other; Tamlin said his own parents were wrong for each other.” I peeled off my dressing robe. “So it can’t be a perfect system of matching. What if”—I jerked my chin toward the window, to my sister and the shadowsinger in the garden—“that is what she needs? Is there no free will? What if Lucien wishes the union but she doesn’t?

Bc

"The Cauldron chose three sisters. Tell me how it's possible that my two brothers are with two of those sisters, yet the third was given to another." He had never before dared speak the words aloud. Rhys's face drained of color. "You believe you deserve to be her mate?" Azriel scowled. "I think Lucien will never be good enough for her, and she has no interest in him, anyway."

Acowar

some believe they are entitled to the female. Even after the bond is rejected, they see her as belonging to them. Sometimes they return to challenge the male she chooses for herself. Sometimes it ends in death. It is savage, and it is ugly, and it mercifully does not happen often.

Bc

"That's an Autumn Court tradition." The battle to the death was so brutal that it was only enacted in rare cases. Despite being an outsider, Azriel had wanted to invoke it when he’d found Mor all those years ago. Had been ready to challenge both Beron and Eris to Blood Duels and kill them both. Only Mor’s right to claim their heads in vengeance had kept him from doing so.

Acowar

“So you’re saying she could walk away—and Lucien would have free rein to kill whoever she wishes to be with.”

Bc

“Oh, I can, and I will. If Lucien finds out you're pursuing her, he has every right to defend their bond as he sees fit. Including invoking the Blood Duel.”

Acowar

"Azriel,” Rhys said, “has been preoccupied with the same female for the past five hundred years.”

Bc

"What if the Cauldron was wrong?" Rhysand blinked. "What of Mor, Az?" Azriel ignored the question.

This proves that the scene with Feyre and Rhys was fundamental to Elain's love story, foreshadowing what will literally happen. Azriel is indeed who Elain wants, and he has moved on from Mor. It hinted that something is fucked up with the mating bonds,not all of them work as expected. Plus, there's the blood duel. SJM reminded us of that scene from Az’s POV and then revealed that the Cauldron, one of the creators of these bonds, is fucked up by the Daglan, just as Azriel suspected. It’s clear that SJM has had a plan for Elriel since Acomaf, and she’s consistently developing it.

[roselensedeyes]

i feel like people don't understand that rhysand didn't stop elain and azriel from kissing because he doesn't want them together, but because he knows azriel would easily defeat lucien in the case the autumn court boy invokes the blood duel.

[devi1sange1]

Just saw someone say that SJM was self-inserting as Rhys in the ACOSF bonus chapter and that was her way of telling us there is no way that 3 brothers and 3 sisters is happening…

Let’s look at Rhys’s reasoning in the bonus chapter.

“Allow me to make one thing very clear. You are to stay away from her.”

"You can't order me to do that."

“Oh, I can, and I will. If Lucien finds out you're pursuing her, he has every right to defend their bond as he sees fit. Including invoking the Blood Duel.”

"That's an Autumn Court tradition." […]

“Lucien, as Beron's son, has the right to demand it of vou."

"I'll defeat him with little effort." Pure arrogance laced every word, but it was true.

“I know." Rhys's eyes flickered. "And your doing so will rip apart any fragile peace and alliances we have, not only with the Autumn Court but also with the Spring Court and Jurian and Vassa." Rhys bared his teeth. "So you will leave Elain alone. If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it, but stay away from her."

Rhys’s reasoning boils down to… politics. Wanting to preserve the political ties he currently has. Not wanting the political chaos the could possibly ensue if Elriel happens.

Idk that doesn’t sound like the SJM that wrote things like “Through love all is possible” or “The answer to the riddle… is… love” or the SJM that said “I truly believe love conquers all – love is an incredibly powerful force, both in this world and in fantasy ones.”

But maybe I’m thinking about a different SJM idk…

[violetasteracademic]

Chapter Ten: A Kick in the Back

Summary:

Azriel and Elain explore the castle's wards. A surprise discovery irrevocably alters their path.

Warnings: Suggestions of violence, dialogue that insinuates SA that some may find upsetting.

Click here to read the entire chapter on A03

Need to catch up? Head here for the chapter list

Notes: I want to give a huge thank you to the beautiful brains of @bloomingdarkgarden and @tealeaves-and-rosepetals for helping me brain storm and work through some of the world building kinks for the next few chapters! I appreciate you to the ends of the earth!

Preview:

He didn't want to watch her walk away from him. And she would. She should.

He didn't want to see Elain learn about the Blood Duel. The risk of breaking his High Lord’s order. The chaos that would surely follow if Azriel claimed Elain as the female he loved and would fight to the death for in the middle of such politically fragile times. Even if Lucien responded honorably, Beron would not. The male not only delighted in violence and discord, but sought out opportunities to enact it.

How could Azriel live with himself if he was the reason Nyx would not make it to his first birthday before a war broke out that they couldn't win? The lives of his parents were tied together. Should one die, so would the other. The danger was now even more unimaginable. And Nesta and Cassian had already nearly lost each other multiple times. They only had the opportunity to live together as mates for a few months.

An Autumn court likely to ally with Koschei and relish in the opportunity for death and division. A severing of their relationship with their human emissary, and subsequently the one human queen who had the greatest chance at leading and fostering a collaborative future between humans and Fae. A world in shambles. The decades, or centuries it would take for the pieces to lock into some semblance of a safe and livable world. And the unlikelihood they would all survive to see it.

Azriel could spend hours explaining all of the risks to Elain. He spent hours reminding himself of them.

He couldn't look into her eyes as she took the information in. Especially knowing that, despite it all, the answer was still yes for him. She was worth it.

Enjoy! Thank you guys so much for your unbelievable support over this fic. I absolutely cherish every comment, kudo, and reblog, and am insanely honored to have you guys showing up every other Sunday to see what our down bad bat boi and flower girl are up to! I am so excited for this story to continue growing and it means the world to have such incredible readers! Thank you!

[highladyelenna]

why do antis act as if azriel said “why did you get mated with feyre and cassian mated with nesta while i didn’t get the other one?”

acting as if azriel named everyone by name and then referred only to elain as the other one. my man named no one yet we’re only pointing out he didn’t name elain? make that make sense.

why do antis act as if azriel hates lucien and goes around everyday fantazing about a blood duel?

acting as if it was rhysand who brought it up? as if azriel didn’t even think lucien would call for a blood duel because it’s autumn court tradition and he knows lucien isn’t like his family. “i would beat him” anyone thinks they can beat another in a fight like come on. he didn’t go around saying “fuck lucien i’m gonna kill him because i want his mate” like for fucks sake? he literally didn’t give elain her necklace because he respected lucien enough to not do that in front of him. he wasn’t even seeking her out after solstice to give it to her.

you know who did seek azriel out though?

why do antis criminalize sexual attraction? so what azriels hot and bothered about elain? she clearly feels the same. it’d be one thing if she felt uncomfortable *ahem👀* but she mutually felt the same. she looked for him after solstice. she moved towards him. she asked him to put the necklace on her. she offered her neck to him.

we’re reading his thoughts but did you ever stop to think her thoughts are the exact same???

this fandom just irks me when they don’t read the words on the page and instead turn to headcanons made up on the internet.