#azriel is still too close to the night court but i have faith

[seleneprince]

This is literally Nesta's life in my head. I'm not even kidding, this is exactly how it is in my universe. My heart jumped when I saw it💕

Emerie, Gwyn, Eris, Bryce, Hunt (I admit I don't see Azriel as part of her world but he looks so good with her!)

Nesta Archeron's birthday in Autumn! With her besties ofc!

Left to right: Emerie, Gwyneth Berdara, Eris Vanserra, Nesta Archeron, Azriel, Bryce Quinlan, Hunt Athalar.

This is mine own fanon/headcanon with all my favorite characters. If you disagree with a ship/grouping... keep it to yourself please and thank you!

[mcuamerica]

The Shadowsinger: Twenty-Three

Warnings: Healing wounds, mentions of parental abuse, mentions of death, ACOTAR series spoilers.

Pairings: Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: As an official part of the IC, and an Oristian Illyrian warrior, you heal with your mate as you fight battles for your Court.

Disclaimer: I do not own SJM’s characters or plot lines, only the ones I create for the purpose of this story. This is a work of fiction. I do not give permission to repost my work on any other platform or medium. Please be respectful.

Graphics are my own. If you use, please give credit!

Series Masterlist

Your leg and your wing were the two things that still bothered you. With the infection that took root in your calf, it was harder to heal. Meaning that you now limped just a little, and Madja said it may never fully heal. Your wing, as well, was still healing. The top tendon that went about halfway down your wing snapped. Madja did everything she could to piece it back together, but it was too thin. You could fly short distances. But not in the cold and certainly not with any other weight on you. You worked with Madja, Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel to get the strength back up, but nothing was really working. Not yet. You still had faith your wing would get better and you could fly in the Illyrian ranks one day.

You decided with Azriel that you wanted to wait to offer him food, to accept the mating bond. The flash of hurt in his eyes had you scrabbling to explain you wanted everything to be back to normal, to not be at war. You wanted Feyre here.

You didn’t want a large ceremony. But just a small one with your family. And then Az and you would go up to the mountain cabin and spend however long you needed to officially mate.

So you waited. As much as you wanted to accept the bond and mount him almost every minute of the day, you wanted to have a proper future. You didn’t want to be mated in the middle of a war. The prospect of losing him when the bond was accepted… you didn’t dwell on it too long.

So you waited. And fought alongside your family when the time came. The worst of it was the night Azriel returned with Elain, Feyre, and some human girl. Your heart almost shattered at the look of his wings. How badly he was hurt. Was this what it was like for him when you returned from the Blood Rite?

You sat by his bedside, forcing him down and keeping him from going off to spy or fight or whatever he wanted to do. Because he needed to rest and heal.

You stood on the battlefield as Illyrians died, as Nesta saved Cassian. As Amren unleashed herself onto the army and brought victory to you all. You watched by Azriel’s side as Rhys died, and was then brought back to life when Feyre pleaded for his life.

You spent the next Solstice with them all, watching as Feyre’s sister, Nesta, withdrew into herself more and more each day. You became somewhat friendly with her, while Azriel took to helping Elain. Not nearly as close as she was with Amren, though.

You stayed with Mor and Feyre as the boys had their snowball fight, Azriel coming out the victor (again). You were his reward that night.

Once Solstice had ended, you started planning the mating ceremony. Or dinner, as you called it. You planned to make Azriel’s favorite meal with Nuala and Cerridwen.

Azriel and you also started looking for a new place to live. Feyre and Rhys offered to let you stay in the River House once it was built, but you decided you wanted your own space. You didn’t want the House of Wind or the Town Home. You wanted your home. One you could build with Azriel. Neither of you have ever truly had the ability to call a place your home. It was always owned by others.

So you bought a decent sized home on the River, not too far from the River House, and began making it just that. Your home.

After getting a bed, the dining room was the main thing you focused on. You wanted everything to be perfect because this was where Azriel and you would officially accept the bond. You could technically stay in the house for your mating, but the cabin was better cause there was no one to hear you. And if you knew anything from the past year, it would be that Azriel and you would disturb your neighbors. Maybe even Feyre and Rhys down the street.

Your shadows were still gone. And you knew in your gut you wouldn’t get them back. Not unless something terrible happened.

When you came out of the Rite, you were a different female. You were an Oristian, which many of the Illyrian males wanted to reject, but they couldn’t argue with what was final. Above all else, you weren’t alone anymore. You think the moment you chose to defend your brother, almost dying because of it, was the moment your shadows knew you didn’t need them anymore. You had always been fiercely loyal to your chosen families, but never to your blood.

When you exited that cave many many years ago, you were lonely and desperate. You were lost and didn’t know where to turn, so you found comfort in the darkness and the shadows were the ones to be there for you through everything. But you didn’t need them now. You had your family, chosen and blood (though, it’s still just Varyn that you trusted). And you were finally happy with your life. Your family. You didn’t need the shadows for comfort.

You didn’t think the shadows came to Azriel for the same reason they came to you. Yours was in need of survival while his was a triumph in darkness. A way for him to make the best of the terrible situation he was in. Once you completed the Rite, proved to yourself that you could survive without anyone’s help, the shadows had done their job. They had made sure you were safe. And it was now on you alone to protect yourself.

You couldn’t winnow yet, but you tried every day with your Siphon. It never worked. So you relied on your mate and the rest of your family.

You went to group meetings with the priestesses, helping them through their trauma. And sharing your own. You even saw Gywn at a few of them, and you were glad to see her somewhat happy. Healing. Slowly.

And then came the day you were dreading. Before the mating dinner you wanted to go to Valorworth. First to invite Varyn and Wessian to join the dinner, but also to see your blood family. To announce to the new camp Lord that you would be coming once a week to check on the females’ progress in training. You would be visiting each camp and giving them the next month, to get their acts together before you and Cassian would return to fix it. And to quell the murmurs of rebellion.

You took Azriel’s hand, smiling up at him as he winnowed you both to Valorworth. The rest of the Inner Circle was at the River House. This was something you would do with your mate. And if you needed comfort, a drink, or a night out afterwards, they would be there for you.

You watched from the hill just south of the camp. The same smells from Windhaven were present. But it was different. The air was slightly thinner, higher up in the mountains. Though you weren’t scared. You wore your Illyrian tattoos now, going across your chest, shoulders, and mid back. You were an Oristian. One of the top warriors of Illyria. You were to be a commander of the first female unit in centuries.

You wore your Siphon proudly on your right hand, while the pure black dagger hung on your waist. Twin to Azriel’s Truth Teller. And you had two swords across your back. You took up archery, Rhys and Feyre being the ones to teach you. Rhys taught you how to maneuver the Illyrian bow while Feyre taught you proper aim. You were an Oristian. You would not be afraid of your father and elder brothers. Not when you were higher rank than them. Not when you went through so much to come to this moment.

You greeted the camp Lord, the son of the one that you remember. Marc, the male that your father wanted you to marry 150 years ago. His father died in the final battle against Hybern, and he took the title of camp Lord.

He was surprisingly respectful. Maybe it was your new title. But you bet it was your towering male mate that was scowling at every single person that looked at you the wrong way. Az was itching to accept the bond, and his need to protect you grew only more when you approached your father’s cabin and told him you would be back. He didn’t want to leave you alone with him, but he knew that if something went wrong, he would be there in an instant. And he sent a few shadows with you to be his eyes and ears.

“Father.” You said once you crossed the threshold. He survived the battle and so did your brothers. You weren’t sure whether to be relieved or upset. But chose not to dwell on it for too long. Your older brothers, Corin and Caden, were in the small sitting room as well, monitoring your every move. Scanning you over to see the steel on you. And your Siphon.

“(Y/N)… I see you’re still alive.” He said, standing up. “I’ve missed you. Why haven’t you visited?” He asked, a knowing smirk on his lips. You wouldn’t play into his games.

“You will be seeing much more of me now.”

“Is that so?” He asked and smirked. “Come to infiltrate our camp with your females?”

“No, I’ve come to teach the females how to be the warriors they want to be. If they choose.” You said and glanced around.

“Those your shadows? It’s a poor excuse for a Shadowsinger.” He motioned to Azriel’s shadows that swirled around your feet.

“I don’t need my shadows anymore. I’ve relieved them on their duty.” You said and looked down as Az’s shadows stayed close to you in a protecting manner. One swept up and brushed against the back of your neck in comfort. “These are my mate’s.” You said.

Your father scoffed, shaking his head. “I’m surprised the Spymaster would waste his time on you.”

“Unlike you, Rechard, most males like a female who can protect herself.” You said. “This is not why I’m here. I’m here to inform you that if I so much as hear about you helping these so-called rebels, you better believe I won’t hesitate to kill you. Or maybe I’ll let my mate do it for me, he certainly knows how to take his time with males that have hurt females.”

You turned around, walking straight out the door. They didn’t stop you.

A/N: only one more chapter left! (This format might be off, I’m posting from my phone)

Series Masterlist

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Tagging:

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[onceupona-chaos]

What we know about the next plot

(And why it won't be in Illyria)

I decided to make this post with the breadcrumbs in ACOSF that could be used to indicate the plot of the next book. I would take ACOFAS, ACOSF and both bonus chapters into consideration.

This would be divided in Illyria, Main Plot, Subplot and characters' development.

Note: Firstly, English is not my first language, so forgive me for any mistakes. Secondly, we have strong textual evidence that points to the next book being about Elain. So if that's not your cup of tea, be warned (But destiny arrives all the same).

Be kind!

ILLYRIA'S PLOT

First things first, we learn at the beginning of ACOSF that Cassian spent four months dealing with the Illyrians's rebellion and we get to see the results:

"So the Illyrians were at peace—or as peaceful as a warrior society could be, with their constant training. Which was what Rhys wanted."

The Illyrians's conflict is not a problem that was pushed aside to be solved later, but it's already solved. Cassian had already dealt with it, which makes sense since he is the one who often shows faith regarding the Illyrian people, a very different vision from Azriel's. I'll get to that.

So Kalon is dead, and so is this plot line. For many reasons SJM solved the Illyrians' rebellion, but there is one that connects with the bigger picture:

And with the wall gone, who knows what other Fae territories might make a grab for human lands?” My jaw tightened at that last one“This peace is tenuous.”

“I know that,” Az said at last.

“So we might need the Illyrians again before it is over. Need them willing to shed blood.”

This dialogue between Rhysand and Azriel is back in ACOFAS, which is the book SJM already said that there's a lot of breadcrumbs for the next books. If a war it's coming, we need to have the biggest army ready to fight. And it's not the first time she mentioned a new coming war.

MAIN PLOT

The conflict

So, the next book won't be about Illyria. Not only SJM made that clear, but she also already told us to what direction the next book is going:

“We’ll deal with all that later.” Including the remaining queens, Koschei, and a still-looming war.

SJM basically told us what is coming: a war in which Koschei is the main villain. That makes sense considering he's a potencial treat since ACOWAR.

So he's our main villain… and every villain has a motivation.

Koschei's motivation

The Trove is the new element SJM presented in ACOSF and in some level it is responsible to move the plot forward. We know for a fact that Bryllian wasn't the only one interested in the Trove:

“And all Koschei wants is to be free from his lake?” Rhys asked Azriel.

But Amren answered. “No one really knows the full scope of the Trove’s powers. Beyond freeing him from his lake, Koschei may very well know something about the Trove that we don’t—some greater power that manifests when all three are united.”

Koschei wants to be freed from his lake, and to do that he needs the Trove. So far, Nesta has found the Three objects and used them at the same time (chills, literally chills). If we were certain the Trove was safe with The Night Court, all we had to expect would be an attack from Koschei, probably using Beron (I'll get to that). However, SJM already told us there's another possibility:

"...when I went into the Prison, only three remained. At the time, some claimed there were four, or that the fourth had been Unmade, but today’s legends only tell of three.”

A fourth object lay on the altar, veiled in shadow. But she couldn’t make out more than a gleam of age-worn bone—

“There was a fourth object in the vision, but it was in shadow—was there ever a fourth part of the Trove? All I could make out was a bit of ancient bone.”

At this point, it's clear. The fourth object wasn't Unmade. It's out there somewhere and we will see more of it. Most of us already pointed out that the object was hidden in shadows, which could mean a connection to Koschei or Azriel.

If we consider Azriel (since he has a POV, so it would make sense), he can't find the Trove alone, the same way Cassian couldn't enter the chamber with Nesta. To find the Trove, you need to be Made:

“Made objects tend to not wish to be found by just anyone"

This is another reason why Koschei needed Briallyn: she was Made.

He pointed Briallyn toward the Dread Trove—not for her sake, but for his own ends.

Stopping the villain

If the villain wants some object to spread evil, the heroes have to stop him by finding the object first. Obviously. So someone needs to go look for it. It won't be Azriel alone and it won't be Nesta, because we know she won't be the main character anymore.

So who is the only next person who can find the Trove?

“You,” Amren said quietly, “are the same. So is Elain.”

Elain. With SJM, it's always the female character who moves the plot forward. Not the male.

Like it or don't, the Forth Trove needs to be found and she's the one who will do the job. There's a reason why Elain is the common denominator in both bonus chapters. Both of them are preparing Elain for her arc by: 1) Explicitly saying we haven't seen all she has to offer yet and 2) Preparing the reader for the romantic plot of the next book (that will involve her. Regardless who you ship, Elain is right in the center of that mess. Right now she is Azriel's love interest and Lucien's mate. That is not my opinion, those are facts)

There's another reason why it will be Elain: because we need to see her POV. When Nesta found both, The Mask and The Harp, we didn't see through Cassian's POV. He wasn't even close to the scenes.

So the fourth object won't be found from Azriel's POV, because he is not Made, he can't get close enough. He can help with his shadows, but the Trove will be found and rescued by a Made character.

It can't be found from Nesta or Feyre's either, because we know the next book won't be from their POVs. Amren wasn't Made in the same way, so she can't find it.

Elain is the only character who can and will. This is just textual evidence.

But finding the fourth Trove would be enough to stop Koschei? Probably not. Because we have another object to worry about, one that was presented back in ACOWAR:

"There is an onyx box that he possesses, more vital than anything".

Elain is the one who can see that onyx box using her Seer abilities. Maybe these two objects are connected, maybe not. Either way, Elain is the character who is most connected to both and to the plot right now.

So far, according to ACOSF the main plot is: Koschei is the villain and wants to be free from his lake, therefore he needs the Trove. There is a fourth object of the Trove hidden in shadows and the only person who can find is Elain.

Side note: in the process of finding the forth object, it's very possible that we get "new" plot lines. For example, the Fae people trapped under the Prison. But I will stick with SJM directions at the end on acosf here.

SUBPLOT

(I called "subplot" just for organization, but they are not separate things, one depends on the other)

But things are not that simple. Koschei is still bound to his lake, so he can't just go find the Trove himself. That's why he made an alliance with Bryllian in the first place. It's known then that he needs someone else willing to do his work. Who that person might be?

So far, that person is Beron:

"But with the queens a renewed threat, and Beron in the mix, especially if Koschei is their puppet master, Rhys is perfectly happy to leave it on"

My father is furious that his ally is dead, but he’s not deterred. Koschei remains in play, and Beron might very well be stupid enough to establish an alliance with him, too.

However, Beron is not just a puppet by any means. As a good antagonist, he has something to take from this, his own motivation. He wants to expand his territory.

“So they are trying to find this Dread Trove in order to track down the Cauldron for Briallyn, and likely free Koschei in the process. And launch a war, with Beron as her ally, that would grant them whatever territories they wish. Or give some to Koschei."

It's said Beron doesn't have the military strength alone to conquer another territory, with exception of Spring Court perhaps. So he needs alliances. And he's not the only one who has expansion plans:

I don’t think Vallahan is interested in peace. Or allying with us.”

“So Vallahan wants another war in order to add to their territory?”

Most people are forgetting about Vallahan, which is ruled by a queen. If we still have to deal with the "remained queens", maybe this queen could be a problem, too. I wouldn't be surprised if Beron allied with her to start a war.

Beron is not done. He will try to start a war. It makes sense why the penultimate chapter in ACOSF is about Eris, the Autumn Court heir. In order to deal with Koschei, we have to deal with the Autumn Court situation as well.

That being said, we have a "subplot" here involving the Autumn Court:

Beron can't be trusted;

He wants a war to expand his territory;

We were hinted he can allied with Koschei;

Eris has a deal with the Night Court to dethrone his father;

And Azriel's bonus chapter added the Blood Duel into this equation. Which means, involving the truth about Lucien's real father (here, I really tried to think in a way Lucien could get involved besides the Blood Duel and I couldn't find one, because our fox boy had cut any bond with Autumn Court even before ACOTAR).

That means... Elain is involved here as well. Whatever the direction you want to go, SJM build the next plot as if it is a cobweb around Elain, and we need her to move the plot forward.

Another side note: I know people think that there are other characters that could have a POV because they still have to work on their inner issues (basically any character in these books then). However, there's a bigger plot that can't be paused for one character only deal with that. The plot needs to keep moving forward. Besides, Elain is the only Archeron sister who we haven't seen her inner battle, her struggles, so this argument applies to her as well. Moving on.

So we have Beron, the remained queens, Vallahan and Koschei to worry about. There's no room for an Illyrian plot. SJM changed her mind for a reason: a story located for the most part in the Illyrians' mountains, an isolated place, can't move the plot forward and also because of a war is coming, the Illyrians are essencial (and because she wants the Inner Circle to be there. Also because of the white savior trope, but I will stick to the literary structure in this post).

CHARACTERS' DEVELOPMENT

Following the same line of through, I want to talk about why Azriel won't be involved with the Illyrians, not to help in a conflict. We have seen throughout the books that nothing good could come from Azriel dealing with the Illyrians.

"But they both knew Azriel would sooner disband and destroy Illyria than help it. Convincing their brother that the Illyrians were a people worth saving was still a battle amongst the three of them"

And this is not Cassian and Rhys' opinions only. We have seen this before, many times.

Azriel—Azriel just stared them all down. He had not wanted to come to the camp months ago. Disliked being back here. Hated these people, his heritage. The other lords kept glancing to the shadowsinger in dread and rage and disgust. He only leveled that lethal gaze back at them.

“The Illyrians are pieces of shit,” he said too quietly. I opened my mouth and shut it. Shadows gathered around his wings, trailing off him and onto the thick red rug.

These are just a few examples to say: Azriel dealing with them would be catastrophic. And I don't blame him, because he associates those people with eleven years he spent locked away alone with no light and the time he trained there, when he was a boy who didn't know how to fly, how to fight and the others beat the hell out of him.

His trauma is deep and no, he doesn't need to confront them to heal, to be developed as a character. Feyre didn't have a nice conversation with Tamlin, Rhysand didn't need to face Amarantha.

So far, all SJM characters have healed when sorrounded by people who love them, care for them and help them move on, and if they are main characters, they will heal with help of their love interest. They didn't have to go back and face what hurted them in the past. Examples: Feyre, Rhysand, Nesta, Cassian, Gwyn, Emerie. And on and on.

(I'm not saying all of them are totally healed, but their healing arc has already began)

Besides, I don't think for a second that it's only coincidence the fourth trove is hidden by shadows. Not when we have Azriel's POV, which is an indicator that he'll be one of the main characters.

Therefore, I do believe we are going to see his healing arc next since we got his POV (and boy, he needs one), but Azriel would rather be the Bone Carver's mate than deal with the Illyrians.

Azriel needs to be developed as a character to overcome his self loathing, yes. But that's not the way for him to find happiness, it would only hurt him further. You don't necessarily have to heal in the same environment where you got sick.

[abraxos-is-toothless]

Summer Lovin’ (Lucien x Tarquin)

Hello all!

This fic is something new, and will be in multiple parts, updated as and when I finish the next part. It is a Lucien x Tarquin fic. I know what you’re think but I had this thought about them because everyone writes crackships, but then I told @tswaney17 and the two of us fell in love with the idea. She is to thank for this spiral.

I’m using my general ACOTAR tag list for this, but you do not have to read it. Also do let me know if you would like to be kept out of the tags for this in the future. (The title is just something for now because I honestly haven’t decided something yet😂)

~~~~~~

Lucien’s life had been chaotic lately, but still, he hadn't quite expected this to happen, of all things.

Elain had finally said she didn't want this bond between them. He knew it was going to happen and he couldn't exactly blame her. Having it related to a traumatic experience wasn't going to be something positive, and no matter what the Cauldron thought of them matching each other, accepting the bond wouldn't have made them happy. She had the Spymaster for that, and Lucien was grateful to see how much she’d healed since seeing her as skin and bones in the library of the House of Wind. Azriel helped her and loved her; it wasn’t something predestined or whatever other shit people liked to talk about. They had chosen it for themselves, and Lucien couldn’t fault them for being happy.

Then came one of the biggest bombshells of his life.

Beron was not his father.

Though he had found out several months ago, it was still fresh in his mind, as though it were yesterday that he had been told.

Lucien still didn’t understand what he was doing in the River House. Rhysand had turned up in the human lands this morning to get him. When he’d asked why, the bastard just smiled at him. Lucien had honestly thought that the male might have been taking him to his death. But then he winnowed them into an office, Feyre sitting in the window, little Nyx in her arms and a content smile on her face. Now it was a few hours later, Nesta had been and gone, collecting her nephew for his nap, and still, he didn’t know why they had brought him here.

“Are you going to tell me what is going on now, or do I have to wait several more hours?” Rhys was just smiling from where he sat on his chair, wings hidden and humming, making Lucien roll his eyes. Feyre came to sit next to her mate, giving him a reprimanding look. She gave Lucien a soft smile.

“Just a little longer, I promise.” Feyre had barely even finished the sentence when there was a knock on the door. “There we go.” She stood, smoothing the skirts of her dress before walking towards the door, trailing light fingers over Rhys’ shoulder as she went. When she pulled the door open, Lucien could honestly say he was shocked to see that it was Helion on the other side, led by Cassian.

“Your guest, dearest sister. Please, take him.” Helion let out a low chuckle behind the general. He placed a hand over his heart, faking pain when Cassian turned to look at him.

“You wound me. Why so hasty to get rid of me?”

“If you keep looking at time the way you are, I will not be held responsible for what Nesta does to you in a jealous rage.” Helion’s retort was cut off when the female in question shouted from somewhere else in the house.

“You can take him! He’s been a pesky annoyance as of late.” Cassian disappeared then, grumbling about how she didn’t mean that, he was never annoying and Nesta was madly in love with him. Which was true,-the madly in love part, not Cassian not being annoying- anyone could see it. Lucien would never tell her about the doe eyed look she got though. He valued actually being alive.

Helion laughed again, bending down to kiss Feyre on one cheek and then the other.

“Feyre, you look as lovely as you always do. Motherhood suits you.”

“That I agree with entirely.” Rhys said as his mate welcomed the newcomer into the room, closing the door gently behind them.

“I’ve told you Rhysand, no more babes until Nyx is older.” The male nodded in agreement, though Lucien thought they were going to be having this discussion a lot in the near future. She smacked him over the back of the head when he smirked, before sitting once more. He had a feeling they were talking to each other in secret again. “Have you made it so no one can hear us?” She asked when they were all settled. Helion now sat in the chair next to him, giving him a nod, Feyre sitting on the arm of Rhysand’s seat. The High Lord of the Night Court gave a dip of his head. “Warded the moment you closed the door, my love.”

“Good. Now, onto what we brought the both of you here for.”

Helion crossed an ankle over the other knee, hands linked where they rested in his lap. The High Lord of Day was dressed in a mix of gold and black. Gold fabric covered his body. One side of his chest left bare, clothing pinned at the other, flowing down his body, belted at the skirt. It was embroidered around the hem with reds and greens, and it seemed to shimmer like glitter under moonlight. Sandals wrapped around the dark skin of his calves. “Forgive me for asking, but why such secrecy? Can you not trust your own family?”

Lucien didn’t understand why they were being so careful all of a sudden, either. Any time he’d been in here, discussing all the problems they were still trying to overcome from the war with Hybern, they’d never stopped the others inside the house from being able to hear too. Rhys tilted his head slightly to the side. “The information will leave this room when you do, and you will do with it as you see fit.”

Lucien spoke then, frustrated. “You brought me here hours ago, told me absolutely nothing on why I had to come. Just tell us what’s going on.” Rhys raised a dark brow at him, but said nothing, so he turned to Feyre. She sighed, wringing her hands together before stopping herself. It was one of her nervous traits, and nervous traits accompanied by serious conversations never boded well.

“Back when we were trying to get the High Lords to work together, to help us against Hybern, you told us a story about Lucien’s mother, Helion.”

“Yes, I did.” Lucien hadn’t known that. But he supposed looking for Myriam and Drakon meant he wasn’t privy to a lot of information. There were things from the time he was gone that he was still learning about.

“Including the affair that you had.” Lucien sucked in a sharp breath, slowly looking at the male seated beside him. Beron was not nice to his mother, he knew that. But the man had spies everywhere, always had. He would have had to have known about his mother being with Helion. And if he knew, he would have had her killed for it.

“But my mother lives. My father wouldn’t have allowed her to live after he’d found out. And trust me he knows, he always knows when his family isn’t doing exactly what he wants them to.” Beron would have wanted to set an example, a vicious one at that. He showed that with what happened to Jessminda. Thinking of her only made Lucien think fondly of their good memories together now. He was no longer attacked by grief and self hatred, though waves of sadness would come and go. On the bad days, the storm in his head made them rough and dangerous, but those were few and far between.

Feyre started to look uncomfortable, causing Rhys to continue. “To have killed her, would have caused a scandal. He was younger then, and it wouldn’t have done him any good.”

Lucien still didn’t understand and it was starting to piss him off. His fire tempted its boundaries, flames growing hotter and higher in his frustration. It felt as if it were boiling his blood, heating his skin. He pushed it down into the depths where it belonged. “The only scandal is that she wasn’t faithful. The gods know he fucking hasn’t been. But then again it was always ‘do as I say and not as I do’ with him anyway.” Feyre simply shook her head at him. He opened his mouth to say something, to say how pointless this meeting was if they weren’t going to get to the point, when Helion suddenly sucked in a sharp breath from beside him. Lucien startled slightly.

“Mother above.” He breathed. “He can’t be. No, you’re lying, I don’t believe you.” Helion just stared at Lucien when he turned to him, amber eyes wide, mouth partly open.

“I’m not lying, Helion. I figured it out that day, and I’ve also had his mother confirm, but do not ask me how. You can see why Beron hated him the most now.” Lucien was severely done with them taking but still not explaining anything to him.

“Confirm what! What are you fucking talking about?” Rhysand looked at him, not even phased by his outburst.

“Beron is not your father, Lucien.” No. No. They were lying. When he looked at Feyre, when he looked at his friend, she gave him a small nod. He looked back at the male beside him, the male who seemed to be shocked into silence by the situation.

As if Lucien’s life couldn’t get anymore fucked.

It had been months since that day. Feyre told them again that she wouldn’t say how she’d been in contact with his mother, and Lucien didn’t want her to tell him anything anyway, no matter how much he wished to find out so he could see how she was. To talk to her himself. It would put her at risk, and Lucien wouldn’t allow that. And he knew now that Helion wouldn’t either. His father. The High Lord of Day was his father. Lucien was the sole heir to the Day Court. Helion had been nothing but welcoming in the time sincerely but he never pushed. Said that it didn’t have to mean anything, if it wasn’t what he wanted. Lucien had been a little confused with his wants at first, but had decided that he wanted them to acknowledge it. Wanted them to get to know each other.

Helion asked him a few weeks ago to stay with him. They didn’t have to be in the same building, that Lucien could stay wherever he liked in the Day Court, but he did want him to stay. Lucien had found he couldn’t refuse. Jurian and Vassa had been angry with him, saying that he was just abandoning them, that clearly he’d only used them. He had tried to explain that he’d just found the one who had actually fathered him. That he wanted them to have some kind of relationship, something that was robbed from the both of them. The two wouldn’t hear it, and told him to leave. So he went. They had each been closer to each other than they ever had with Lucien anyway.

That was how he was here now, standing in the garden of the small townhouse his father had found for him, the male in question standing across from him. Helion was standing in the early morning rays, arms at his sides, golden crown absent and spouting words Lucien never thought he’d hear in his life. “You want to do what?” Lucien said, still wondering if this was something that was actually happening. Helion sighed, rubbing both hands over his face for a moment, before pulling them away.

“I know that it’s not even been that long since we’ve found out the truth. And I know I don’t have the right to ask anything of you, but I think this could be the biggest step towards allying the courts together.” Lucien could see the frustration on his face, knowing that he struggled to ask this.

“You want me to marry the High Lord of Summer?”

“Yes.”

“Does he know that you want to do this?” Helion moved closer to him a little.

“I proposed a marriage alliance to Tarquin, but I didn’t say who. He agreed after a lengthy discussion, but only if who I chose wanted it. You know I haven’t formally announced that you are my son yet, and this would mean I’d have to.” Lucien folded his arms across his chest, suddenly self conscious.

“And you don’t want to announce it?”

“No.” Lucien stopped, hands tightening where they rested on his biceps. Helion, suddenly realising what he’d said, scrambled to backtrack. “Gods, I meant yes. Yes I want to tell them all I have a son. I just weren’t sure if you were ready for that.” His father let out an unsteady breath, meeting Lucien’s eyes for a second before looking away, only two repeat that over and over. “You don’t have to do this, but having my son marrying into another court makes the alliance stronger than if I were to pick out anyone else.” Lucien understood. And he understood wanting all of the courts to get along. It would mean they could truly live in peace, something they had all hoped for.

“I’ll do it.” Helion’s head shot up, disbelief written across his face.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“I really thought you were going to say no, probably yell at me or something.” Lucien’s brows furrowed, a red lock of hair falling in front of his face.

“Why would I do that?” Helion sighed, almost exasperated. Though Lucien noticed he didn’t hold tension in his shoulders anymore, seemed more relaxed and at ease now that Lucien had answered him.

“Because I didn’t want you to think I was using you. Also, I didn’t even ask. Do you like males? That should have been a question right? I mean, I just assumed, I shouldn’t have.” His father was rambling, and Lucien chuckled.

“Yes, I like males. And Tarquin is a good male, a good High Lord. It might not end in love but, I might get a friendship out of it.” Lucien smiled, a full grin, teeth showing. It was something he realised he hadn’t done in a long, long time. Suddenly the breath was sucked out of him, and strong arms wrapped around his body. It took a moment, but Lucien returned the gesture, hugging him back. Helion was taller than him, and nearly pulled him off of his feet.

“I’m sorry. Sorry for asking. I should have found another way.”

“It’s alright. I think this might be good for me. I had Tamlin and we both know how that ended. I didn’t fit, at the Night Court, not like they do. And Jurian and Vassa...well, I told you what happened. Maybe I’ll find a home with Tarquin.” Helion pulled back, holding his shoulders, a soft smile on his face.

“You may not think it, but you fit here. I never got to be there before, and part of me is glad because the not knowing kept you and your mother safe, but I’m here now. I want to be your father.”

“Thank you.” They decided to continue walking through the garden then. Mostly in companionable silence, occasionally asking the odd question here and there. Lucien was getting lost in his own thoughts. He wondered whether Tarquin would be okay that it was Lucien he was marrying. If they’d be able to make some kind of happy life together. The few times he’d seen him before, Lucien could admit he was attracted to him. It was easy to make conversation with Tarquin, to find common interests. There was the chance it would never turn romantic and Lucien would be okay with that, but at least he’d have a companion to live his life with.

Maybe this was his chance to get his own happy ending.

~~~~~~

Well there it is. The beginning. You’ll see Tarquin next time I promise but I just wanted to give you something to see if you were going to like the story or not. Please be respectful, I’m tired of the ship wars. I want this to be a safe place for me to post the ideas that I have.

Tags: @myfriendscallmeraba  @thesirenwashere @elrielllll  @stars-falling @silver-flames @1islessthan3books @bamchickawowow @empress-ofbloodshed @sleeping-and-books @tswaney17 @awkward-avocado-s @courtofjurdan @junkiejosten10 @mu-si-ca-l @agem10 @harmonyindark245 @tanaquilpriscilla @starrynightsbooks @maastrash  @elriel4life @illyriangarbage @b00kworm @thewayshedreamed @rhyswhitethorn @22emmmmmm @mimianyy @stop-breathing-its-annoying

[readiajin]

To Love Herself - Chapter 3: Hello

Synopsis: Following ACOSF until Nesta’s confrontation with Amren. Rather than going to hike and soul search with Cassian in the wild, Nesta uses her powers to disappear.

Masterlist

Chapter 3: Hello

Nesta - After Disappear

“Who the hell are you?”

Nesta jumped to her feet and whirled around. 

A woman stood a couple yards away. No, not a woman, a High Fae. The female had dark skin and her tightly braided hair was pulled back, revealing her pointed ears. Despite her ears marking her as High Fae, Nesta couldn’t help comparing her to the Illyarians. She wore fighting leathers somewhat similar to theirs, and they were form fitting around the muscles of her torso and arms. A bow and quiver were slung over her back, with a sword sheathed at her side. 

Nesta froze as she silently cursed herself for not having any weapons of her own. She had no idea how she had used her magic before and had very little faith in it if the female decided to attack. She however, had her arms crossed and one eyebrow raised at Nesta as she slowly looked her over. 

“Do you speak? I asked who you are and what you are doing here.”

The arrogance in the female’s voice made Nesta grind her teeth but also stand straight and lift her chin. 

“You didn’t actually.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You didn’t ask what I was doing here before. You only asked who I was.”

The female tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at Nesta. “You know I don’t think you are in a position to have so much attitude.”

Despite Nesta’s rapidly beating heart, she forced her face to be impassive as she gave a dry smile. “Funny, I was about to tell you the same thing.”

Nesta wasn’t sure how she expected the female to react, but to burst out laughing wasn’t it. Her laugh was high pitched and infectiously jovial. At least it would have been if it wasn’t at Nesta’s expense. Nesta felt heat rush to her face but retained her still exterior as the female leaned over her knees while attempting to catch her breath. 

When she finally calmed down enough to wipe tears from her eyes she took in Nesta again, her face softer than before. 

“I don’t know what I was expecting, but you’ve surprised me.” 

Nesta had no idea what that meant, but she bit back, “You haven’t surprised me.” 

The female snorted. “Nevertheless, if you want to live you should probably come with me.”

Taken aback, it took Nesta a moment to respond, “I don’t need your help nor will I go anywhere with you. Turn around and go back to wherever you came from.” 

The female rolled her eyes. “Mother, you are a piece of work, aren’t you? We both know that you didn’t intend to come here or even know where here is. If you want food and shelter and help you will come with me, Nesta.” 

Nesta stepped back at her name, trying to call to magic for help but it was silent. “How do you know my name?”

The female’s lips curved it into a tight smile, but she simply shrugged and turned away. “Welcome to the Forest of the Lost,” she said over her shoulder before heading to disappear between the trees. 

Part of Nesta told her to let the female go, but another part screamed at her to get answers. 

“Wait!” The female stopped. “Tell me your name if you want me to follow.”

The female turned back slowly, a mischievous look in her eyes.

“I’m Thalia. Now keep up.”

•••••

Cassian - After Appear

The Obsidian Isles were named so for the smooth rocks that made up the beaches instead of sand. Flying towards them from above, they looked like dark slashes dividing the rough sea and dense evergreen forests of the Isles. 

Cassian glanced at Feyre flying to his right, trying to be calm as he flew towards his heaven and his hell. It had been decided that only Cassian, Feyre, Rhys, and Azriel would go to meet Nesta. Elain had made her feelings clear, and no one explicitly had said it, but it was understood that it is probably better to keep Mor and Amren far away from Nesta. 

They had sent Azriel to scout ahead as usual, but the Northern Island and the rest of the Isles were all free of Fae. Azriel could find no evidence that anyone had even visited recently, or where exactly they were expected to meet Nesta. 

So now they flew towards the dark beaches, all four of them on high alert. 

They landed in the center and examined the tree line. “Anything?” Rhys asked Azriel. 

Az shook his head. “Place seems as abandoned and cursed as usual.”

Besides from their location in the cold and gray north, the soil of the Isles were fertile, and the surrounding waters prime fishing. Despite that, no Fae settlement had ever lasted. Stories of tragedies befalling any settlement were plentiful, from lighting burning down a half built cabin to an entire colony disappearing. This fact had been pointed out repeatedly by Mor as she argued with him and Feyre to not be stupid by coming here. 

Cassian wasn’t worried, as there had never been any tragedy for someone visiting the islands. Even if there was a curse, Cassian would settle down to stay here if Nesta asked him too. 

Stupid. Cassian’s logical voice chided him. He couldn’t let his emotions influence him right now. He was still angry with his family for their mistrust of Nesta, but he also needed to think as the General he was. Nesta had managed to get into Velaris without anyone knowing, at least twice. How many times had she gone there besides the two times they knew about? Cassian didn’t want to consider she had been so close without him knowing while he worried about her, but he knew now not to make assumptions. 

“Should we go into the trees and look for her?” Feyre asked as the beach remained empty. 

“No,” Rhys replied. “We shouldn’t risk an ambush hidden among the trees.” 

Feyre shot her Mate a dark look. “Nesta is not going to ambush us.”

Rhys and Feyre fell silent, speaking mind to mind. Knowing better than to get involved, Cassian turned to the trees again. 

Cold winds swept off the sea, making Cassian shiver. As he looked at the trees, his gaze snagged on a boulder about 60 yards away, just slightly beyond the tree line. There was nothing special about it, besides it’s massive size probably being a foot higher than Cassian’s height, and just as wide. But as he stared at it, Cassian suddenly felt a tug in his gut. 

“There.” He said, before moving toward it without waiting for a response. 

Cassian walked around it, examining the smooth surface for any signs. He met Azriel at the back, as he had gone around the other side. 

“Do you see something in this bolder we don’t, Cass?” Feyre asked as she and Rhy joined them. 

“I…” Cassian frowned. “No, I thought something was telling me this was it.”

“This was what?” Rhys asked. 

“A giant boulder of obsidian, of course.”

The voice that spoke those words did not belong to any of them. 

In an instant Rhys had thrown Feyre behind him, his dark power surrounding them. Cassian and Azriel both drew their swords and siphoned up shields around them, jumping back. 

However, they all froze upon seeing the figure now perched atop the rock.

Emerie sat there cross legged, an amused look on her face as she looked down on them. 

“It really is just a rock,” Emerie said as she hopped down to stand in front of them.

Emerie turned to Rhys and Feyre to bow. “Good to see you again my Lord and Lady.” She straightened to look at Cassian and Azriel, smiling. “You two as well.” 

Cassian thought back to the last time he had seen Emerie. After Nesta had disappeared, Cassian had stopped training the priestesses and Emerie. Had stopped doing a lot of things. His last conversation with Emerie had been a couple days after Nesta had gone, when it had become clear to him that neither Emerie or Gwyn had any idea how or where Nesta went. 

Azriel had tried to continue to train them all for a while, but between looking for Nesta, Feyre’s pregnancy, the threat of the human queens, Koschei, and the talks with Vallahan, Cassian later learned training had been put on hold. That was another thing for Cassian to feel guilty about after they were also gone. 

“Emerie,” Rhys said, looking her up and down. She wore leathers like the ones Feyre had described Nesta wearing, her wavy hair braided with feathers down her back. And the missing sword was hanging from her belt. “What are you doing here?”

She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could Cassian felt the world shift. Every molecule of his being was suddenly pulled to the right as time seemed to slow down and he turned. 

“She is helping me show you all what I told Feyre was the truth.”

Nesta said this from 10 feet away, standing between two trees where she had certainly not been a moment before. She looked as Feyre had described. Wearing well worn fighting leathers, molded to show off the sleek muscles of her arms, stomach, and thighs. Her golden streaked hair shone in the sunlight, with a silver feather braided into it. Her smooth skin now had a warm tan, making her glow. Cassian had never been able to take his eyes off her, but now there was no denying how devastatingly beautiful she was.

She stood straight, her arms crossed with the Great Sword at her belt. Her stormy grey eyes were bright like a thunderstorm as dusk as she surveyed them all. Except for Cassian. She seemed to be dutifully ignoring his stare. 

“The reason I asked you all here is because this is the meeting point of those within the Night Court who are working with the Rising to steal the Night Court's power.” 

“Hello Nesta,” Rhys said, his voice cold. “It’s been a while.”

Nesta took in Rhys with an equal level of disdain as he gave her. After a moment she simply said “Yes,” before turning to Azriel and continuing.

“The fact that your shadows have not picked up this group's activities tells me that they are probably already well established in Prythian.”

“Nesta,” Feyre said, stepping forward. “If you want us to believe you, why not start with how you left eight years ago and what you have been doing since them.”

Nesta sighed. “I ended up on the continent and met some people who… helped me. They also were interested in helping the priestess. Something I understand you lost interest in once I was gone.” Nesta still didn’t look at Cassian but he felt as if she punched him in the gut. “The group consists primarily of lesser Fae who want to upset the hierarchy of power between them and High Fae. Actually they really just want to flip it, and subject the High Fae to the same treatment they revived. They call themselves The Rising,” Nesta rolled her eyes. “So to answer your inevitable question as to how we know this, the former priestesses have been tracking this group's movement on the continent. We intercepted one of their correspondences to a contact here.” 

“How do you know they have a source within the Illyrians?” Azreil asked, the only one of them not completely taken aback by Nesta’s explanation.

Nesta nodded to Emerie, who removed a parchment from her pocket. “This is the last message we intercepted,” She explained as she handed it over to Azreil. 

Az brow furrowed slightly as he read the paper before handing it to Rhys.

“What is it?” Cassian asked as Rhys got the same look.

“The top part is Illyrian but the bottom part is in a language I don’t recognize,” Rhys explained as Cassian took a look for himself.

The part in Illyrian read: PEAK SUNRISE DROUGHT CEILING

“What is that supposed to mean?” Feyre asked after they translated the Illyrian for her. 

“We aren’t sure either,” Nesta said. “We think it refers to another meeting place. And we were hoping one of you knew what the other language was.”

“Amren might know,” Azreil said.

Nesta stiffened at the female's name. “That would be helpful,” She said. 

Cassian blinked in surprise. Nesta wasn’t one to appreciate someone else helping, especially Amren. 

“And how exactly does the Rising think they can steal Prythian’s High Lords’ powers?” Rhys asked. 

“Like I told Feyre before, by finding the physical manifestation of it in Prythian.” Nesta leveled Rhys a glare. “If you know, you might want to check it, and the Illyarians. And look out for Riding members infiltrating  the courts.”

Rhys examined Neata with the High Lord stare that regularly brought Fae to their knees. “And what will you be doing, Nesta?”

Nesta held her chin high, weathering the power rolling of Rhys. “My friends and I will be handling them on the Continent.” 

Cassian couldn’t take it anymore. “Oh, that’s all?” He growled.

Nesta finally looked to Cassian, her face impassive. That look made his blood boil, in conjunction with how it felt like she was ripping out his heart. 

“We have been trying to stop this group from spreading on the Continent for years now. I have no interest in seeing Prythian become subject to their misguided revolution.”

“You sure you and your friends can handle it?” Cassian spit out. “Sounds like you have been failing for years.”

Out of the corner of his eye Cassian sensed Emerie step back. Silver flames danced in Nesta’s eyes. 

“We’ve done a lot in the past eight years.” She said in a deadly quiet. “I’ve done a lot of things. I’m doing this to save the lives of innocents. I’m not interested in another war or anything else.”

Cassian fell silent. 

In all the times he had imagined seeing her again, it wasn’t like this. He knew she was the queen of pushing people away, but even at her worst he knew what to expect from her. He could take her yelling and cursing at him. He hadn’t really believed Feyre before about Nesta looking good. Hadn’t truly believed she could be happy without him when not a day had gone by where he hadn’t missed her. But Cassian didn’t know how to handle her standing tall, strong, confident, and beautiful, telling him what to do. All without him. 

Probably sensing Cassian’s coming breakdown, Feyre stepped forward. 

“I’m sorry Nesta, I’m still very confused. How did you get into Velaris, and who are your friends besides the priestesses?”

“You are the one who wanted me to master my powers Feyre. I did.” 

Feyre blinked. “Okay but who—“

Feyre was cut off by an ash arrow flying out of the trees to lodge in the middle of her chest. 

•••••

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Thanks for being here :)

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(Bold doesn’t work)

[hornsandthings]

Can you do Cassian as a mate head cannons? Thank you xxx

hi! i struggled a bit w/ cassian’s character, but i wanted to fulfil a request within a reasonable timeframe for once hehe! kept it a bit vague but added some story too. i hope you like it and thank you for requesting! x 

headcanons: cassian as a mate (ACoTaR) 

you were a surprise. when his scouts had called him to come investigate something odd, he had expected another strange yet concerning scene involving those wretched creatures slowly encroaching upon prythian. however, it was you who he’d found on the southern borders of the court, wide-eyed and shivering in some frost-lined cave. it was so ridiculously unbelievable that cassian barked an incredulous laugh in the silence that followed, unable to take his eyes from you. there was nothing funny about it, however - you had found yourself in a place where no human should be.

he didn’t know what to do with you - he hadn’t met many humans outside the archeron family. even so, you seemed different: wilder, perhaps even savage. the way you were looking at him made him uneasy: with reverential fear, with awe, with unabashed curiosity. how ironic - he was usually the one to intimidate, not the other way around. cassian couldn’t get anything out of you - all you did was stare, either ignoring or not comprehending his questions. he was considering sending someone for feyre, but it was then when you reached out a hand to him. something about the scene - you on your knees, looking so weathered yet such… hope in your eyes - clutched at his heart, and so he grasped your dirty, shaking, ice-cold hand, not knowing for quite some time the true importance of the moment.

your presence elicit conflict within the inner circle; there had been hot and loud debate on whether to send you back, especially after nesta had identified you as one of those rotten children of the blessed. a group of misguided humans, thinking fae akin to gods. upon learning that, cassian could now make sense of your strange behaviour. it made him uncomfortable, to say the least - his life was of no more or less value than yours, yet he knew there were some fae out there who would take advantage of the power imbalance. when he turned to look back at you, he found you already staring, and he’d never forget the first words out of your mouth: “please, don’t do that. i’ve come a long way. something told me i’d find safety here.”

eventually you were granted refuge at the house of wind. you were quiet about your past, becoming reserved and offering nothing but vague responses to the inner circle’s questions. at first cassian had suspected mistrust, but he soon came to realise that you couldn’t offer any information because perhaps you weren’t able to confront it yet. you seemed to have latched onto him, often keeping him company when he was at the house - something that became more frequent over time. your curiosity was loud and genuine, bombarding him with all kinds of questions ranging from thoughtful to inane. sometimes it was annoying, but sometimes it was endearing, too.

when he finally found out about the mating bond, there was no elation, no relief. cassian had been so sure that nesta was the one, felt it in his bones despite the conflict which always plagued their relationship. and yet, to have a human mate… it was a special kind of sweet sorrow. he finally broke down in azriel’s arms one night, unable to bear it any longer. “this wasn’t supposed to happen,” cassian had croaked, knowing the chances were near impossible. the thing that fate had given him, had intended to be his life-long constant, was doomed to only be a fleeting thing. azriel had held him, quiet and thoughtful as always, pulling him back from the edge with his words: that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.

the realisation had made him want to become distant - just the thought of you brought heartache. he had hoped that if he kept to the training decks and avoided the inner house, the others’ presence would keep you at bay. within days, however, you had walked right through the milieu of clashing swords and moving bodies, grasping his shoulder and saying: “you finally know.” cassian would never admit it aloud, but your severity frightened him, and your prior knowledge shamed him. he searched your eyes and found that he couldn’t ignore this. he didn’t have the luxury of it, which he had thought he’d have with nesta. there would be no miraculous transformations this time.

it took time - limited, precious time - but cassian did fall in love with you, bit by bit. at unexpected moments, you’d reveal a tidbit about your journey across prythian, and he’d gently coax some elaboration. first came all the wonders you’d witnessed: the bright landscapes, the creatures, the flowers. sometimes you’d touch upon the dangers, and your sheer constitution never failed to impress him - he even became proud of you. the most mesmerising was your faith: it was the mating bond which had guided you here, something which you never should have noticed in the first place as a human. it humbled him, to know that you risked everything to make it here. “thank you,” he once said to you in a quieter moment. “you came all this way to find me. thank you.”

while he was somewhat relieved by the fact you had gained both weight and colour since your arrival, cassian found it hard to overlook the many dangers a fae court posed to a human. velaris was safer than most - if not all - cities, but who knows which illnesses could befall a human and spare a fae. he couldn’t help but worry when you were out alone, or when even a seemingly normal cold kept you down for a few days. during those periods, he’d stay at your side despite your - and the healers’ - reassurances, loathe to give up even a single minute. you two had already lost so much time; oh, how he had wished he had found you earlier. you’d hold his hand, comforting him rather than him comforting you. “i promise i’ll be alright,” you’d murmur, carding your fingers through his hair. he’d find comfort in your soft breaths, in your warm skin.

rhys had eventually caught on, and urged cassian to live in the moment. “you’re grieving her before she’s gone,” rhys had said, a sad and understanding smile on his face. “she deserves your utmost attention instead.”

one night he watched you closely as you sat on his lap, tracing the faded scars on his wings. you hadn’t yet asked, and quite frankly, cassian wasn’t going to bring it up unprompted. your touch was soothing, however, light and loving. “i’ve got scars there, too,” you murmured, making cassian frown and grip your hips. he shifted until he could catch your eye.

“on your back?” he clarified, taking care to be mindful. you nodded, slowly shrugging off the nightclothes. it was unconventional, the way you showed him - coming close and hugging him tight, letting him see the long, raised lines on your back as he looked over your shoulder. the sound he’d made was involuntary - a mix between a growl and a gasp. he pulled you even tighter against him, big and gentle hands caressing your back. again he was reminded of human fragility, but also human strength. your strength. you nosed along his neck, pressing a kiss there to reassure him that you were fine.

cassian made a vow then, cupping the side of your face. his voice was not as solid as usual, but the same conviction was still there. “i’m just a man, my heart. i’m not as powerful as you think me to be, or as noble. mother above, i’m bastard born. i don’t deserve half the praise you afford me. but i do love you, with every fibre of my being. i promise you’re safe here, and you’re safe with me. i love you so much, now and--” he faltered, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. “i’ll always love you.”

all you did was smile and nod, giving him a sweet kiss. it took effort to not break down with all the worries that crowded his heart, but cassian forced a deep breath and kissed you again, and again, and again. you had become so very important to him so very quickly that sometimes it felt like whiplash, but you were worth it all.

[illyrian-lover-flower]

Dance away the stars with me

So, @autophobiaxx​ - this is your last gift from me. I hope you enjoyed the former two, because I loved writing them.

I don’t know about you, but I really loved this project and it was my pleasure to write for you.

Also about this one - I tried to go with the ‘And they were roommates’, but looks like it turned into sharing a bed kind of fic. 

Anyway I wish you a lot of fun with this one. 

Also, have a splendid end of the year😘

Elain felt tired out, a heavy weight pushing down her petite shoulders as she stood in the corner of Vassa’s ballroom. 

Her friend having flown personally across the sea, to deliver this letter of invitation to her.  

A bright smile that lit up the night as her burning form vanished into the one of the fiery queen in front of Elain.  

Those bright red curls of her hair dancing around the queen, like a fire itself. Wild untamed eyes beaming happily at her. Ignoring all her naked glory with which she stood in Elain’s garden. Luckily the inhabitants of the house were still too preoccupied to notice her arrival, letting them have their time until Vassa was at least covered by a cloak.  

Declaring in this strong rumbling voice of hers, that there would soon be a grand Solstice ball hosted at her castle. Also telling the seer that she would not take a ‘no’ for an answer, while she already started to twirl and dance with Elain in the garden.  

Spinning happily without a care, that the soft cloak didn’t cover as much anymore as it should. Dancing in wide circles along with Elain’s purple dress while nature watched. Occasionally did a fae walk by, but the smell of Vassa’s curse - the scent of burning and crackling magic- seemed to fully taint her human scent.

Making most of the fae smile with shaking heads, thinking that a friend –or lover- came to enjoy some time with  the friendly seer.  

And indeed, they did have a wonderful time. Those ocean blue eyes of the queen brimming over with happiness as she declared in a proud voice – it was the first Solstice ball since, well, centuries. Elain smiled at her friend as she kept rambling on about how she had searched the library, for books when the last Solstice ball was.  

But she meant that their documentations didn’t reach that far back, so she sadly couldn't give Elain a real feeling of what expanse of time passed.  

It were such moments, in which she questioned Vassa’s age. Not quite aware how her curse affected her aging progress. As this knowing look was often witnessable in her eyes.  

Talking of ancient parties, banquets, former human festivities and so on. Vassa awfully liked to talk about the festivities the mortals once had – describing her so vigorously how they were decorated, how the food tasted and was arranged while she often complained about the dances and the stiff spines of the humans.  

She should have believed Vassa more. Was all Elain could think as she stood silently in the corner of the wide ballroom. Candles, bonds and greenery painting the atmosphere of the hall in a calm solstice spirit, while she only watched.  

Spines of both, women and men, completely stiff as they swirled around with their partner. Flowing skirts twirling in circles while the loud fake giggles of the women rang in her pointed ears – which she didn’t even bother to hide anymore.  

All in all, Elain had thought she had forgone hiding long ago. But as she swallowed up the space in the shadow of Vassa’s throne, it seemed like someone wanted to prove her otherwise.  

Though nothing in her made even the slightest move of peeking up and having the urge to go to the dance floor. No, the last urge to do that had been more than two hours ago and she would not have that disaster again.  

Would not have another man growing stiff while she asked for a dance. The mortals all used to the man asking his chosen companion, while she would wait for an invitation – the rest of the night if she had to.  

Elain really couldn’t think about a single reason why she once loved these blinding balls. Sticky air attached to her porcelain skin, loud laughter ringing in her ear, as someone finally opened a window. A groan escaped her as the first complain of a woman already echoed over to her pointed ears.  

She really would have loved to go outside- to get some fresh air, admiring Vassa’s gardens. But the seer was well aware to the looks that rested upon her petite shoulders.  

As if the heavy sheet of midnight velvet, attached to her pale blue gown wasn’t enough weight on her.  

It had been so long since she last wore something that closed off. The skin on her shoulders thankful for the cold metal of the needles, that rested on each of them as they held her trail attached there.  

The as mistletoe decorated ornaments sparkling in the warm light of the room.  The golden hue getting captured in the hundreds of small emeralds and the two big rubies. Dancing and chasing each other in the glittering realm on her shoulders.  

While she stood stiff as a salt pillar.

A kind smile on her lips, but a faraway gaze in her eyes as she listened into the conversations that took place on the polished white marble floor. The humans all whispered.

Hushed voices flying around the room, trying to keep their shushed indignation away from her prying pointed ears.  

Though they seemed to forget about the two males that twirled on the dance floor and also listened in on their conversations. Day and night transforming the ballroom into a scenery of beauty.  

The one, bright as the sun, dancing with his queen in his arms. Love and faithfulness to her written in his eyes. While the other one, dark as night, twirled on the dancefloor with various women.  

A kind smile on his lips as he picked his next victim to interrogate. Each one of his companions fearing, but also adoring him while they got silent information's sucked away from their very own body language.  

Elain didn’t really like that Azriel had danced all night with every woman in the hall, just not her. But she knew of the reason.  

Knew that he was here for a reason after all.  

Feyre was sceptical about Elain’s visit. All alone in a realm full of sceptical and hate withered humans. So, it had been a relief for her younger sister when Elain told her she would ask Azriel if he would join her.  

The High Lady of the Night court doubted that the broody shadowsinger would volunteer to go with her into the mortal realms. Surprise lining her features as she found him and Elain ready on the roof.

Deaf to the quiet language the seer spoke with him.  

He knew it was a onetime opportunity to gather information. Vassa’s silent smirk the entire evening, was also prove that her ulterior motive wasn’t a calm and boring ball. She gave both of them an opportunity to gather information from the kingdoms, that had betrayed her so cold heartedly.  

While she had Elain’s help by her side with Koschei.  

‘One hand washes the other.’ meant Vassa, but Elain knew that her fiery friend would have loved to help her, even without her help depending on the one that cursed her.  

This dangerous gleam in Vassa’s eyes something most had overlooked tonight as they greeted her. Guest for guest – kingdom for kingdom- bowing down in front of her.

Jurian, as well as Lucien, shared the same kind but tiny devilish smirk with their friend the entire evening. Watching with delight how the seer and the shadowsinger of the Night court silently interrogated those who betrayed Vassa’s kingdom.  

Plotting out their fall, like a silent cloud of death creeping up to them.  

“You seem to have a lot of fun tonight.” stated Jurian with an amused look, as he extended a hand to her. She took it gladly. A small honest smile spreading as her friend had approached her silently.

Though she could not help the silent wish in her head, a hissing scolding following soon while her hand rested calmly in his.  

‘Wrong!’ hissed this voice inside her. His hands felt so wrong.  

Jurian seemed to notice her pained train of thoughts as he chuckled quietly. “Sorry, I am not quiet the one you hoped I would be.” a blush crept up her cheeks – hopefully it was just the warmth of the room. And not the thought of a certain shadowsinger.  

Not the ghosting feeling, on her hands, of his scars. Her petite fingers having long mesmerized each scar that was printed into his gentle hands.  

“I don’t know who you are talking about.” was all she could mumble as Jurian kept twirling them over the marble floor, that mirrored each of their movements.  

“How is my bet going?” she asked him out of the blue as he chuckled at her innocent reply. This soaring mind of hers trying to get her attention off of those fussy feelings inside her chest.  

Those sensitive ears also needing something different to listen to than the too loud notes of flutes and mother knows what.

“Better than mine.” was all he growled out. His warm brown eyes immediately looking above her head and into the direction of his friends. Which twirled without a care along the music – showing the humans that no one needed to fear those oh so blood thirsty creatures.

Elain looked up at him with questioning eyes “You have another bet?” “Exactly.” was all he answered smugly as he twirled her out on one hand.  

“You wound me Jurian. I thought I was the only one you bet with.” her eyes brimmed with laughter as he pulled her close again, not too close. Even his human mind was aware to the piercing eyes of the shadowsinger on his back.  

The two main reasons as to why he had a bet with Vassa in the first place. Two at the moment to be exact. One containing their visit this week, while the other would most likely last for a long term. Jurian groaned a bit in pain at the mere thought of it. ‘Hopefully I am going to see the end of this before I die!’ was all he could think of.  

After all, those two were good when it came to dancing. Mostly when it came to dancing around each other. Always a back and forth of twirling skirts and hissing shadows as they reached out for each other whenever the other one withdrew. An everlasting circle of day and night.

“I can’t bet with you on this one.”  

Elain’s worried eyes had him chuckling. This fae female seemed to always fear for the worst – thoughts of a next battle and bloodshed probably preoccupying this thoughtful mind of hers already again.  

A thoughtful mind he respected, but feared at times.  

Jurian was well aware to the strength of her sisters. One blessed with the seven powers of the courts, respected in each of them and the other fierce and strongheaded. Setting the Illyrians in the camps under turmoil at the moment.  

And while both had plenty of strength, making everyone believe that there was nothing as such left for their sister – they lacked kindness and understanding. One having at least a bit of it, for those who she loved while the other did know nothing about mercy.  

They both lacked the calm political abilities of their middle sister.  

The silent scale no one knew about.

Elain had grown up happily among the humans, had been a master at feeding lies and spinning nets of a twisted truths, that only contained scrums of what it really was. She was an honest soul, but prettying up the truth was something she had been skilled in since years.  

This sharp mind of hers, able to read humans just as well as fae with just an innocent look of from her eyes. The dangerous gleam in her them, hidden faraway in the facet of a deep caramel, was something no one had noticed until now.  

Her sisters unable to see a dangerous side of her.  

Jurian had started seeing Elain as a scale the moment she first stepped into these halls.  

Those knowing innocent eyes resting on him with a sharpness, that could cut bones. Assessing – predicting- his next actions as her eyes started to cloak themselves. Those few minutes which she had spent in the realms of the future, were worse than any battle he had fought upon.  

His mind growing well aware of the blood that would always stick to his hands. Innocent blood among it.  

But as the seer returned, she bowed her head in respect at all three of them. Her eyes having seen something that made her believe in him, something only few did at this time.  

And without even realizing it, did a deep friendship form.  

One her sisters probably didn’t even know existed.  Thinking it hurt her whenever Vassa called upon her abilities, acting cold and icy around them while she opened up to the female she should have feared.  

Her burning heart should have feared of the possibility that Lucien could still gift his love to the fawn and not the phoenix.  

But it was obvious. His decision was as clear as day written across his face, whenever he watched the queen. Elain having long known of his future path while she seemed oblivious to her own.  

Kind jokes and a few glasses of wine, Jurian shared in silence with her. making them bond over various things. It was refreshing whenever Elain came to visit them. Accompanying him on his third-wheeling as they silently betted in the background how long it would take for the two to finally knock it off.  

Elain betted on many things, a trait she had picked up from her family, he found out. But Jurian was sure to mention the condition of no peeking into the future whenever they started a bet.

She had grown well into her powers after all. Not even the cryptic visions bothered her anymore. And it relieved her, the control she had now, easing her shoulders, whenever he saw her, a bit more.  

“Have you found out anything yet?” whispered Jurian down to her. Humans might not have such sensitive ears like fae, but they had their ways of sneaking around.

Elain shook her head, a dramatic sigh on her rosy painted lips as she eyed the ball room discreetly again “No, not yet. The one I had danced with before could have also been dead – though I do thing a dead body spoke more than his. And the rest of these people are complaining about Azriel’s, Lucien’s and my presence on this human ball.”  

The former general sighed in defeat as a little smirk played along her lips “Some are even thinking you should go with us. After all, you are such a foolish man that lay his heart in those ungrateful hands of this intoxicating creature. “  

“I think if that would ever happen, I would already have it pierced on a dagger.” was all he could mumble. His memories showing him with shivering intensity the death stare of death incarnate. The shadowsinger not entirely able to hide this quiet rage inside him, whenever he noticed someone had bad intentions with the fawn.  

Trying to hide her away from cruelty, drooling stares, torture and mother knows what. Though he recently started to relax more, a proud smile on his lips whenever this quiet female was able to send a male off - only with a cold spoken word and hard eyes.  

It wondered Jurian the last time he witnessed it.

But apparently, there were many things that wondered him over the months he had gotten to know these two. Having been the third wheel for already quite a while, he knew for what he needed to search in someone's eyes when two hearts seemed to beat in sync.  

Knew of the adoration, the trust, the respect and everything else, that lay in someone's eyes if they truly loved someone. And apparently whenever Azriel and Elain turned their back at each other, one of them always turned around.  

Looking at their loved one with wide eyes that brimmed over with love. It was a clear mystery to him how they were even able to hide these emotions.  

It wondered him how the shadowsinger and the fawn were able to tear their heart’s apart, while they only wanted to be together. Those feelings that were strained between them, even seeable to his human eyes.  

But Elain never knew what his innuendos indicated, when he tried to tell her about the deep bond, she had with the shadowsinger. Mother above – she was the one that always complained to him whenever Lucien or Vassa didn’t get a hint, while she wasn’t any better herself.  

Though lately Lucien and Vassa seemed to get each other more, seemed to spend more time with each other while they laughed at things Jurian and Elain had no clue of. The knowing smile on their silent companions' lips always something that threw Vassa and Lucien off, when they sat at the dinner table.  

A groan escaped Jurian at the mere thought, of the looks they now shared with each other “If they move on any faster than this, I am afraid I will lose my bet.”  

The seer only giggled, carefully peeking over her shoulder as she saw the fiery couple dancing. A soothing flame in the veil of shadows around them. 

All those mortals around them, wanting to separate them, tear them apart, kill them, torture the other while their companion needed to watch – a dark veil of cruelty which both did not care about as they danced away the night with a burning love.  

But those careful eyes of the seer strayed from them, strayed from everyone in the loud ballroom as she looked for him. A solid pillar of shadows that danced and whirled around the room, but he was nowhere to be found. His bulky frame having hid away in a shadow of this enormous castle.  

Perhaps he had managed to gather some helpful information's. Writing them down and reading over them with trained hazel eyes. Studying line for line of the report- until the tiniest of secrets was spilled to him, somewhere in a room.  

Elain could only hope so as she danced with Jurian for one more hour. A heavy heart sinking with each dance in her chest, while her ears picked up the same useless information's again and again and again.  

The humans not able to get over the subject.  

Until Elain grew tired of it. Tired of the heavy heart in her chest, tired of the hushed voices in her ears and tired of the ever-repeating steps she made.  

Jurian noticed it with woken eyes. Leading her carefully away from those toxic souls of the humans. The quietness to her ears, as they entered the empty hallways, seemingly throwing off a weight off her petite shoulders.  

Every step she made echoing loudly, along with his, in the cold stone corridors. Until they reached her door. A quiet smile – tired and forced laying on her lips as she bid her friend ‘good night.’

It was a wonder to her how Lucien pulled through these balls, it was a wonder to her how Azriel was still able to attend these festivities with even the smallest of acted smiles.  

Her mind growing well aware to the fact why he despised these missions, in which he was required to be outside of his soothing veil of shadows.  

The mortal realms were tiering, having feasted on her patience and masquerade for the entire day.  

This stupid smile always on her lips. 

More than once already today, did she want to rip it off of her face and just snarl at these humans. These humans -that had sprayed an intoxicating and poisonous smell around the entire evening – were ready to offer their queen.  

They were all ready to drive a dagger between the ribs of their oh, so foolish queen. Killing her with the easiest of thoughts – if it wouldn’t have been for the two fae that were always around.  

Another one lurking in the shadows behind.  

As Elain pushed open the heavy door, there was this wave of relief that washed through her.  

Letting this heavy veil, of midnight blue, slip off her shoulders. The cool air of her large chamber caressing her naked skin, dancing around her like strands of darkness that pleaded her to let her mask fall. Just like this heavy sheet of fabric – that lay abandoned on the wooden floor of her room.  

This whole evening was tiering and it hadn’t even helped her to gather one tiny bit of information! How should she ever find out of Koschei’s hide out, of the strings he spun across the continent? Of the control he had on each of those who lived here.  

Elain hated that she was stuck in a dead-end. All the information she had until this point – the same as last month and the one before that and the one before that.

This feeling of uselessness keeping her heart once again in shackles. Those tired feet rushing to carry her in the bath chamber attached to her room. Pulling at the fabric of the dress that had suffocated her all night.  

There was nothing. Nothing in her heart she wished more to do now than unleash these toxic feelings inside her chest and get rid of those who caused it. A bloodshed that would take place another time, was all she could try and tell herself.  

This heart of hers – that held the wish of hundreds of deaths near- beating in anticipation at the feeling that would rush through her, once she had stricken them true. It was a poisonous wish of her turned heart – but this wish was only turned towards those who deserved it.  

To those which breathed cruelty and spat poison wherever they went, but then again – was she even allowed to judge? She knew how a human heart felt – knew how cruel it could become once fear crept inside their chests.

 But there were also those with soft hearts. Fair hearts of gold, while those, who owned them, lived in poverty.  

Most not even knowing how to write and read just a year ago.  

Elain knew Vassa did everything in her might, to sooth the folds between wealthy humans and those who crawled in the dirt. But she also saw the way the queens presents were treated, knew how those in the Villages eyed the bread, the wheat and everything that lay among it. Warm blankets for the winter and tons of logs that were displayed on the marketplace as they feared that they needed to give everything back.

Doubled and thrice – like some lordlings and ladies wanted them to. So, it was Elain’s task to show them. That there was no fear necessary as she moved in rugs past the guards, that made sure everyone would get something.  

Limping away on a stick and a duvet draped across her hunched back. With a smile did she notice that the villagers turned brave – as the supposed old lady, awaited no punishment.  

Elain had returned after that many times, asking each time another family if she could use their house for the lessons she thought. Gathering everyone, who wanted to in a circle, as she explained them how to write and read – in the dead of night.  

Making sure that her lessons never took up too much of their time. She knew of the work that was necessary in winter and did not want to exhaust them too much.  

Yet she still was able to teach everyone, within the four months of winter, how to write properly. At the end of her final lesson did she give her students a book. Some, which loved to read, immediately opening it – while others groaned at the three hundred pages of solstice tales.  

This last day of teaching was also the one in which she had pulled her hood down. The small children, having tried already more than once, to reveal her face.  

Elain had expected that there would be an uproar, that there would be fear. But as she explained her motives to them – they understood. Having gotten to know her in the darkest months of the year, kindness and silly jokes having bonded them on the many evenings.

Going as that far to even thank her, to tell her of the success they recently made.  

Some were able to get their lost land back, while others were able to make better trads.  

It brought joy to her heart, but also pain that she needed to leave them again. Knowing well that her sisters awaited her with impatient feet tipping on the ground – trying to get as many information's, about Vassa’s kingdom,from her as soon as she stepped over the threshold.  

The one who normally interrogated not caring at all, of what happened at the mortal realms. Azriel was simply glad that she was back and listened with patience as she listed to him the many names of her students.  

Watching in adoration, how this proud smile grew on her lips whenever she rambled on about them.

Whenever she told him of their good hearts.  

While she tried to avoid talking about those which caused all of them pain. A snarl on her lips whenever she only thought about the lordlings and the ladies – just like now.  

Their corrupted hearts feasting on power, while they laughed at those who played honest.  

Those chackling laughs throughout the evening had her blood turn cold, had it freezing in her very veins as her heart decided to imagine the cold joy it would bring to make them shut up.

It was a solstice ball and yet some still found sick pleasure in the pain they caused.  

Elain hated to admit that she became one of those. Cold caramel eyes looking back at her as she now looked into the mirror. This normally so soft face of hers, having grown cold as stone as she drowned in those cruel thoughts of hers.  

A pang of pain crossed her heart at the knowledge of the monster that brewed underneath her. That grew, but was more and more tamed, with each training lesson Azriel and the wraiths offered her.  

This silent beast inside her, noticing a pool of darkness in the corner of the little bath chamber. His fighting leathers- like she made out once her bare feet moved silently across the wood.  

They were neatly folded, laying atop of a chair behind the tub. It wondered her as to why they were here. Moving through the darkness of her chamber did she call out in a soft voice “Azriel?”  

It was almost entirely dark, only the open window – that flooded the room in a soft silver hue helping her to move without stumbling.

“Azriel?” she called out again, as she saw his massive form turned to the window.  

Sweat coating his naked chest while he watched the clouds move on the sky with crossed arms. The sky he just soared through, she assumed. As Elain took in his tousled hair. The wind having combed those soft black strands of ink, atop of his head, in the most various directions.  

Those mighty wings on his back capturing the silver hue of the halfmoon, making the cold light dance along the membrane. Illuminating every vein, every little and big scar as they were spread out wide.  

It was the first time Elain had seen them entirely open – not even when he sunned them in her garden, did he allow them to open fully. Though it seemed as if they spread more and more, each time she found him after a long night of hushed laughter and shared jokes. But also, after those which ripped open old scars in both of their hearts.  

But he snapped them shut, as he had heard Elain’s soft voice in the dark. His raging mind, that was for once absent, not able to identify her as his scarred hand moved immediately to truth teller.  

Those sharp hazel eyes widening as soon as he recognized her petite form – clothed in nothing but her long sapphire night gown. The long sheet of satin, hanging in lose folds over her body. Those thin straps not even seeable as her waves of honey hair hung lose over her shoulders.  

“Elain...” was all he breathed out, her eyes seeing the bob of his Adams apple even in the hue of moonlight. Though what hurt her, was that the stiffness of his shoulders, of his entire being, did not ease.  

It pained her that he didn’t seem able to relax, those mighty wings folding themselves back together on his back, as she took step for step towards him. 

An outstretched hand of hers wanting to touch the soft membrane, this sweet voice of hers only a whisper.

 As she was afraid, he would cower away from her, if she spoke any louder. “No, please don’t stash them away from me. There is no need to hide them Azriel, they are beautiful.”  

But her words did nothing to ease his tension, did nothing as his hazel eyes bored inside hers. Emotions dark as the night, making amber and emerald dance in his Irises.  

Something must have gone clearly wrong tonight, the tension rolling off of him in silent waves – just like his shadows. That pooled to his naked feet.  

The seer having long stepped into the darkness around him as she slowly lifted her hand.  

His eyes not even straying, not even flickering, away for the moment of seconds. Every blink of his eyelids seemed to be too much movement for him, as her soft hand cupped his sculpted cheek. A shudder going through his entire body as fire and ice met.  

Her cold skin resting on his heated cheek.  

A low giggle of hers bubbled to the front “Sorry, I am a bit cold.” was all she declared. Trying to take her hand back to her side as she did so. It was better for him, better if a beast like her did not touch him – did not corrupt his pure heart.  

But Azriel was against it. Was against her touch leaving his skin as his thoughts snapped to one conclusion. Each part of his body moving in unit as he pulled the seer gently by her waist towards him.  

His bulky arms resting around her petite frame as his wings wrapped tightly around her.  

Azriel’s entire being singing of a symphony of emotions. Feelings he knew, he nursed deep down in his heart for her.  

Admiration, trust, need, respect and so much more having strung his heart to her.  

He knew it, yet he was too much of a coward to spill it. To possibly take a decision from her if he would declare her his love.  

But as she withdrew her hand, he knew of the cold feeling that had settled into her eyes the moment he had flinched under her cold touch.  Disgust, but not towards him. Her eyes having spoken of what she thought herself – a beast, a monster.

Things she was far from as he held her close to his heart. “I am having enough warmth for two, take a bit of mine.”  

He felt the soft hair of the seer move on his sweat slick chest. Groaning internally at the tickling sensation ‘This was a bad idea!’ he convinced himself with only one thought. She would be coated in sweat, once they pulled apart.  

Though a primal part of him could only purr at that. Liking the idea very much that it would be his smell that coated her.  

But as much as this primal part of him would like that - it was still Elain’s decision if she wanted to stay. Wrapped up in his arms and scent.  

The shadowsinger was not aware of the effect he had on her as he pulled their bodies together. Needing a slight moment of shock as her nose suddenly breathed in his strong smell. The herb smell of cedar and night chilled mist dancing in her nose trills, along with the heavy scent of his sweat.  

But she didn’t mind – couldn't bring herself to mind as her hair stuck to his sweat sticky chest. The flight and perhaps a bit of training having caused it to appear.  

She loved him.  

Was all she could think, as he pulled her closest to his heart. Those cold hands of hers rising to rest calmly on his muscled back. Only a few inches away from those gorges stems of his wings.  

Pulling him ever so tight as they stood enveloped in shadows and night.  

His warmth enveloping her entirely. While she listened to the most beautiful song, she ever heard – his heart beat. Azriel’s strong heartbeat, that kept thrumming against her ear, a steady lullaby that lured her in.  

Making the exhausted seer forget about all the failure of this evening.  

“Have you found out something today?” was still a question that wrestled itself free from her, as she respired it against his skin.  

Azriel’s wings flaring for the slightest of bits as she did so. This deep voice of his, rasped, while he caressed her pointed ears with this ravenous sound.  “Despite that most humans still don’t like us – nothing.”  

A heavy sigh escaped her. “Have you found out something from Jurian?”  

Elain heard a slight spike in his voice as he spoke the human man's name. Something that made her heart grow fussy and caused her skin to heat. A question she wanted to ask him so bad, never leaving her lips; ‘Are you jealous, Azriel?’

Oh, and how he was jealous! His heart having flared up the entire dance he witnessed them dance, giggles coming over those plush lips of the seer while she shared this playful side with Jurian.  

He knew he had no right to be jealous. Had spent the entire evening away from her – silently interrogating woman for woman. As his heart was stuck with the female, that listened in carefully into these hushed conversations between the humans, in a silent corner.  

Azriel would have loved to spent the evening with her, would have loved to let his shadows dance along to her soft light. But he knew of the importance this secret mission had for her.

And so, he took the stab to his heart and asked quietly around for his information, never too pushy as the eyes of his dance partner rested on him, a kind smile –so they thought- resting on his face while they danced and he interrogated them.  

Dance for dance had hurt his heart and drove an invisible dagger a bit deeper. Well aware that Elain had only danced with one man before Jurian had asked her, while he was away. Twirling dozens of women as the evening aged.  

Elain didn’t have the freedom, on this ball, like him and Lucien. She had known of the etiquette of the mortals, yet she had asked one to dance with her.  

Having picked that one with prying ears and careful eyes as he had complained all evening about the fae that attended the festivities. But he had grown quiet as a mouse when he noticed the attention of the beautiful fae female.  

How Azriel would have loved to switch places with this mortal – a wish that had never even crossed his mind before.  

And sweet Elain – resting in his arms as she did not quite answer his question – took her hands from his back and peeled those scars covered hands off her waist. Letting those gentle fingers of hers interweave with his thick scarred ones. “Dance with me.” was all she pleaded with a smile.

This blinding smile of hers, turning him into a slave of his feelings as he could not deny her this wish – not if it was his one too.  

A dance gentle and soft, as a flower, blooming between them. While they swayed to tunes of music that were playing far away from them. Tones of softly played music resting in both of their ears as they imagined the Starfall from last year.  

Soon picking up where they had last ended their dance on one of the balconies at the house of wind.  

Elain’s light satin gown swaying and circling as he spun her round and round. Letting her twirl freely at one of his hands. Pulling her tight her so gently as her bubbly laugh echoed through the dark chamber.  

A smile spreading on his lips once he saw those lively eyes of hers again, that sparkled from life under the hue of moonlight. Every ounce of jealousy forgotten.  

“I only got some information on a bet I have with him.” was all she giggled as he pulled her close to his still naked chest.  An eyebrow rising at her in confusion while he twirled her.  

This sapphire blue skirt of hers clothing her just as elegant as any evening gown as it splayed out around her.

“Care to explain it to me?” “Only if you join us first. We are already seven months into the bet. Jurian has bet for one and a half year, while I am at nine months.”  

Azriel sighed in defeat, his voice a silent chuckle as he did so “Fine. I’ll stay close to you – ten months. For whatever it is you are betting for.”  

An innocent smile on her lips, had him stumbling over one of his coffers, as she answered him. “We are betting on how long it will take for Lucien and Vassa to hook up and finally admit their feelings.”  

There were few times in his life that had him speechless, fewer times even that had him shocked off guard. He hated to admit that this was one time of those.  

His clumsy feet having stumbled over the heavy leather coffer, just as he twirled Elain back in.  Both of their eyes wide open in shock as he pulled them down – expecting a hard fall as they did so.  

But a fall never came as he landed with his back on the bed, wings flared out wide, while the seer crushed down on his muscled body. Clearly not having seen that one coming, as her eyes rested in shock on his face.  

A bubbling laughter escaping her, when she had seen his eyes. Those wide baffled hazel eyes that knocked the breath out of her lungs as she took him in.  

“Why would you bet with Jurian about this? Lucien is your mate after all.”  

It took Elain some time to answer, but the kind blinding smile had his heart stopping, those soft lips of hers leaning forward to him. Pushing a feather light kiss to his chin – the only place of his face she could reach nestled in his arms like this. Some of the sweetest words he had ever heard, breathed against his skin.  

“Lucien isn’t my mate. Not anymore – not since seven months.”  

Azriel’s breath was stuck in his lungs when he saw Elain’s smiling eyes. That seemed to speak a language on their own as they watched him carefully. Soft caramel Irises searching his tearing hazel ones.  

This beating muscle inside his chest, brimming over with love and hope while he couldn’t restrain himself.  

No shadow, no leash – nothing- on this world would have been able from pressing his lips to those of his friend – his love. A wide smile plastered among her lips.  

The knowledge, that she had teared his walls apart having her floating. Floating in a deep dark night sky together with him.  

His heart having finally overcome a part of his love he feared.  

He feared of the bond between Elain and Lucien. His shadows telling him at darker nights, that even if she chose him – she would never truly want to be by his side. She would always carve to be by the side of her mate.  

And in order to protect himself from the pain - it would cause this stoned heart of his to shatter – he never let himself hope of a future next to the seer.  

Had never imagined for one night, that this – her lips on his- could be more than a fantasy.  

Soaring in his love, he wasn’t able to control himself. Azriel’s muscled body flipping Elain over, burying her under his love and wings. Those thick arms of his and strong legs to each side of her body.  

This sweet taste of her lips leaving his as soon as he was braced atop of her.  

Wide eyes looking into each other, while silence stretched between the two – both baffled at how it came to this.  

But it was the Spymaster that broke the silence “What are we even doing in the same chamber?”  

Elain had wondered the same as she first saw Azriel standing in the middle of her room. But her heart was so enwrapped by the sight of him – this dark form of his glittering under the moonlight- that every other thought of her mind had left her. Flying out of the open window and never even thinking of coming back to her.  

It was a good question though and yet she couldn’t quiet take Azriel serious. Biting her lip to stifle a giggle while his baffled face looked down on her. This tousled mass of hair atop of his head screaming for her to bury her fingers inside them.  

“I don’t know. This is the room Jurian had led me to. I honestly didn’t mind any room, as long as I would be able to find sleep in a bed.  It was not my intention to scare you in your chamber.”  

If the shadowsinger was confused before, then Elain wondered what he was now as his thick eyebrows furrowed together deep in thought. Before he decided to change the direction of things, crawling back into his interest self “I’ll sleep on the floor.”  

Elain’s body reacted to him, in the matter of a split second. Holding tight to his arms that were brace on either side of her face. “Azriel, I don’t know if you noticed that the bed is big enough for the both of us to fit.”  

“I am afraid I’ll make you do things you will later regret.” was all he could breathe. His entire being growing still as stone above of her, once the doubt had settled into his very bones. Drumming a hurting melody of unworthiness on them.  

It had hurt the seer to know of this melody, knew that only mere moments ago she felt the same drum clashing through her. But he was there. Called upon her with his heart as she doubted herself and she would gladly be there for him too. Showing him the love, he deserved. Along with all his worth that beat in his chest as she lifted her hand once again.  

Hot skin meeting cold one.

 The soft, warm touch of her delicate fingers seemingly melting away the ice that cloaked his skin.  

“Azriel. I think you have known long enough already – that I don’t do things others expect of me. Not anymore. Not after you showed me the happiness a decision could bring, if I made it for myself.”  

Her stern, soft eyes looked up at him “I am not the fae I once was. You have helped me grow into the one I am now. And there will be no decision in my immortal life again, I did not truly wish for.”

She smiled up at him. This blinding smile of hers warming his heart, like the first sunrays of the sun that bid their good morning to the falling moon, as she rose. “Please, Azriel share a bed with me. I couldn’t live with the thought of having you freezing on the floor, while I truly wish of you to be by my side.”  

Her words had the mighty Spymaster on his knees, as he slowly crawled off of her. Settling himself under the blanket, waiting for the seer to come into his open arms. A deep blush covering his cheeks.  

It were these words that had touched his heart. That had reached it with all her entire blinding force. Melted the bars away from his caged heart.  

She wanted him by her side. Echoed her sweet words inside his ears, while she crawled up into his arms.  

Not minding the sweat of him, not minding that splayed out clothes on the floor that spilled from the coffer, not minding the nosy moon. That watched through their wide-open window how the spymaster and the seer settled for sleep.  

“How did you get to this room anyway?” mumbled Elain sleepily into the dark. Wrapped up comfortably in Azriel’s strong arms as her back was pressed to his chest. The nuzzle of his cheek against the crock of her neck, captured her breathe, as a knowing smile spread on Azriel’s sinful lips.  

“Vassa had given me a description of the way when we first arrived.”  

And with a final soft kiss to her tender flesh, did he bid her a wordless good night.  

Letting their dreams continue to dance among the stars in the endless realms of their mind.

* * * Vassa sat smugly at the long table in her dining hall, on the next morning. The mug of tea pressed against her lips as Jurian greeted her tiredly, “Morning.”  

“Morning.” she sang. Her cheerful voice having the human man halt in his task of loading scrambled egg on his plate. Those ocean blue eyes looking innocently over her cup into his face.

“Care to explain what happened?”  

“Oh nothing, its just - “she crashed the mug on the table and jumped to her feet. Her index finger pointing victoriously at him while she had the biggest smirk on her face. It was that bright that even the sun could have hid behind her, but luckily the sun was far from rising. So Vassa would have her time to explain everything.  

“- I have won the bet!”  

Jurian knew exactly of which bet she talked about.

 The shock over these news had him losing the fork with egg, he held in the air, spilling it all over the table as he slammed his hands on the tabletop – shoving his chair back as he rose.  

“You cheated! You definitely did!”  

Vassa’s smile only grew “You are to blame for this all by yourself, after all you have been the one that brought her to Azriel’s chamber.” Puzzled brown eyes met those devilish gleaming ones of the queen. “But Elain always stays in this chamber?”  

“Opps, looks like I hadn’t known.” Jurian was well aware to the play she had sat up. Her faked innocence for the topic at hand even audible for someone that was deaf. “Vassa that is not acceptable! And where do you even want to know of if they slept with each other?!”  

“I am having my sources.” was all she told him. The smugness radiating off of her as Lucien trotted in. His tired body holding on tightly to the cup of coffee in his hands. Showing those fangs of his, while a yawn wrestled itself free from him “Who had slept with who?”  

“Elain with Azriel!” beamed Vassa at the ginger haired male. The cup he held on so tightly, shattering on the ground.  

His entire being suddenly wide awake as his wide eyes looked at a smirking Vassa. Dread filling Jurian’s guts while he expected everything, but not what he got: “So, we have won?”  

“We have won.” declared the woman proudly. It was a matter of seconds in which Lucien’s long legs stepped with ease over the shattered coffee leftovers and picked up the queen. Twirling her with a wide smirk. Like two children that had found the other again, after they hadn’t seen each other for a while.

“We have won!” chimed both happily. Leaving a baffled Jurian at the side line.  

“Could you two put me in the picture as well!” “Lucien was my ‘source’.” 

The male only shrugged as Vassa called him out. Admitting full out that he had casted a monitoring spell on the room.  

Jurian could only hope, for their own safety, that when Elain found out - they were far, far away.  

But the other two seemed to have no remorse, that they possibly (most definitely) invaded their privacy.  

“Vassa, in what sense did you mean ‘they slept with each other’?” He suddenly wondered aloud. Something didn’t ad up to him, as she celebrated her triumph.

It seemed like as if he hit the target right, as her shoulders grew stiff. The quiet mumble that left her mouth, barely audible for him “Well, I mean it in the sense of … sharing a bed.”  

Normally the former general would have felt betrayed, but this time those news eased his strained nerves.  

‘Elain would have killed us all if she would have found out! Or Azriel’ was all he could think about. Glad to know that his human life has a couple of more years to last.  

Because it was clear as day to all of them, that there would be nothing in this world that could stand against the anger of these two – if they ever should find out that someone disturbed the privacy of their loved one, not caring at all about their own one.  

And while Vassa, Jurian and Lucien ate breakfast until the sun rose, they let them sleep. Smiling happily at the thought that their friends had finally found their way together.  

Letting their hearts finally dwell in the company of each other.  

The blooming seer and death incarnate had a long way to go after all.  

[flowerflamestars]

Daylight, part one: Banished

It took Nesta a full month to learn to winnow.   Four frozen weeks trapped by blizzard winds that clanged through her skull, cabin as much a cage as her body shaking through withdrawal.   It would have taken half that time is she’d been left alone- banished, betrayed, Nesta wasn’t about to lower herself further to sweating and swearing and struggling in front of the unwilling other inhabitant of the house.   The General of the Night Court had done his job well.   He’d promised Feyre that she’d be safe.   So safe Nesta was- entombed in cold and hatred, walled in with nothing but her thoughts and books he’d chosen to tempt her. There was no talking to the Ilyrians who surrounded her- they’d called her a witch and then a hero and then his, nothing was true, all of it was true. They hated women, they loved strength. Nesta Archeron, the woman who’d asked for none of this and cut the head from a king: an Illyrian treasure, a walking contradictory abomination- nor was there any escape.   Brutal aching cold that leaked through the walls to her too thin skin.   The sounds of fighting- training, she told her gritting teeth, her whole tense body that kept expected to be covered in blood once more- the scent of fires, the endless keening winter wind.   Punishment.   She was a problem to her darling sister- so she’d been banished. Handed off to a the General like a pet- it didn’t matter what she’d once dreamt; if he’d never dropped her hand, if Morrigan didn’t exist, would anything actually be different?

It had been more than a year since she stood on a battlefield.   Nesta Archeron had been promised time and life in escaping certain death, received instead a silence that bit deeper than any wound war could have bestowed.   How many times had he tried now that his bastard lord made Nesta his problem? You need to eat. Are you cold? Are you sleeping? Nesta? Nesta, please.   She could no more escape his voice than the hellish looming mountains themselves.   The wretched strength of her body seemed so focused on listening: the boom of his heart like thunder, the telling breath that stopped in his lungs when he looked at her in firelight, the sigh when she walked away every damned time.   But so too, did she hear other things. The prayers, the whispers of torment. A people who valued and loved their free falling freedom, reduced to the ruins of an army.   Where were their cities of old? Their language? Their sons sent in good faith to defend their High Lord and obliterated to such an extent no bodies could be laid to rest?   For a male who toted his Illyrian blood so greatly, Rhysand had left an entire people to rot.   So Nesta had simply waited it out. Practiced instead of sleeping- what the hell did she have to sleep for? Exhaustion was at least a feeling, now that every drop of distraction had been sweated of by her relentless immortal body. In temperance, she could be angry- with her anger, she could find magic.   Four weeks, and she could winnow.   Four weeks and two days, the eastern clans of the Illyrian mountains rose in rebellion in name of their beloved dead, and the General of the Night Court left her alone to go put them down.   Nesta shed the clothes she’d been given.   Furs and soft leather; the stink of the animals they’d once been strong enough to her inhuman senses that she’d vomited the first time she’d dressed in them. They’d thought she was still drunk.   In the hour she’d been given between being collected from her apartment and banishment- Nesta, I’ll take care of your apartment. It’ll be better away, I can’t watch anymore, you don’t need your things, everything will be provided- she’d stolen a single forgotten dress from the room she’d once stayed in at her sister’s home.   Purple, not all the damned red people had handed off to her. Soft. Not sheer Night Court silk or gilded finery- weighted, dark as the last punch of twilight, cut like a mortals gown.   She threw the fur that reeked of fear and pale mountain foxes into the fire with a prayer for their souls- Nesta had heard the Illyrians sing to their dead, glory and love, to fly and run free among the stars- and laced the now oversized dress tight as it would go.   No one had taught her winnowing was dangerous.   No one had told her that the more powerful you are, the more careful you need to be.   Nesta Archeron closed her eyes, and thought with all that was left of her heart in the gaping black beneath her ribs, that she wanted to feel the sunlight again.   The Crones face in the living world, heir of the Cauldron- nothing stood in her way.

- It shouldn’t have been a surprise to see Azriel.   It wouldn’t have been to anyone else- Azriel was dutiful above all else, he still spoke to Cassian, the right and left hands of a military body that sprawled into chaos far beyond them. Even if he’d made it clear he wasn’t happy to fill the role.   In the middle of a rebellion, at a knives edge standstill between two forces that didn’t want to hurt each other, Azriel would be an incredible asset.   The co-commander, the friend who’d knock into his wings and tell him where to aim wasn’t standing in front of Cassian.   Ice cold, black northern Illyrian eyes stared him down with a weariness Cassian hadn’t seen in a long time.   He knew better than to step too close into the shadows around him.   Unbuckling the swords from his back, Cassian eyed Azriel from under the fall of his hair and tried not to sigh. He didn’t want the newest bad news. “The wind clans want restitution, permission to build beyond the camps.”   Azriel didn’t blink. “They should have it.”   “It would be a seat of power in a decade,” Cassian said lowly, for all that he agreed with Azriel, he had to say it. “A stronghold.”   Azriel didn’t move or bother to reply until Cassian was done, a neat pile of blades and armor on the table between them. In the firelight, it was impossible to hide the roiling motion of shadow, a teaming sea of dark that said everything his impassive, dangerous face didn’t.   Cassian was so damned tired.   “If Rhys wants us to attack, we will at dawn, but I think only the leaders”-   “I didn’t come from Rhys.” That made Cassian cease going through the motions that this might be anything near a normal evening- Azriel hadn’t willingly been in his company in more than a month. The question in his mouth didn’t even need to spoken with this much darkness gathered in the room- with a sigh, some of the sheer menace faded from Azriel’s own tired expression.   “You should sit down, Cas.”   Cassian listened, if only because he couldn’t imagine why he needed to. They were Illyrians- Cassian would no more tell Azriel to sit down to hear bad news than he would try to tell him how to hold Truthteller.   That Az stalked forward and blocked the door his seat before the fire faced raised a sick lurch of dread to fill his chest. “Is Mor okay? Did something happen to Feyre? Or Rhys”   Arms crossed, Azriel huffed, the noise so far from what everything in this room spoke of that Cassian could only blink in response. “Feyre is perfectly fine. Morrigan is still holed up in the country, unchanged.”   “She’ll be”- “Cassian.” The tempo of his heart spilling fear picked up to a fever pitch.   Maybe he knew it before Az said it. Maybe some part of him had known the second he left her alone- the words seemed forgone, haze shimmering over his vision as Azriel spoke.   “Nesta’s gone.”   The blocked door became a painfully obvious necessity as Cassian shot to his feet, wings sending the chair to ground. Gone. Gone, gone, gone- she was skin and bones, silence and shaking fearful rage- she wasn’t safe. “Gone where?”   Azriel just looked at him, dark eyes as unforgiving as the night sky.   “Azriel, what happened?” He’d begun pressing against his own chest without realizing it, that space between ribs and heart that had once thrummed constantly: a second heart-beat, a white hot thread he could have followed through any storm. Cassian would’ve torn into his own chest to have that bleeding, guiding tether now.   Where was Nesta?   He’d thought she was safe. Not happy- but at least no longer so numb to herself she was actively seeking harm. Breathing brutal absolute rage in what seemed like ever conscious breath, but it had been a feeling, he’d thought-he’d thought she’d surface. Heal. Something.   His closest chosen brothers face said something was very different from whatever mad, broken hope Cassian had been harboring.   “You won’t tell me where she is.”   The resignation brought Azriel closer, like he could see the veritable pit that Cassian felt had opened beneath him. “She left of her own free will, Cas.”   Hands in fists before he could blink, heat alchemized from the fear into something worse, Cassian’s voice was a horror to his own ears. “You know she isn’t okay. You haven’t see her Az- a deep breath might break ribs at the rate she’s going, someone, anyone might”-   With infinite tried patience Azriel murmured back. “She could be actively bleeding out and no one could hurt her. Amren confirmed it, Morrigan- Nesta Archeron is only High Fae on the outside, and you know it. Nothing can touch her.”   Cassian was shaking hard enough his wings made noise, rustling against each other.   Azriel sighed.   “Cassian,” He said again, carefully. “She’s unharmed, and she left of her own power. You need to let her go.”   Over the roaring fire and Cassian’s rattling bones, a metallic crack echoed through the room. It took him a second to realize- staring at Azriel’s face as it lost composure, tired and pained and furious in a way that both included and blamed Cassian, as Cassian so soundly deserved and damn well knew it- that he’d dug hard enough into the leather buckled across his chest that metal had snapped in his hand.  “Why?”  Every shadow in the room flickered before dissipating at once. 

“Why?” Azriel repeated, ice that had been in his gaze the whole time slipping loose. “Because she was in a cage. Because you know gods damn well you should have said no.”   Cassian made a hollow facsimile of a laugh, the exact wrong response. Some part of him was pounding adrenaline, shouting with fear- Cassian wanted it to hurt. “To a direct order?”   It had been a favor, and they both knew it. A plan that Feyre and Rhys hadn’t told Morrigan or Amren, Elain or Lucien- and it hadn’t been coincidence. He’d known it was wrong- how could it be anything but wrong?   But then he’d seen Nesta, more starved wraith than woman, empty eyed in intoxication, and panicked.   There was reason why, those now long years ago, that Rhysand hadn’t told Azriel the exact details of Feyre’s stay in Spring.   Loyal to his Court to the death- but Azriel was too long old in his power to tolerate anyone at all being put through the kind of suffering he himself knew intimately, without trying to stop it.   Darkly, sometimes Cassian thought it was that anger and drive that had kept Azriel alive, even now.   Worse than simple rage, Azriel shook his head. Disappointed. “An order? I told you, I told Rhys, if you trapped her, if you took one more thing away from her”-   “I didn’t”-   It was impossible to win a fight, Cassian knew, when you didn’t mean it. Your body had to follow your arm. If you couldn’t carry the motion and back it up, it was only yourself you were going to hurt.   “The second Feyre banished her and you didn’t help her, there were only two options. Cassian, Nesta was either going to die in these mountains or run. We’re lucky she didn’t blast her way out.”   How many times had he seen it in his dreams?   A cold mountain grave. Wildflowers in place of a woman who’d once burned with enough vitality to fuel the sun itself. He was angry now, empty now- but the dreams always gave him this: rage.

It tasted so much like flames as to be a piece of Nesta that he’d managed to borrow for himself. Rage at broken promises. At Feyre’s tears. At his past and future self, alone.   It was a future Cassian, awake and breathing, had built.

There wasn’t any fire left. —

Nesta, despite the assumptions of her sisters, was not so detached from her physical form as to seek out injury.   Sure, she’d tried a vivid and blinding range of magical intoxicants that could only have been made by rich, spoiled immortals. She’d drunk herself sick and beyond. Fucked and fought and learned every vaguest limitation of her alien body.   Nesta had sought feeling- with a reckless, dangerous abandon.   But she’d hadn’t looked for new pain and didn’t like it particularly.   So the skin flaying feeling she’d learn was her was power smashing through wards- her body traveling through nothingness with the speed and destructive force of a falling star- wasn’t a triumph.   Nor was the slam that stopped her motion, Nesta’s body crashing hard enough to knock the air from her lungs and break bone, had she still been a human.   But the stone floor beneath her was warm. The insane fervor of her senses told her there was paper and ink everywhere, book binders glue, paper old and new. Blooming fruit trees and green, green, green.   Nesta Archeron rolled over, and laughed.   The sound hurt coming out, ill with disuse. She didn’t have a damned idea where she was, but it wasn’t the cursed Night Court. There was no corner of the territory her sister commanded that didn’t reek of sea air and jasmine, where mountain wind wasn’t right on the edge of awareness.   Sunlight streamed down on her from a domed ceiling, every color of the rainbow represented in stained glass.   A hand adorned in a full set of glittering emerald and topaz rings, one on each finger and two on the thumb, intruded into her dazzled view, ink a barely visible stain on loam dark skin.

“How,” A silken, shockingly pleased voice followed, “the hell did you do that?”   Nesta rose unsteadily to her feet, the world tipping around her unpleasantly, to find herself face to face with a High Lord of Prythian.   Golden eyes. A kind, if ravenous mouth. Beauty the likes of which was said to have driven mortals mad, no trace or even echo of humanity in the perfection.   Helion Spellcleaver, the Lord of Day.   It was not the beauty that made Nesta physically wobble, light trails trying to start at the edges of her vision.   The hand that had presumably, she realized too late, been extend to help her upright reached again. Helion didn’t touch her, but hovered a few inches away, as though to catch Nesta if her staggering became something more substantial.   With the iron control that kept death locked up inside her, Nesta managed to straighten, squaring her shoulders. “I don’t know what you mean.”   Helion tilted his head.   Didn’t step closer, didn’t stare, displayed none of the dominance or fascination that Nesta had encountered and hated from others of his ilk. Power calls to power, Morrigan had told her, like a warning, before telling her stay away from Cassian all over again. You are a queen, the Bonecarver had said, monstrous and achingly familiar, like my sister was.   High fae males had about as many issues with Nesta as she with them, she’d learned.   Less silk and more obvious care, Helion said, “How about I tell you where you landed, and you could perhaps, in exchange, tell me what you were trying to do.”   Horrified at the burn in her eyes at being spoken to like a logical, cognizant being, Nesta nodded, swallowing the flare like rage.   Assured, he took another step back until he was at such a respectful distance as a human might be in courting. Gemstones threw light as he pointed, and Nesta allowed herself to follow.   “This,” Helion gestured, encompassing glass overhead and another story bellow, more books and lights and more ambient free floating magic than she’d ever seen, “Is my personal collection. The one library that survived completely unscathed through the war- a ten thousand year stronghold.”   On another man, another faerie, Nesta would have been waiting for this to turn on her. Instead, Helion sounded…as though he were trying not to laugh?   Indeed, warmth seeped audibly into his tone. “I wonder, did you feel the wards? Do they even exist to you?”   Unintentionally, Nesta rubbed at her aching sternum before she could stop herself. “I felt them.”   The strolling spin that had been guiding her to look- look at the marvel, what she would give for an hour to read the words on those ancient pages- stopped abruptly. Quick bright eyes snagged on her before flicking away, blinking.   Careful, serious, his whole demeanor shifted. “The building is telling me you came from…the Illyrian mountains? Is that correct?”   Nesta swallowed and raised her chin. “Yes.”   Helion stopped moving at all. “You are Nesta Archeron, sister of the High Lady and Emissary of the Night Court.”   “We’ve met,” Nesta snapped, before she could help herself. Forcefully, she breathed out her nose, evened her tone. “And I am not the Emissary, or anything else.”   Helion blinked.   “Are there…shortages, in the North? Trade has been substantial, and the harvests have been on time, on our end of things. If Rhysand”-   This time when Nesta spoke, there was bile on her tongue. “There are no shortages. To my knowledge, food from your farms is widely distributed throughout the territory.”   Nesta knew what she had to do next, what she had to say. Unlike Feyres brief time as emissary wherein, as far as Nesta could tell, she’d used the office as an excuse to do whatever damned thing she wanted- including destroy the mortal life her sisters had been trying to build- Nesta had bothered to learn what was expected of her. How the Courts worked- pledges and treaties, courtesies and loyalties.   Asylum. It is not Rhysand, she told herself, hate and fear rising to choke her as Nesta sank neatly as she could to her weak knees before the High Lord.   Her pride it turned out, was just alive enough that she could hardly meet his gaze to say the words. “I come as a supplicant. I come without Court or bloodline, mate or corporal bond, to ask mercy and pledge, to you, Helion Spellcleaver, Lord of Day. May the sun rise over you evermore. A small bondswoman of no status, I pledge myself in debt”-

Nesta stopped speaking, because Helion had crashed down beside her, bumping into a reading table as he did so.   “Stop."   Nesta just looked at him, aware all at once that her breathing was starting to come in gasps.   If she couldn’t pledge- if she couldn’t seek asylum- he’d send her back.   “A bondswoman? Nesta Archeron,” Helion was shaking his head, “You’re not my subject. Or a child, or a religious penitent. You don’t owe me or anyone else so much as a lowered head. Ever.”   “That is not,” Nesta gasped, the panic pounding through her freeing any careful words from her tongue. “What other High Lords would say.”   Carefully not touching her, leaning so as that his enormous size didn’t dwarf her, Helion frowned. “Why the hell were you with Illyrians?”   Her chest was rising and falling fast enough she couldn’t hide it. “Sent,” she gasped, “Banished.”   Brighter than the rings in sunlight, Helion’s eyes gleamed inhuman and troubled. “I can help you breathe,” he said, with a tension she couldn’t grasp at. “Take off the edges.”   She stared at him and said nothing, fear, fear, fear, in every rattled inhale. Waiting for the intrusion of magic.   Waiting, she eventually realized, just as he was, for permission. Watching her with widening eyes, but Helion hadn’t acted.   “Yes,” Nesta heaved. “Do it.”   Still, she couldn’t fully control or stop as she automatically shied away from his huge, broad shouldered body scooting closer.   With unbearable gentleness, Helion quietly spoke. “I won’t touch you.”   Power, when it came, was soft. Like stepping into a warm bath, like late spring sun gathered on bare skin- warmth slowly seeped past and overwhelmed panicked pain, air like green shoots of grass burst fresh from her lungs.   It was several moments before either spoke.   Nesta was distantly aware she should thank him. She wanted to, but in the sheer smallness she felt, the words wouldn’t come. Shame gathered, hot in the pit of her stomach.   To her resounding relief, Helion didn’t mention what had just happened.   Instead, with the practiced insouciance that was much more on par with the first time she’d seen him, Helion sprawled back on the floor, bright silk cushions appearing underneath him in recline.   It was a ridiculous sight- decadent- but she didn’t fail to notice that she was also quite suddenly supported and surrounded by softness.   A part of Nesta wanted to sink into the pillows and disappear, but her spine was all she had left.   “The library,” Helion began eventually, rings tapping together as he rapped what might have actually been nervous knuckles on the floor, “Is sentient. Older than most of the Courts of this continent. It lets in who it chooses, and no one else. Once, it supported hundreds of librarians in it’s depths. You could live here, be one of it’s guardians, if you wish.”   “It is,” Nesta didn’t want to ask, wanted to say yes- yes I will live in this palace of books, I will never leave again, I will breath in a thousand words until I belong in a story again- but it wasn’t that simple. “It is, a job?”   Helion’s restless fingers clenched into a fist. And then relaxed, smoothing over pale marble and leaving a tea tray in their wake.   “In a way,” He poured two cups, but didn’t comment or try to hand her the second, leaving it in easy reach. “You have no need to worry about money, if that’s what you mean. If you keep the library, the library will keep you- it’s a self-contained ecosystem.”   The quiet spooled out between them again as Nesta picked up the cup. No handles, gold on blue, the porcelain fine as paper. She stared at the steam rising toward her face and tried to say anything.   Beholden to a library was very different than beholden to man only bound to her by magic. Helion would not take her pledge- the entire action had made him uncomfortable, if she had to guess- she wouldn’t be his subject.   Just a powerful, dangerous, broken faery living in his lands.   “If I belong to the library,” Nesta said with careful evenness, “Are there duties in your Court I must also preform?”   “Unless the library itself is under attack, no.” The gentle tone was back, horrifically. “It needs magic and life within its walls. You have a completely singular power, I personally wouldn’t mind your help with my research if you wish it.”   The warmth of the cup was nearly uncomfortable between her palms, but Nesta couldn’t let it go. “If I wish it?”   As though hearing her forgone agreement, Helion smiled blindingly. “Only then.”   Nesta inclined her head, and sipped the tea. — Sentience in a building, like so many things about life above the Wall, defied Nesta’s expectations.   One of the best highs she’d ever tried had side effects- none so horrible or interesting as the stimulant made by Sangravah priestesses that had made her eyes bleed- but exhaustion that lasted weeks. A fever that alchemized with something in her immortal body until her sweat appeared peppered with glitter.   She’d gleamed like the moon and slept for ten days, but no matter how tired she was, the euphoria had continued at a low tidal ebb.   Following Helion through the library, his voice that of an eager scholar who’d finally, finally found a colleague, was something like that. So weary as to be numb- so ecstatic that it shook through her limbs, a low tremor of excitement that couldn’t be shut down.   Not a library- ten thousand libraries that made up the Library.   Doors like portals between them: if the Library let her through one, she could go through them all. To Archives and Helion admitted, voice wry, tombs of ancient monarchs. Public spaces and abandoned labs, more than a millennia of learning bound together in protection.   But first, this:   Helion rubbed delighted hands together, ink stain spreading from palm to palm that he didn’t seem to notice. Nesta trying not to sigh, focusing on an empty stone wall.   “Do I touch it?”   Helion shrugged, cat-like. Sheer elegance made even that motion beyond faery-graceful, a magnetically appealing ripple of muscle and supple skin.   Easy- entirely because he hadn’t said what’s wrong with you, why did you run, why are you skin and bones and power, you’re shaking, eat, drink, do you need a healer?- Nesta found herself drawling in a voice she hardly recognized as her own anymore. “You’ve never seen this done before, have you?”   White teeth flashing blinding in late afternoon golden light. “Never.”   Nesta rolled her eyes, safely face to face with the wall, and pressed both palms to the stone.   She was about to ask Helion something else- am I supposed to visualize? Is there a ritual?- when a pulse rebounded beneath her skin. Her senses filled with steady warmth, gold beneath eyelids she hadn’t realized had fallen shut.   Worldless, the Library cracked open at the long-buried heart of Nesta a  feeling that said belonging.  Sanctuary. Home. Green grass- hot coffee- dewy mornings- infinite pages- pale silk- ink-smeared- pink sunrises- home.

Daughter, find what you seek. When Nesta opened her eyes, sunlight dazzled around them. It took a second to sink in that they were outside, presumably on the other side of the wall they’d stood before, at the libraries exterior.   Nesta rocked back on her heels, numbly aware of Helion falling in carefully distant step beside her, and looked up.   The Library had build her a tower. Green copper roof, ruddy natural dark stone a league from any memory of Night Court moonstone. A door comically small for a High Fae home- but just the height for Nesta, whose stature had remained delicate by even human judgement.   As she watched, vines burst from the ground to climb the stone: pale roses and trailing ivy, tangling with bright, poisonous flora she’d only seen in books.   At her raised brow, Helion boomed a laugh, the sound bell-like warmth made manifest. “You are the Library and the Library is you- plants are my signature welcome gift.”   She was so tired, but so, so much happier than she could remember feeling.   “The yellow,” She said, tilted back her head to see all the way to the curving, pointed roof, “Deadly poisonous to many flying fae species?”   Helion’s smile grew just a little sharper. “A very common bloom. See,” He pointed in the direction of the orchards she kept smelling, glass and greenery gleaming beyond it, “They’re very popular in palace architecture as well.”   His palace. Because he was a six hundred year old High Fae Lord.   As though he could sense the tide of her exhaustion rising, Helion pressed one huge hand to his heart and bowed his head. “I will leave you to it, Nesta Archeron of the Thousand Libraries.”   Unable to find a single word for what she was feeling, Nesta nodded warily back and waited for him to winnow away before walking to the door. Her door.   Brass handle sunwarm and the scent of cedar thick from threshold, Nesta stepped inside and tried to breathe.   The bottom floor a small, immaculate kitchen- driftwood table and pale stone floor, green cabinets and marbled counters that gleamed almost as bright as the copper kettle that sat in readiness on the stove.   A single staircase wound up- wide enough, she distantly clocked, for a human, not a faery. The second floor was plush with chairs and candles, books lining the wall.   The top of her tower- a bedroom. More books. Everything soft and pale and serene. A skylight that seemed barely sound, golden glass over where she’d lay her head.   Perfect. Impossible. She wanted to break things- she wanted to never leave-she wanted and wanted, the empty hole in the middle of her chest both aching and filling in around the edges.   She’d made if from Day to Night.   Nesta Archeron curled up on a bed that was precisely big enough for her own body and no one else, and wept.

@skychild29  @jessicawooten  @sleepyyancybecket  @hizqueen4life  @therapeuticrambling  @bybooksanddreams 

[smallerinfinities]

I came to some realizations after Azriel’s bonus chapter.

a) it took place in the middle of the book, not the end. This was also relatively close to the time where Elain kept stating that she wanted a human mate, not a fae.

b) I think Azriel is extremely desperate for love. Do I think he feels some sort of attraction (whether sexual or romantic) towards Elain? Yes. Do I think that he’s also just extremely needy for love after seeing his two brothers find their mates in quick succession and now he sees his chance to find a partner himself after lining after the same girl for 500 years? Yes.

c) Azriel needs to fix his damn self because I don’t like the fact that he said he hadn’t thought further then bedding Elain when she seems like a sweet girl who has a whole lot more character exploring to come (or at least I hope so). Also dislike how Lucien respects Azriel and the 2 seemed to get along quiet well throughout the book, yet Azriel was ready to legit kill Lucien who is an absolute gem to me.

d) I find it interesting how the bonus chapter started with Elain and Azriel and ended with Gwyn and Azriel. Might be foreshadowing, might be a build up for angst, idk.

e) I can’t wait for that necklace re gift to blow up in Azriel’s face.

f) I don’t like how Elain is treating Lucien. It may be the fact that she doesn’t want to accept that she is now Fae and has a Fae mate, but at least talk to the man or at the very least be civil to him. Lucien is one of my favourite characters and that dude just can’t catch a break. I’m not saying she has to accept him (because no man is entitled to Elain, she is her own woman and should be treated as such) but don’t string my poor fox boy around. And especially don’t entertain the idea of sleeping with another guy under the same roof as him. Either reject him or talk it out with him.

g) there are so many different ways these next books can go but my main concern is how sjm is gonna find new worldly conflicts (not romantic ones because holy shit we have enough of those) because it kinda feels like the storyline is just being dragged a bit.

h) I’m a Gwynriel shipper but I’m not completely opposed to Azriel and Elain getting together. As long as Gwyn and Lucien don’t get fucked over (especially Gwyn considering her past with men) and both Az and El don’t have to sacrifice integral parts of their characters to be together then I’m cool with it.

I really liked ACOSF and there are so many different paths that the storyline could now go. We got 2 different cliches that could be done too lmao. SJM is a talented writer and I do want to see all my favourite characters get a happily ever after and while I’m excited to see what’s to come, I can’t help but be worried that I might be let down. This series is a great one, but it’s going on for a while. I sometimes feel like it should have just ended after ACOWAR, but I still have faith in the next couple of books. I also wish that this fandom wouldn’t be so nasty when it comes to something as trivial as ships, but oh well! Sorry for the ridiculously long ask, but I had so many thoughts about that bonus chapter!

okay okay so I’ve been on my phone for a couple days and when I read this I was like WOW THIS NEEDS A FULL KEYBOARD RESPONSE BECAUSE SEVERAL POINTS WERE MADE--

first off, I totally agree that this stuff is just discourse and like no one should be fighting or like idfk sending weird death threats over ships or the simple fact that they liked a book or a chapter like it’s not that deep it’s just speculation let people like what they like....but back to the Az bonus chapter...

I specifically want to talk about points B, C, and F. 

B-- so I think you’re so right about Az being desperate for love. like he’s gone so long feeling that unrequited shit for Mor and before maybe it wasn’t a big deal to him because his brothers were seemingly unattached too. but now that Rhys and Cassian are both mates and fucking head over heels for Feyre and Nesta, I think he’s feeling his separation from that happiness acutely and it just seems like star-crossed fate shit that there should be three brothers and three sisters (as cheesy as it feels and sounds and how trope-y it is) so maybe the lust he feels for Elain is just that base need to feel SOMETHING in the face of what he can see and hear and fckn *smell* at the River House and the House of Wind every damn day. and Elain is frankly an easy target. she’s quiet with a sense of humor and a fuckload of trauma....she’s someone for Az to be gentle with and nurture. and when he says “maybe the cauldron was wrong” like you feel the pain and resentment there...that the other sisters were seemingly made for his brothers and he should be left out. I feel bad for him but at the same time....

C--DUDE WHAT THE FUCK ABOUT KILLING LUCIEN AND HOW EASY IT WOULD BE....like that’s some Class A territorial fae bastard shit right there...not seen since the likes of Rowan Whitethorn (though in truth I do love it on him but he was that way for AELIN, HIS MATE)...I don’t think Sarah breathed life into the idea of the cauldron making a mistake for nothing, but I also just don’t think she belongs in the Night Court...all those comments about how much Elain would love Spring Court and sunshine and light....I’ve said this before but the Court of Nightmares solstice scene where Cassian basically calls Elain plain in her Night Court black dress was a huge yikes for me. like the Night Court clearly dims her spirit. it doesn’t fit her aesthetic, you know? anyways I’m getting off track...Azriel’s preoccupation with Elain right now from his POV seems almost entirely sexual so maybe like rethink that bro. 

F--okay yes, while I don’t think Elain is “beholden” to anyone and no male should feel entitled to her or be FIGHTING BLOOD DUELS OVER HER WTF???? I do agree that she has treated Lucien pretty much like shit. she hasn’t tried to understand the situation or the history (at least from what we’ve seen) of the mating bond and how neither of them chose this. like Lucien is as much a victim of the situation as she is, he just has the benefit of understanding what it means in fae culture to have a mate and the pain it causes to reject it. like she just avoids him instead of out-right saying no so he’s just being strung along. like let him go if you don’t want to be with him. and while Lucien has made some shitty decisions (I will never forgive him for his complicity in ACOMAF), this kind of pain shouldn’t be his punishment...like Rhys wouldn’t have to deal in absolutes with Azriel if Elain would just MAKE THE DECISION because then it’s not a challenge for Elain. it’s Elain making a choice, just like they’re fond of allowing women to make in the damn Night Court. my problem with Elain has never been with her femininity or her perceived lack of personality (which is canon now pls) it has always been with her lack of action and the inner circle enabling her to sit and do nothing--EVEN WHEN SHE MIGHT WANT TO. yes I’m talking about that moment where everyone is all up in arms about “exposing” Elain to the darkness of the dread trove and all but throwing Nesta to the wolves...I screamed when Cassian was like “BUT NESTA SHOULD???” ugh pissed me off so much. 

anyways clearly we both have a lot of feelings lmao I will scream about this series until I die I s2g 

[my-fan-side]

Unconventional

A/N: Okay, so here’s the Eris-Nesta Friendship (but still Def Nessian) Fanfic that I’ve started drafting about a couple months ago, but went back to it just last week while cleaning up some of my file in folders.So anyway, I hope you guys like it. Thanks for those who have liked, reblogged and have shown interest on this fic. I appreciate it very much and you have no idea how much that means to me. :)

Chapter 1

When Beron Vanserra died, the crown was instantly passed to his eldest son Eris. How he died and to whose hands he had, was never questioned by anyone, any more. What everyone was concerned, and intrigued for that matter, was what’s in store for the future of Autumn Court under its new leadership.

The dead was honored, traditions was observed, the people of the Autumn court grieved, and High Lords from all other courts sympathized with them. But as they say, the end of an era, is a beginning of another. And so, after all the of mourning, a celebration is very looked forward to.

“Invitations! We’re all going to a Ball next week!” Elain came in bouncing towards her family and friends lounging on the townhouse’s foyer. Everyone looked up to her, and to her red head mate who carries a couple of boxes in his arms beside her.

“Already?! Just a week after his father’s death, and a gathering to celebrate his crown is already happening. Eager much, is he?” Mor snorted with a mix of amusement and irritation as she took one of the invitations and stroke its elaborate design.

“Well, He is already the High Lord of Autumn. He already became one, the moment Beron took his last breath. This is Coronation Ball is just for formality.” Rhysand pointed out as he sat beside his mate. Feyre was admiring the red and gold intricate swirls on the invitation as well. It is beautiful, and if the invitation alone looked this extravagant, she could only imagine what more the actual party would be.

Elain finished distributing the invitations and was now seated on the sofa beside Nesta and Cassian. She frowns on the inner circles’ reactions though. She expected them to be at least a little bit excited for the ball, since it’s been a while since they’ve attended one from a different court. She thought that the animosity between the group and Eris has already subsided. She won’t say it out loud, but she thinks it was a relief to all of them when the throne was transferred to him. They all knew that if not for Eris, some of the treaties between Autumn and Night court wouldn’t have pushed through. He has shown good faith these past years, so she’s not really sure what to feel on their reactions. Maybe she still hasn’t truly understood how deep does the scars run among these people.

Lucien opt not to comment and just rearrange the two boxes he was carrying by the table. He is used to these peoples’ dislike toward his brother, he doesn’t blame them, there’s history there. Still, he and his brother managed to establish a civil relationship for a while now. He wouldn’t say that they are now best brothers, but for now, at least they were on the same page on being at least friendly. At the beginning he bears it for their mother, but as time passes by, Eris managed to show them that he is a better male than his Father was.

“Well, Elain is right! It’s been a while since we all visited another court for a celebration. We have been busy these past few weeks. So, I, for one, is very excited to go party!” Cassian winked at Elain and it made her giggle, Nesta snort, and the rest of the gang shook head and roll their eyes.

“Speaking of. Nesta, this is for you, for the party.” Lucien handed the box to her.

“For me?” Nesta took the box unsure what to make of it.

“Yes, the other box is for Elain.”  Lucien confirmed and handed the other box to his mate.

“Hey! What about me?” Feyre protested with a pout from the other side of the room.

“Uhmm. Well, the one for Elain is actually from my mothers. A late birthday present since I’ve mentioned to her that last week was Elain’s birthday.” Lucien explained carefully, hoping not to upset his first Archeron friend. Meanwhile, Elain blushes on receiving that gift. She knows what’s in the box, she has already opened it when they were still on the Autumn court. It was a beautiful long dress, perfect for next week’s occasion.

“Uhhhh, so is this an advance birthday present for me too? From your mother? Because my birthday is still a couple of months from now, and I wasn’t aware she knows about it?” Nesta asked with raised brows. She’s confused on why Lucien’s mom would give her anything at all, what more, a present?

“Actually, it’s not exactly from mother. That – is from Eris, sort of. He told me to give you that.” Lucien said with a raised brow and a smirk. Elain bit her lip trying not to laugh. Not because of Nesta’s snort when Lucien said it was from Eris, but because of the rest of the Inner Circle’s reaction. They were all rendered speechless looking back and forth between Nesta and the gift box. Azriel and Amren with narrowed eyes. Rhysand with raised brows. Feyre and Mor probably didn’t even noticed their mouths agape. And Cassian, Nesta’s mate, who’s face went from shocked, then confused, then angry in just a matter of seconds, was frozen still.

Nesta, however, seems to be unaffected and probably amused on their reactions as well. She took the cover of the box, saw a card atop it and read it. What’s written made her snicker. And before she returned the card inside the box, Cassian grabbed it fast and read it aloud.

“Nesta.

Here’s a dress that I hope you’ll wear on my Ceremony. I know I can’t tell you what to do, I’ve learned my lessons. But, just because you’re from the Night court doesn’t mean you’ll wear black and white only. Or Gray like you usually do. Really, you should spice up your wardrobe a little, will you?

Eris.”

The letter sounds teasing enough that they can’t help but wonder how close Eris and Nesta have really become. And why the heck they didn’t know about it. Well except Elain and Lucien.

Cassian’s nostrils flared, and crumpled the piece of paper with Eris note. He was about to say something, when Nesta punched his arm, not that hard really, just to make him stop seething.

“Will you stop being territorial. Gods! It’s just a note!” Nesta rolled her eyes at his mate.

“Sweetheart, this...” he raised the crumpled notes towards Nesta. “…is just a note. “But that—”  he point his fingers towards the dress that’s still neatly folded inside the gift box. “--is not! Why the heck is Eris giving you a dress? And since when are you two friends? Why did I not know this? Wha—” He wasn’t able to finish his blubbering. Nesta put a finger on his lips to shut him up and answers his questions calmly.

“One, he’s giving me a dress because he wants to--- for some reason. Two, I can’t remember exactly when we started to get along, but it’s not like it happened the instant I have visited Autumn court as an Emissary. And three, well… I don’t know why you didn’t know. I guess it just never came up. It’s not like we talk about him that much. Do you want to talk about him?” Nesta finished her statement coolly and with a raised brow towards Cassian.

“No.” He grumbled, he’s annoyed and mad. Too many questions running through his mind.

“I do!” Feyre answered back. “I want to know how you are friends. I mean, you go to other courts too, but it’s not like you have close friends from every courts?” she said and then crossed her arms. She can’t believe her sister is actually friends with Eris. And they must be closer than just the casual acquaintances, because he was literally giving her gifts.

Nesta tilted her head towards Feyre and answered her evenly. “And how are you so sure I don’t?” She crossed her arms too and face her younger sister. Like a challenge. The others kept quiet eyeing the two having a staring match.

Then Nesta sighed and leaned back towards Cassian’s arms. “I don’t get why you’re all bothered about this. I can have friends outside this circle and this court, you know? Like you do.”

“We never said you can’t or don’t.” Rhysand clarified.

“Of course. Of course.  I guess it just caught us off guard. We didn’t know.” Feyre let it go and leaned back towards her mate as well. “But you do?!” she then turned her attention to her other sister. Pointing out that among all of them, she isn’t surprise with this.

Elain nods her confirmation. “Well, keep in mind that I usually used to accompany Nesta if she has to go do her work in Autumn, and she chaperoned whenever I go there to meet Lucien there, back then. So, sometimes it’s the four of us who spend time together.” She continued and then shrugged it off.

“Yes, and I’m polite enough to leave them and give the two of them some time alone.” Nesta nods her head pointing to Elain and Lucien. “Because I may be overprotective, but I’m not going to hinder on what makes them… getting to know each other better.” She gave them both a soft smile which the couple returned happily.

“But my brother is stubborn enough as well and decides to not leave Nesta’s side, when she gives us space. You know, Eris might not be the sharpest knife in the bunch, but he knows what he’s saying when it comes to Court Trades and Treaties. And to be honest, when I saw their clash of words on that topic for the first time, I immediately thought that it’s either they’ll kill each other eventually, or miraculously be the best of friends in the end. Well, I guess miracles do happen.” Lucien finished and laughed at that. Elain laughed with him, she thought of that too. Nesta just wave off the statement but that little smirk was undeniably on her face.

“I actually agree with that.” Amren spoke for the first time since the discussion started. “Eris is…cunning and dangerous, yes. But he’s also clever and have the set of skills one leader must have. Just like some one we all know.” She raised a brow and a sly smile towards Nesta. “Maybe that’s why they get along. Besides, whether we all admit it or not. We are glad it was him that have inherited that crown among the Vanserras. We all know it was what’s best for the Autumn court.” She said then finished the wine she was holding.

Cassian was openly glaring at Amren, which the other felt but totally ignored, because how could she actually defend that bastard? However, he can’t say anything else to contradict her statement though, because he knew it was the truth. And everyone seems to think the same because there was a quiet stillness after Amren said her piece.

“Anyway, count me in! Because it will definitely be one heck of a party.” Amren smirked and pointed her wine glass towards Lucien and Elain’s position, her statement seems to finished the conversation.

Tags: @sjm-things @moonbeammadness @maastrash

@typicalmidnightsoul 

[puttingfingerstokeys]

Dragon-borne Victory

Nanowrimo 2019 day 7 and 8 (I was on a roll) Featuring Ulfric Stormcloak, and a couple of @apexworthy‘s OCs, Narada and Azriel High fantasy Skyrim, Stormcloak victory in Solitude, violence, destruction, martyrdom Finished and unedited

Solitude was in flames, so hot in places that the very stone had begun to crack and falter. The foundations were ancient, however, and had not given way to the Ghost Sea in millennia. Today would not be the day they fell. 

Ulfric strode down the main street, surrounded on either side by a retinue of guards led by Galmar Stone-fist, shouting orders and tossing fleeing citizens aside. The jarl of Windhelm advised a bit more decorum which Galmar immediately shrugged off and ignored. 

“We are not conquerors,” Ulfric reminded his friend, “but liberators. The tyranny of the Empire ends today; we will crumble its foundations, but first we must appeal to Elisif’s heritage and her pride as a nord.” 

“Why appeal to a wench who just picked her husband’s crown up off the floor and sat it upon her own head?” Galmar spat, pulling a face and gesturing to one of their archers to keep an eye on the overhang up ahead. 

“She is still a jarl by right,” Ulfric growled, “if not a queen. We will afford her as much respect as is necessary.” 

Galmar scoffed at this, too, but said nothing, titing his gaze upward. As if on cue, two massive shapes flew over, beating wicked, leathery wings upon the air, one set red and black, the other black and white, obscured almost entirely through the smoke of the burning city. Galmar marveled at the spectacle of the two dragons, but had little time to allow his jaw to hang open. 

“The crown,” Ulfric added after a pensive moment, “wasn’t placed on her head, but on that of Falk Firebeard. I want him found… alive, Galmar.”

Galmar understood and nodded sharply, relaying orders. Ulfric continued onward, sword in hand. His blade was covered in blood. He had been at the front, fighting their way into Solitude, a road made much easier by the fact that he had touched down upon the back of a great dragon. He owed Varstaag much and was glad he had trusted the strange mage; his leap of faith had rewarded him tenfold, in its way. 

All the same, the burning of the once beautiful city brought Ulfric Stormcloak no joy. His lips were set in a grim scar across his soot-stained, lacerated face. The guards of the town had fought hard, some of the citizens harder, to keep the Stormcloaks out. And why shouldn’t they? Would we not do the same at the Palace of Kings? 

There were, he had noted, far fewer citizenry taking up arms than there would have been in Windhelm, however. That Torygg had been a passive high king was a known fact amongst the people of Skyrim. That his own citizens had not been terribly fond of this was somewhat lesser known, but to be expected. The wealthy kept him in power because his compliance with the Titus Mede and his regime filled their purses, no reason other than that.

Ulfric could not begrudge them their motivations. In a harsh land like Skyrim, wealth was hard to come by and when it was acquired, seldom was it released. Making a living so far north, in such an untenable climate was nearly impossible. Trade with other lands was one of the only ways to thrive in this place. He understood the economic implications of his rebellion as well. He assumed that their trade with any Empire-affiliated nation would be heavily taxed, or cut off entirely, but he knew they had a potential ally in Hammerfell. 

Others would have to be forged and re-forged, the most difficult of these being the ancient Ebonheart pact. Ulfric had chosen to open his gates to displaced dunmer, but the argonian people were still very much outsiders. He had judged the favor of Morrowind more important than that of Black Marsh, a costly decision, but it was a choice of refugees versus free people, unhindered by the violent explosion of half their home. The decision had been costly, yes, but clear. 

As much as many dunmer disliked his rule in Windhelm, he knew most of them also grudgingly respected his decision to give the so-called Gray Quarter, previously a nearly untenable slum, to refugees of Vvardenfell and would honor that favor with their own. The Summerset Isles had never done Morrowind any favors, as far as Ulfric was aware. But the first step was finishing what he had started here, in Skyrim. His sword was stained by the blood of Tullius, the Imperial liaison to Skyrim; he hoped he would not have to sully it with the blood of a largely innocent woman. 

Elisif the fair was loved by her subjects insofar as she was beautiful, young, and had done little to offend them. As far as Ulfric was aware, she had done little, period. She had not even done Torygg the courtesy of bearing him any children. But that might have been his doing, rather than hers. It was well known he was quite a few years older than she was. A wry smile flashed across Ulfric’s craggy face as he imagined their wedding night. The thought was crude, crass, and gone as soon as it had come. He shook his head and sighed, weary with the whole of it, the smell of smoke and fire, the ring of steel upon steel. It needed to end. He would end it, today. 

Before the doors of the Blue Palace, Falk Firebeard stood in their way, negating the need to find him. Galmar cried out in amusement and dropped back to clap Ulfric on the shoulder. “Look who we’ve found, and so easily! I thought for sure we would find him cowering amongst Elisif’s skirts!”

The laugher from their retinue was bawdy. Ulfric did not join in, but once more, the ghost of a smile he’d experience earlier returned and then fled just as quickly. “Stand aside,” he rumbled. Falk eyed him and his men up and down. The rest of the retinue had parted, leaving Ulfric, Galmar at his side, standing face-to-face with Falk. “Unless you would step forward in single combat, Falk Firebeard.” 

Somehow, he doubted the man would do this. He had an imposing appearance, with hair as red as his name suggested. He was a full-blooded nord, but had almost completely embraced the comforts the Empire had provided to Solitude and it showed. He as soft. Ulfric did not like soft men. He was willing to give the man a chance to display his loyalty to Elisif, however. This alone would have impressed the jarl of Windhelm. 

When Falk stepped aside, a simple jerk of Ulfric’s head indicated his fate was to be determined by Galmar, who advanced upon him as Ulfric passed the threshold of the Blue Palace. He did not look back as the doors closed behind him. He leaned his sword against a potted plant and focused upon the sound of his boots striking marble floors, rather than the shrieking without.

“Savage!” He heard this voice over the din of everything else going on outside. Elisif was further in, likely upon her unearned throne. Ulfric disregarded her accusation and began to climb the accursed stairs to meet her. “Kingslayer! Bastard!” 

Ulfric denied none of these things as he climbed. “War makes savages out of men,” he said evenly. “I killed the High King in single combat… and I did not know my mother.”

He fully expected her to be armed and was not disappointed in the least when he mounted the final step. Elisif held a dagger to her own throat, rather than brandishing it at him. At the very least, she had thought ahead, knowing she could not overpower him with any weapon and opting for the next best thing. 

“Coward,” she hissed. 

“Not for quite some time,” he responded, dropping to one knee. “Jarl Elisif, I’ve come to treat with you, to end this senseless slaughter of the true children of Skyrim.”

Once more, and with excellent timing, the dragons made themselves known, trumpeting and bellowing overhead, shooting gouts of flame and frost into the air as they circled, searching for more prey and thus, entertainment. 

“What do you know of sense?” Her voice was husky and low, on the verge of tears she would not permit to fall. Ulfric admired this strength, but found it foolish at this late stage in the game. Whence had it come and where was it when Falk Firebeard was puppeteering her court? 

“I have had the sense to remove the Imperial connection to this land,” said Ulfric, remaining in his kneeling pose but meeting her eyes, rather than genuflecting as one might to a queen. “Tullius is dead and Rikke is in my custody.”

“Why not just kill her too?” The dagger was still pressed to the soft, unblemished flesh of Elisif’s neck. Ulfric admired this determination as well. Elisif had more grit in her than her late husband, that was certain. 

“She is a native of this land,” he replied, “but Sovngarde is not for those who betray their loyalties. She might have died with a sword in hand, but for what? An empire whose rule is determined by elves who defile the gods by stealing Talos away from man?”

She winced at the name of the forbidden ninth Divine. There were Talos worshipers in Solitude still, despite their best efforts and execution of those who broke the White-Gold concordat. “It was the price of peace!”

“A price that is blasphemous,” barked Ulfric. “Talos is the very symbol of our people, a Septim and of the line of Martin, the founder of the very Empire that even now denies his divinity to appease elves.” Even Ulfric hated the way he spat that word, but after the war, he could hardly have been blamed for his dislike of their ilk. 

Despite his personal grievances, he had not barred a single elf from joining the Stormcloaks, or entering his city lawfully. There were elves who owned businesses, those who frequented the Palace of Kings, and had even sat upon Ulfric’s war council as they planned this final attack upon Solitude. 

“I just want peace,” she admitted quietly, her dagger dropping into her lap. Only then did Ulfric stands, but he did not move closer. Instead, he watched her, studying her young features. She could not have been much more than twenty, soft of flesh and beautiful. She was a woman in the prime of her life, married to a middle-aged puppet of the empire who had given her no children to love and had likely bored her to tears, to the point where her attention (and affection, if rumors could be believed) turned elsewhere. 

Ulfric had long ago chosen not to give credence to these rumors. He had it on excellent authority, however, that Falk Firebeard had been tasked with the daily goings-on in the court. Any questions posited to the jarl and so-called High Queen were inevitably funneled through Falk, that much he had ascertained early on after Torygg’s demise. Falk was therefore a high priority target and, despite the howling he’d left behind, Ulfric had given his men the very strictest instructions to leave Falk alive, at least long enough to gain valuable information regarding the Empire and their supply caravan routes or troop movements, if indeed he had been privy to any of this. If not, Ulfric would decide his fate when he returned to Windhelm.

And he did intend to return. No slip of a twenty year old girl would prevent that. Ulfric doubted her dagger would even be able to pierce his armor; she didn’t have the strength for it. There were bags under her eyes and the way her shoulders sagged told him she had not gotten much sleep in the days, perhaps weeks, leading up to the final assault. That there were no guards left in the palace spoke for either their disloyalty, or her integrity as a ruler—perhaps both. She had sent them out into the city to help her people, or she had sent them home so the Stormcloak soldiers would not slaughter them like dogs, with a roof over their heads. There was a third option, of course, one he could almost hear in Jorleif’s voice. “She’s planning on martyrdom,” he would have said. “Don’t give it to her.”

Jorleif’s counsel had been invaluable throughout Ulfric’s time as jarl. The man himself was humble, claiming that Ulfric referred to his opinions because they were those of an inexperienced outsider. It was true that Jorleif was no warrior, no tactician, general, or king, but he was honest, intelligent, and incredibly cunning, given his gentle mannerisms. It was he who had first advised Jarl Ulfric not to play into the rumors of Elisif’s unfaithfulness. He had advised that the winning of this war would be at great cost, regardless, and that besmirching the name of a fair young woman would not reflect well upon Ulfric when he became High King. They would win this war the way it was meant to be won, with skill, strength, and their faith in Talos.

“Peace in Skyrim,” Ulfric intoned sonorously, “will only come when her people are not hunted down in alleys like dogs for the worship of Talos. On the orders of elves, my people—our people, Elisif—have been slaughtered.”

“And YOU have slaughtered them, Ulfric. You.”

“Torygg, by his complacency and acceptance of the puppet rule of the Mede dynasty in Cyrodiil, by offering quarter, aid, and succor to Imperial forces, by allowing the Thalmor free reign in Skyrim, has killed those people. He may not have raised a hand to the children of Skyrim, but his complicit seat on that throne,” Ulfric growled, gesturing to the place where she now sat, “has spilled blood. More blood will yet spill if this is allowed to continue.”

Elisif’s conviction faltered at his words. She shifted in her seat, the dagger still firmly in one fist, laid in her lap, but not forgotten. Ulfric did not move closer. He took on a more relaxed posture, but even with his weight balanced almost casually upon one hip, he was an impressive figure. With him, he had brought the smell of blood, of smoke, of sweat and leather, and of her city, ablaze and crying out for relief. He was a killer, she knew, but he was also a soldier, a jarl, a brilliant tactician and commander, and of Ysgramor’s blood. He, more than any other jarl, had a proper claim to the seat of High King. Why, then, had he not brought it up yet? Why bother appealing to her gentler nature. He could have slaughtered her where she sat, with his bare hands, or perhaps with a Shout. But he had not. She looked at him, puzzled.

Overhead, a dragon bellowed once more. Elisif winced and Ulfric uttered a quiet prayer. “Praise Talos,” he rumbled, “that they are on our side.”

“Our side?” The indignant rage in her voice was evident, though she kept her tone calm. Her smile was unpleasant, sweet only in that it was upon her beautiful face. It did not reach her eyes. “They burn my city, Jarl Ulfric. Solitude is being torn asunder by your so-called Talos-given ‘gifts’.” She had no idea how Ulfric had managed to tame not one, but two, fully-grown dragons. They had only been seen upon the field of battle in recent weeks, in the march leading to her home. She suspected this had been done on purpose, but had no method or reason to prove it.    

“The children of Skyrim will be victorious this day,” he declared quietly, meeting her gaze, “when Solitude’s bastion of Imperial soldiers are removed, one way or another. Skyrim has earned her sovereignty. Talos bless us, Skyrim is free… Unless you would stop me, Elisif. But I think, in your heart of hearts, you hear what I am saying and, despite the loss of life and precious blood, you agree… and maybe you have for a long time.”

Her heart thudded hard in her chest. Was Ulfric giving her an out? Was he opening an avenue to her which would allow Elisif to live a free, unhindered life as the jarl of Solitude, where her people did not hate her for surrendering to the Stormcloak army? On the one hand, no one could be blamed for bending the knee to a man with two dragons, but the pride of nords ran deep and she would be forever remembered as a cowardly jarl and a usurper queen with no claim to the high throne. She sat in Potema’s castle, after all; why would any other queen who occupied her space do anything but add to the dark legacy.

“What you are saying is—”

 “A guess, and only that, Jarl Elisif.”

Her mind raced, her pulse hammered, and a thousand and one thoughts and emotions flashed through her heart and mind in the few seconds it took to make a decision. She wrapped a hand tighter around the dagger and pursed her lips, closing her eyes. “You ask me to betray my late husband, to betray my lover—yes, Falk Firebeard was my lover, and why shouldn’t he be? They say you’ve long since taken a lover yourself…” She stopped herself, realizing she was rambling. Elisif had not noticed the minute shift in Ulfric’s expression which would have, to anyone but those who knew him well, signaled nothing but perhaps scornfully cordial interest, but which was actually a modicum of fear, or at least worry. “I will not do these things to save face, Ulfric Stormcloak, kingslayer.”

He admired her nord pride, but when the blade of the dagger flashed upward, Ulfric had little time to appreciate her strength and decision. He moved with speed that a man of his size should not have had, grabbing her wrist tightly and tugging the dagger away, though not before it had pierced her throat quite deeply. Red rivulets ran down her pale breast, staining the front of her dress almost instantly. He clapped a gloved hand to her throat as she wrestled with him, her already feeble strength from grief and lack of sleep easily overcome by his. She fell out of the chair, convulsing wildly as he clamped the hand down hard, pulling Elisif to him. Was there time to call for a healer? 

“Murder….er,” she choked, staring up into his eyes, daring him to argue. He could not. Ulfric reflected in the few seconds before the door to the Blue Palace burst open that he should have disarmed her immediately, made certain she could not do something like this. He had been careless and it had cost him dearly. Ulfric cared little for Elisif in principle; he hardly knew her. What she stood for, however, was a soft, gentle fairness that may have benefited the people of Skyrim and particularly of Solitude in the coming conflict with the Aldmeri Dominion. She, had he been able to sway her, might have been a symbol. 

“Ulfric!” Galmar’s voice rang through the halls and the sound of armor clanking, leather creaking and feet hitting stone echoed almost violently in the sepulchral space. “Ulfric, where—!” 

Galmar had crested the final step to see the tableau which had befallen the jarl of Windhelm. Elisif had breathed her last, her eyes going glassy and her cheeks, once rosy with righteous fury, paling in death. She was still fair, even as Ulfric Stormcloak stood, holding her slight body in his arms, the dagger at his feet where she had dropped it when he arrested her wrist, too late by seconds. 

“She…” Galmar’s voice was low. “But Jarl Ulfric, you can’t be seen with her body; are you mad? First Torygg, now—”

“Torygg met my challenge and failed. Elisif took her own life, rather than be swayed by my words and my cause. They died as nords and their souls will be borne swiftly to Sovngarde. Help me see to her, Galmar.”

“O-of course, my lord,” responded the general, his eyes flitting to the bloodstained dagger and the trail of crimson which followed Ulfric. He stooped to grasp the dagger and followed Ulfric down the stairs, hesitance lacing every bone in his body. He had never felt so apprehensive about a battle in all his days, though Whiterun had been close. 

But the cause and course were clear: sovereignty for Skyrim meant spilling blood. He knew the jarl regretted this sacrifice, but also knew that Ulfric understood, perhaps better than anyone, how necessary it was to do so. As long as the Empire was under the thumb of the Aldmeri Dominion, Skyrim would be in tatters, their lands raped, their wealth pillaged, and their gods torn asunder. This was truth, plain and simple. 

The jarl of Windhelm bore Elisif’s body out into the palace courtyard, and then into the city proper. In the short span of time he had spent speaking with Elisif the Fair, scores of Stormcloak soldiers had arrived, reinforcements from around Skyrim, many of them new recruits, to put out the fires and help begin the task of restoring Solitude. 

Far above, both dragons circled, watching, catching their wings on the wind and gliding, pleased at the work they had done, but eager for more. Below, Ulfric instructed his men to build a pyre. “She died with blade in hand,” he insisted, gesturing with a gentle jerk of his chin that Galmar should produce the dagger. “She will have it on her way to Sovngarde.” 

Ulfric tilted his cobalt gaze upward, to the smoke-filled sky and nodded his thanks to the dragons, his two greatest helpers. They would be needed again, but for now, the sky was theirs. This pyre was a rite for the people of Solitude and for the Stormcloaks, to understand what the new era would bring, the sacrifices they would have to make for it to come to pass, and the values they shared which signified a sovereign, united Skyrim.

[hellas-himself]

Where There Are Shadows Pt 21

Writing has been difficult for me lately. Not so much this but with my personal endeavors. I’ve also become highly addicted to Dragon Age lol

But writing this helps me clear my head so I can get shit done. Idk 

I can’t believe it’s Thursday already. 

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-Feyre-

 Lucien pressed a kiss to the inner part of my thigh before he came to lay down beside me. I turned to face him, bringing a hand out to touch his face. I was still trying to catch my breath and he smiled.

“I was supposed to be cheering you up,” I said softly.

He chuckled. “At your side, or between your legs, rather- I am as happy as I can be.”

I playfully pushed him by the shoulder and he laughed, pulling me close to him.

“Luce, really. How can I be there for you?”

He kissed my nose. “I haven’t the slightest idea.”

“When Rhys comes home, we’ll have more answers.”

We remained silent, holding one another. Rhys had left early in the morning with Azriel, the beginnings of finding out if what that bastard had said was true. My mate was quiet down the bond, he’d wished us good morning. He’d complained about the state of his clothes. But nothing more.

“I think that I’m afraid of the answers.”

“Whatever they are, Luce, we’ll face it together.”

“Indeed we will.”

Lucien and I sat up quickly, finding Rhys at the door. He must have winnowed in but I didn’t care. I scrambled out of bed and ran to him.

“I should leave you two alone more often if this is how I’ll find you.”

“Prick.”

His arms were around me and I sighed. Then I was laughing when a very naked Lucien stood behind me to join us in our embrace.

“Join me for a bath?” Rhys asked and neither of us refused.

“Where did you go?” I asked, scrubbing Rhysand’s back as he washed Lucien’s hair.

“Illyrian camps. Cas and I had things to discuss.”

“Is everything alright?”

“It will be.”

I sighed. “And?”

He chuckled, rinsing Lucien’s hair with a cup. He enjoyed going through the motions, especially when we three were here together.

“Viviane says hello.”

“You went to Winter?”

“Az and I can’t go about spying on anyone without giving Kallias good reason for us being at the border. Well… we could, but I want him to trust me.”

“Rhys… are you sure there’s nothing I can’t do?” Lucien asked, turning around. “I know the land, I know the monstrosity of where I once lived.”

Rhys kissed him. “Soon. For now, know that Kallias and Viviane have granted us entry to their Court so as long as one of us is with them.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, taking the cup from Rhys and rinsing his back.

“It means that while Az and I are off doing whatever it is we will be doing, someone from our Court will be present before Kallias, all in good faith.”

“So, like Summer but without all the lies.”

Rhys chuckled. “Exactly.”

“Amren still has our blood rubies,” I said as Rhys turned around and pulled me so that I was now between them both. I laughed as Rhys grabbed the sponge and Lucien undid my hair.

“I can clean myself, you know.”

“Yes, but it is far more enjoyable when we do it.”

I left them both sleeping. I slipped into a pair of trousers, and over my camisole, I wore one of Lucien’s shirts unbuttoned and the sleeves rolled up. My hair had dried a mess thanks to those two, so I tied it up the way I did when I went to paint. I went into the kitchen and grabbed the small tin of cookies and quietly went to the living room and laid out on the sofa.

Half the tin and one chapter of a book later, a soft knock came at the door. I waited for it again before I set everything aside and went to answer it. My heart dropped a bit at the sight of Elain standing outside, fumbling with the little blue shawl over her blush pink dress. She looked at me sheepishly, and I realized we were both blushing.

“Let me find my shoes.”

I locked the door behind me after I’d found my boots, Elain waiting patiently the entire time. I hadn’t bothered to throw more perfume on, I knew Elain was aware of us being together. And to her credit, she made no comment about it the way Mor or Amren would.

“I didn’t know you knew where we were. Location wise, I mean,” I said.

“I asked Azriel.”

“Oh.”

We started to walk, away from the apartment and without a particular destination in mind. Only that we kept a good distance from others.

“Feyre, I wanted to speak to you. Alone. I know that there are things I have to discuss with Lucien. And I will. I promise. But… you’re my sister.”

I think we both avoided looking at one another.

“Alright,” I said, wondering if this was why Rhys always shoved his hands in his pockets. Because my stupid trousers had none, and I really wished they did.

“I am sorry, Feyre. I failed you as a sister, and please don’t look deny it- You have always been far too kind to me. Everyone is. I was no better than Nesta. It changes nothing… But I want to fix it.”

I sighed. “Elain… There isn’t anything to fix. I was just angry.”

The look on her face told me she didn’t believe me.

“I won’t make this about me. Or my… Well, this.” She motioned to herself, and then her ear. Being Made. “But I hope you’ll understand… I didn’t know. That I had to do anything.”

“You didn’t know that you had to be the one to break it.”

I’d stopped walking. We finally looked at on another. She was blushing.

“Letting go of Graysen… I couldn’t find it in me to care about anything else. Even if it was wrong of me to do so.”

“I’m sorry, Elain. For the things I said…” She looked at me in surprise. “And I am sorry that I assumed you’d understand everything about… this.” I motioned towards the city. A life amongst the Fae. “I’m still learning.”

She giggled. “Are you?”

“Gods, there are rules and customs that I’ve yet to even discover. And to think we live in the most relaxed court in all of Prythian.”

“Goodness.” Elain adjusted her shawl. It was new, I realized.

“You wear a lot of blue these days,” I said as we began to walk again.

“It’s a lovely color. Especially for spring.”

I rolled my eyes, but I smiled. “I’ll remember that for Starfall.”

“Starfall?”

I looped my arm in hers, telling her all about the celebration.

“I think Rhys made adjustments to every dress,” I whispered as we came to a little bakery. We ordered hot chocolate and sat down to wait for our desserts.

“It amazes me that these men -males- are so… contrary to how they appear.”

I laughed. “Illyrian babies.”

“Azriel has such a way with gardening. And I know, you know, about what he does. When he isn’t home.” Her cheeks were red.

Home. I gave her a smile. Azriel found many reasons to sleep at the townhouse, especially now that Rhys and I weren’t there. He still shared the room with Cas… but I knew he preferred that than to going to his own home and staying up worried about her.

“We should get together with Mor and find you a proper Starfall gown.”

She chewed on her lower lip and I already knew what she was going to ask.

“Do you think… Would she come?”

Nesta. One mountain at a time, I reminded myself.

“I don’t know… But it wouldn’t hurt to invite her. Either way, if she goes outside that night, she’ll be looking at the same sky as us.”

Elain raised a brow. I hadn’t told her the whole truth of Starfall, I wanted her to have that surprise. And I knew that she would share that with Azriel, just as I had with Rhys.

“I suppose…”

“We can send it with a courier.”

“I like that idea.” Elain took a long sip of her hot chocolate. Nesta had pushed Elain so far away that she feared going to visit her.

“They won’t wear their leathers that night,” I blurted out and Elain nearly spit out her drink. “I mean, they’re dressed. Just not for a fight. They’re dressed like… Well, you’ll see.”

She laughed, trying to calm herself when our tray of mini cakes and cookies was set on the table.

“Oh Feyre, you’ve set the worst image in my mind. I might not be able to look at Azriel with a straight face ever again!”

“Elain! Have you-”

“No!” Her face went red. “No. But… they have no shame. Even your mate. Walking the house in nothing but a towel… The impropriety of it all.”

She looked scandalized but I had the feeling she enjoyed the sight far more than she would admit. I couldn’t blame her.

I walked her back to the townhouse, just in time to see Azriel walking down the steps. I snorted and Elain brought a hand to her mouth.

“Hello,” he said and we both started laughing. The poor thing blushed and I threw an arm around Elain, holding her against me and kissed her cheek.

“I’ll see you at dinner,” I said to her and then looked at Azriel. I gave him a smile which only seemed to deepen his blush. Elain returned the kiss and then hurried up the steps.

“You weren’t going anywhere, were you?” She asked, taking him by the hand.

“Not at all,” he replied and let her guide him back inside.

I found Rhys and Lucien having lunch when I got back. Rhys’ curls were a mess and Lucien’s long hair was in dire need of a good combing.

“Had fun while I was away?” I teased, making my way to Lucien whose back was to me. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.

“We just woke up,” Rhys said with a yawn.

I mussed up his hair before I kissed him and then took my seat between them. I noticed that they’d both tried to pretend they hadn’t scented Elain on me but I pretended not to notice.

“I had a very surprising visitor this morning,” I said as I reached for the lovely pitcher of iced tea that the twins had made thanks to Varian’s little recipe he’d given us on his last visit. Both males remained silent, suddenly their meals were very appetizing.

“Elain and I… we apologized to one another.”

“How lovely, darling,” Rhys said, patting my hand before returning to his plate.

“There are things that I think are better left for her to tell you,” I said to Lucien. “But I think that it’s going to turn out better than expected.”

His sigh of relief broke my heart.

“However,” I turned my attention to Rhys. “You and your brothers need a lesson on modesty.”

“Whatever for?” He was completely taken aback.

“There is a very big problem if Elain can you three naked.”

Lucien choked and Rhys howled, and I feared he’d fall back in his chair. But then I was laughing, too.

“I told her about Starfall. And mentioned you wouldn’t be wearing your leathers.”

Lucien snorted. “No wonder.”

“It came out wrong!”

“You’ve walked around the house naked,” Rhys said to me.

“When no one’s home but us.”

“And that time you had breakfast in a towel.”

“Elain is my sister.”

“Az and Cassian were there, too,” Rhys countered. Lucien nearly dropped his fork.

I blushed. “I was famished.”

“What is Starfall?” Lucien asked, as curious as he was eager to discontinue this discussion.

Rhysand’s eyes lit up and I had the good sense to watch quietly as my mate began to describe his idea of how we three would dress that night.

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@readingismycopingmechanism @fuzdog @gently-say-aha @highladyofherondale @alxanxah  @city-of-fae

If you would like to be tagged, let me know!!!

PS: I was a fool and didn’t jot down who asked so if I missed you/tagged you when I shouldn’t have, I am sorry. 

[aelin-and-feyre]

Character Preferences: Azriel

For my 7k follower milestone. Requested by @cerridwxn @fangirlmo @heyyitsangie and multiple anons. Let me know who you want next!

First meeting/mate bond: The two of you feel it snap at the exact same time. You’ve known each other forever and have been tiptoeing around the other for years, but now that he knows, Azriel is quick to take action. His arms encircle your waist in a second, his face buried in the crook of your neck, breathing you in and pulling you tighter and tighter to him with each passing second. You respond immediately, though you are still shocked, your hands scraping through his hair as you pull him closer as well. ‘I-I always hoped that maybe -’ he murmurs against your skin, his voice hoarse. ‘I know, me too, but I never even thought to dream that -’ you cut off, unable to express your emotions accurately. His hands squeezing your waist slightly is his wordless response, letting you know he understands. The two of you sink to the floor slowly, holding, caressing, admiring each other, murmuring words of adoration and disbelief. Azriel simply cannot stop smiling. 

Kisses: A peppering of small kisses around your face leads Azriel’s lips until they meet your own. With his hands resting comfortably on your hips and a small smile gracing his features, kisses with Azriel are gentle and happy. The featherlight pecks leading up to it tickle your skin and it is when you start to giggle that Az finally stops messing around and silences your mouth with his. His shadows join his fingers when they travel up your spine and into your hair. The husky laugh of his is music to your ears.

First ‘I love you’s: The Spymaster is an expert at keeping his feelings unheard, but not great at keeping them unseen. Everyone knows Azriel is in love with you but he refuses to admit it. it is very important to him to not pressure you into something you don’t want. He always keeps the ball in your court, it’s always your decision whether to be with him or not. He’s always waiting though. So, you are the first one to say those three words eventually, and Azriel is very quick to say them back, letting out a huge breath of relief when it’s finally out in the open. You laugh when his body visibly relaxes at the confession. ‘You’re a doofus, you know that right?’ you wonder. Azriel just smiles a huge genuine grin, and leans in to kiss you. ‘Yeah, but I’m your doofus.’

Jealousy: One thing’s for sure. Azriel does not send spies to keep an eye on the guy flirting with you just to make sure he doesn’t try anything. No sir, that’s definitely not what he does. Nope. …. Okay but can you blame him? You’re gorgeous and Azriel has been waiting for love for so long and he truly does not want to lose you. Especially to someone who surely does not deserve you. Besides, the spies only stay for a day at most, and then Az feels guilty and calls them off. He’s extremely stealthy about the whole ordeal though, and you almost never know he was jealous in the first place. Other than the fact that his wings are wrapped around you that night as well as his arms, his shadows caressing various parts of your body as if memorizing them because he’s so afraid of you being taken away from him that he can’t help it. 

Proposal: His hands shake so badly right before it happens because he still doesn’t believe that he is worthy of holding your own in his scarred ones. You know it’s happening because you’ve talked about it before and so you grab his hands without hesitation, holding firmly to show him that you love everything about him, even the scars. He takes a deep breath when your eyes meet his, and nods slightly to himself before bending one knee and looking at you with endless hope filling his eyes. When you say yes, Azriel’s siphons flare in his inability to hold back the emotion coursing through him. He brings his hands up to your face, still a little bit hesitant, and you grab them again, placing them on your cheeks and then grasping his own face to bring him to kiss you.

Wedding: All seven of his siphons gleam and pulse on full display as you walk down the aisle towards him. You have never seen Azriel so bright. There is absolutely no sign of his shadows anywhere, and he knows it. His smile stretches across his face and there may or may not be just a small tear in one of his eyes. He does not hesitate as he reaches out and grasps your hand in his own. He does not grimace at all at the difference between your pristine skin and his own. His eyes stay locked on yours the entire ceremony, his wings outstretched and also on full display. His voice is loud and certain when he finally says ‘I do’ and you think you’re heart might crack at how happy he is when you finally say it back. 

Making Love: He is the perfect gentlemen. He makes sure everything he does is okay and welcome and he is so tentative at the beginning that eventually you just have to show him how okay with everything you really are. After that, Azriel is intense. He can go for hours, using his shadows to play with you and you return the favor by playing with his wings.

Cuddling: Azriel feels so safe with you, he will let you hold him for hours on end. His head sometimes comes to rest on your stomach when you’re reading in bed and you will run your hands through his hair absentmindedly, allowing him to relax after a long day. He finds comfort and love in your arms that you are happy to give—and give frequently as you as Az cuddle many times a week. Your feet tangled and arms around each other, you and Azriel get the best nights sleep and wake up happy and refreshed in your loved one’s arms. 

Domestic Activities: He likes everything being nice and neat and tidy, so cleaning days are common around your house. Az makes it fun though, putting on music and even going so far as to dance with you to the rhythm while you sweep and he vacuums. He uses a duster as a microphone and cleaning days soon become the best days of the week, when you both collapse from laughter by the end of them.

When on your period: His shadows inform him of your state before you even realize it, sometimes saving you from ruining your favorite pair of panties. You wake up, just barely feeling the first pains, and he has already drawn you a hot bath with your favorite scented bath oils and bubbles. Candles are lit and he even warmed a towel for you when you get out. It makes the rest of the day so much more bearable.

When they find out you’re pregnant: His shadows let him know the minute your scent changes. He debates hiding it from you until you’re at least a few more days along, but he is unable to hide his excitement. ‘What is it?’ You ask, and Azriel is pretty sure that you are already glowing. In response, a shadow lingers over your stomach, dancing along your skin, somehow both protective and excited. ‘Really?’ He nods, a huge grin breaking out on his face. There is no sign of doubt in his face, no worry or darkness. He is unbelievably happy and it’s contagious. The two of you look down at your still flat stomach, where a shadow has now attached itself. It does not look like it’s leaving. And it doesn’t. Azriel’s faithful shadow stays in front of your stomach as it grows, a protector, informer, and reminder of the joy growing within. 

Holding their firstborn: Many times during labor, Azriel had wanted to slip away into the shadows, but he didn’t because he knew you needed him. So he stuck to your side the entire time, letting you hold his scarred hand as tight as you wanted. Now, however, when you hold his son up for him to carry, every and all shadows absolutely disappear. His hands are steady and sure as he takes his son into his arms and rocks him back and forth. Never has Azriel been surer of anything more than how much he loves this moment, this baby, and you, telling you as much as many times as he can. 

Movie nights: It took you a little while to figure it out, but Azriel loves mysteries. He especially likes to figure out the answer to the mystery before they reveal it. He’ll lean over and whisper a prediction and, sure enough, five minutes later he’ll be proven right. Azriel will grin, so proud of himself for deciphering the clues, and the look is so pure and wonderful, you can’t help but play a mystery movie at least once every week just to see that expression.

Training: Quick and quiet and fast, Azriel teaches with unrelenting patience and care. He makes sure you understand every step of a maneuver before trying it, slowly working through the motions to get you to master the skill. When that is done though, Az begins to play dirty. He uses his shadows to appear behind, under, or sometimes above you, wholly disorientating as you try to wield your weapons against him. He toys and smiles and laughs but then picks you back up, brushes you off, and says, ‘Start again’.

When you’re sick: When you are sick, Azriel will cuddle with you. He holds you close and wraps his wings around you while you sleep it off. The shadows tell him when you are about to throw up and he will rush you to the bathroom before you even know what’s happening. His gentle hands brush your hair back from your face and run soothing circles over your back as he waits for you to be done, and then its back to cuddling until it all repeats.

Holiday Season: Because of his Spymaster skills, Azriel is an amazing gift giver, as he always knows exactly what you want. He is a master present wrapper as well and will sit in the living room contently wrapping gift after gift, humming to himself. His corners are perfection and he never cuts the paper too small for the box. You always know which one is for you because he places a meticulously crafted bow in your favorite color on the top.

Preferences Masterlist 

[lady-therion]

At Second Sight: Part 2 [Elriel]

Summary: Elain accidentally turns Azriel into a dragon.

(Post-ACOWAR)

A/N: Okay, so it gets worse.

***

   “If you don’t stop fussing, I will put you in the basket.”

    Azriel scowled at her from the center of her bed, huffing and and puffing as much as he was able, the blue and black scales of his chest swelling with each beat of his tiny wings.

    It was adorable.

    Elain fought the urge to grin. The shadowsinger could have been dwarfed by a house cat, which amused her as much as it alarmed her. Though she had enough sense not to make light of his misfortune—a misfortune she was directly responsible for.

    It was a very sobering thought.

    At any other time, she would have yielded to her winged friend. But here and now? She would not bend. She may not be as formidable as her sisters, but she inherited enough of their mother’s imperious manner to face down the Spymaster of the Night Court.

    Of course, Azriel refused to cease his growling. How else could he argue with her? But as much as Elain wanted to soothe his agitation, she merely raised her brow with a haughtiness that would have made Nesta proud.

    “I don’t see what all the squawking is about,” she said. “It’s just for the night. Or until Amren finds a way to break the spell.”

    More squawking.

    Elain folded her arms.

    Azriel, ever the gentleman no matter what form he took, nearly singed her bedsheets in chivalrous protest when she insisted he sleep with her.

    Sleep next to her, she clarified, though she could barely hide her blushing as she said so.

    Azriel had looked so scandalized at her suggestion that she found it almost charming. As if this centuries-old fae warrior hadn’t done or encountered more shocking or salacious things…

    “It will be easier this way,” she continued. “What do you think will happen when the others return? Cassian’s room is right next to yours and he almost never knocks when he wants to see you. Unless you’d like to greet him as you are now?”

    A tiny ring of smoke told her what Azriel thought about that.

   “I’d have to come fetch you in the morning anyway,” she continued. “It would be harder to explain why I’d be poking about in your room. The others would ask questions.”

   The shadowsinger gazed at her in that keen and uncanny way that would have made other fae loosen their bowels. But Elain was not afraid. She could never be afraid of the gentle fae warrior who rescued her from a dark abyss. Even when his hazel eyes pierced her with that strange and assessing intensity, she did not feel a shred of apprehension.

   Instead, she felt an odd kind of pity.

    For all his selflessness, Azriel was always reluctant to accept any kindness or compassion on his behalf. As if he didn’t think he was worthy of such things. The thought of it pained Elain in ways she couldn’t explain.

    She sat on the edge of the bed and extended a hand, beckoning him to come closer.

    He didn’t. Not at first.

    “Azriel,” she said softly. “Please.”

     A beat. Then…

     He padded over to her, chastened. His tail dragging behind him as though he was regretting his stubborness. He pushed his snout into her palm, leaning into her by way of apology.

    Elain breathed a sigh of relief.

    “You can sleep at the foot of the bed,” she said. “I won’t have you sleeping on the floor.”

     Azriel sniffed, but obeyed, retreating the farthest corner before circling into a little nest among the covers. The sight of it, as strange it was, softened her heart. She was one of the handful of people in the world who this scarred and lonely warrior seemed to trust—even when she so clearly wronged him.

    She would not take that trust for granted. His faith in her was humbling, and she wished she could give voice to the gratitude she felt. But it was late and she was tired…and a new day of challenges was looming ever closer.

     So she changed into her nightgown, noting how Azriel had turned his back to her while he slept (no doubt an appeal to her modesty). Then she climbed into bed, mindful of the shadowsinger who watched over her. Only this time, she watched over him…counting each of her breaths until sleep finally claimed her.  

***

    There were many reasons why Elain hated her visions.

     They frightened her. They angered her. They were thrust upon her against her will. Worst of all, they imprisoned her in a realm caught between dream and reality. A place where the difference between one and the other was as razor thin as Truth-Teller’s blade.

     Her visions were like memories. So vivid and visceral that she could reach out and touch them, experience them in motion. And yet they passed through her like so many grains of sand; a collection of impressions, feelings, and words fighting for some kind of coherency. Images both real and the unreal formed labyrinthine corridors within the chambers of her mind. Corridors where monsters like Hybern always seemed to lie in wait.

    It was unbearable.

    But tonight, her visions were softer, kinder—like the falling of spring rain.

    For once she saw and was unafraid to look.

    There was a bed—not her own—and a warm and comforting presence. The sheets were tangled around her legs in a casual disarray. Her bare skin was cooled by the breeze seeping through an open window. And there was someone in her arms. A man. A male.

    It was like watching herself and yet not. A passive viewer in an unfolding scene. Everything was hazy at the edges, not unlike the oily texture of one of Feyre’s paintings.

    The male in her arms was still as she stroked his bare back. Elain held him close, murmuring sweetly into his ear. Then the dull blue light of dawn filled the room and filled her heart. And oh. She hadn’t realized until then…just how empty her heart had been.

    Then the male, bared to the waist, reached for her. Buried fingers into her golden-brown hair as he kissed…no devoured…her lips like she was ambrosia. There was shadow and there was light, melding together as easily as love and desire. Then suddenly, roses—like bright drops of blood—grew between the slats of the wooden floors.

    The strong contrast threw the passionate scene into a deeper relief, and the words came to her lips with the finality of a prophecy.

    A flower that blooms in light and shadow.

    The words reverberated through her like the tolling of a bell. Its echo like a hook that dragged her back to the shores of consciousness. Yet the words were still there when she woke, etched into her heart.

    She cracked open a bleary eye and wondered at the fluttering darkness surrounding her.

    Then she realized that it was the membrane of a wing.

    Had the spell been broken in the night?

    She shot up in bed, the mattress groaning strangely beneath her. Then her eyes alighted on Azriel and—

    “Azriel…oh no.”

***

    “He’s um…he’s bigger.”

    Amren smirked. “In what way?”

    “This isn’t a joke,” said Elain, raising her voice as much as she dared. “It’s just…come and see.”

   Amren trailed after Elain at a far slower pace than was considered polite. It wasn’t as if she didn’t care about the little seer’s dilemma. She simply relished how much she fretted and blustered over her precious shadowsinger.

   A shadowsinger who was clearly much larger than he was the night before.

   “I’m sorry Azriel,” said Elain. “I had to bring her.”

    It seemed like only a few hours ago that Elain could hold her friend in the palm of her hand. Now he was the size of a young thoroughbred: big enough to ride, like the wyverns that once roamed the wastelands of the old world.

    “It’s a good thing our High Lord saw fit to give you such wide and spacious chambers,” said Amren.  

     Elain wrung her hands while Azriel glared. His shadows roiled about him, whispering in his ear and winding about his massive spiked tail like tendrils of smoke. How much of his powers remained intact while trapped in this form remained to be seen…

    It was a miracle that the only things in the room that bore the brunt of his latest transformation was an upturned dresser, a broken chair, and a sagging bed. All of which would require far too much explanation if discovered. Given the sheer breadth of him, it could have been much worse. But at least it had shown that Azriel still possessed enough self-restraint to not have torn the room apart in rage and confusion.

    Amren wondered what would have happened had this spell inflicted itself on Cassian instead. Though the thought of witnessing how Nesta would take Cassian in hand, bridling him under her uncompromising control, made her smirk all the wider.

    “What do we do now?” asked Elain.

    “Well, you’ll need a bigger basket.”

    “Amren!”

    Azriel couldn’t answer her with words, but his growl of irritation said enough. But unlike last night where the sounds he made were barely above a whisper, they were now loud enough to be heard throughout the entire house. As loud as the baying of hounds.  

    Fortunately, the rest of the Inner Circle had yet to return from their duties to the Hewn City. Though given the late hour of the morning, Amren knew that time was not on their side.

   “Did you find out anything from the book?”

    Amren tilted her head, choosing her next words carefully. “Yes and no. It wasn’t a page-turner by any means, but I was able to glean the important things. Some of which I will tell you now and others I will tell you later.”

    “What’s that supposed to mean?”

    Amren waved the question away like a fly. “The book you discovered was the grimoire of a seer who lived in an age before the seven courts came to be. Here.” She handed Elain a scrap of yellowed paper. “This flower is the key to reversing the spell. Though its like is rare and has not been seen in many years.”

    Elain’s eyes widened.

    “A flower that blooms in light and shadow…”

    Now it was Amren’s turn to be curious. “What was that?”

    The girl blanched, fooling no one as she stammered that it was nothing. Amren narrowed her eyes but decided to let it be. They had more pressing matters to attend to.

   “That flower still grows in the valleys near the Steppes.” And here, Azriel bared his teeth, a tremor running through his folded wings. Not surprisingly, his birthplace was one of his least favorite places to be. “You’ll have to find the flower, crush it into a powder, then have him drink it under the light of the full moon.”

    “But the full moon is several days away,” said Elain. “What happens if we don’t find it in time?”

   “Well then you’re in for quite a wait until the next one, my dear. And I’m not sure how much longer we can keep the rest of the Inner Circle unaware.”

   As if on cue, the door to the townhouse creaked open. The hum of familiar voices followed.

   They were home.

   Elain cursed with a word that Amren didn’t even know she could use.

   “I’ll distract them,” said Amren. “And take this, as well.” She pressed a sapphire-like stone that hung off the end of a long chain into Elain’s palm. “Its glamor will keep you both undetected, even from us. Use it wisely.”

  “Thank you, Amren.”

   “Feh.” She turned to the shadowsinger. “I’m actually disappointed you don’t wish to stay in this body, little spy. You look like quite the warrior now.”

   The look in Azriel’s eyes could have charred meat. Amren laughed.

   “Head to the roof,” was all she said, before shutting the door behind her.

***

   Elain packed what few supplies she could in a leather satchel before throwing on her cloak and a more practical dress. She didn’t know how long she would be gone, and although the prospect of doing something so dangerous made her heart stutter, she couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement as well.

   This was an adventure, she thought. An adventure all her own.

   Azriel stood on the edge of the balcony, his wings beating as they opened to catch the open air. The air was his element, she remembered.

   He was born hearing the song of the wind…and the song of the shadows.

   “Obviously, I’m coming with you,” she had told him. “I made you promise, after all.”

    She had expected Azriel to snap at her, as he did with Amren. But no, he only bowed his head as he crouched down, allowing her on climb onto his back. Elain gulped. She had ridden before as a girl…at her family’s estate, her father leading her pony through the park on their grounds.

    But this was no pony.

   It took a moment to settle herself. The height from his shoulders was dizzying. She wriggled until she could find a comfortable seat, trying to stop the blood from rushing to her face as she did so.

   Why did this have to be so awkward?

    But if Azriel felt that way, he didn’t show it. In fact, he was patient and steadfast as ever. Then the tendrils of his shadows appeared, securing around her wrists like reins.

   When she was little, Nesta used to read her stories about princesses in towers, and the dragons that kept them there. But her dragon was no jailer. No, her dragon was her savior. It was a twist in the narrative that made her smile, and she leaned forward to clasp Amren’s jewel around Azriel’s neck.

   It gleamed bright and blue, just like his Siphons.

   “Well my friend?” she said, grasping his sides. “Are you ready for an adventure?”

    Azriel answered by spreading his beautiful wings as he reared back, running at a leap before taking off in the sky, leaving nothing behind save for the boom of his wings.

***

Thank you for reading, my loves.

Other chapters be found in the Masterlist in my Bio / I am Lady_Therion on AO3

[court-0f-dreamers]

ACOTAR: Restrung Chapter 3

Chapter 1   Chapter 2

Fic Summary: What if it was never up to Tamlin to break the curse? What if, instead, in a true test of love, Amarantha sent out Prythian’s most abhorred and cruel Highlord, to watch his land fall into ruin while trying to change the heart of a hateful human? A Court of Bitterness and Jasmine…A Court of Rhysand. Set in the same universe as our favourite Sarah J Maas characters, but with a twist.

CHAPTER 3

He was livid. Rage pulsed off him in lashes of warm night. Idiot girl. Stupid, unthinking, impulsive girl. He continued pacing across the floor of his private study.

“She wouldn’t have done it if she wasn’t so scared, Rhysand,” Cassian snapped, from his seat in the comfortable brown leather chairs, “You should have given her more of a reception.”

“She jumped out of the window!”, Rhysand said through clenched teeth, unable to stop himself gesticulating wildly.

“She abseiled out of the window.” Cassian couldn’t help the small smile across his face as he corrected Rhys, “Using your priceless curtains.

“And you know, you could make her feel more welcome. Find out what she likes. Be less...this”, Cassian continued, pointing to all of Rhys.

And then he leaned back and put his dirty boots on the ebony coffee table.

Azriel sighed from his spot on the mantelpiece, “If you’re going to pick a fight with him, please do it after we eat.”

“I can’t just go into her mind and find out what she likes, Cassian”, Rhys continued. He moved in between Cassian and the table and tossed his feet back down onto the carpet. “The curse doesn’t allow me to just delve into her mind. If not, don’t you think I would have just made her fall madly in love with this!” He pointed at himself, repeating Cassian’s gesture.

Cassian pushed on, “Now that we’ve found her, can’t you just do your daemati business and make her like you-”.

“You know I can’t, Cassian”, Rhys responded with equal snap. But Cassian’s words had found their mark.

He turned hitting his palm on the coffee table with an uncharacteristic unchecked rage, “Dammit! If I could enter minds so thoroughly, I’d have fed Kier and his subjects out there pillaging my city to the damn Attors!” His expression was fierce as his anger grew, and a dark shadow of his wings appeared behind him. “And then I would mist them all while they were still being devoured.”

He locked eyes with his brothers. His brothers knew him so well that they hardly blinked at the Highlord mask he wore. They had unshakable faith in the man underneath. Faith that he would uphold his duty to his land, his people, and most of all to his family. Looking at them reminded him of what he had to do here - and all that he couldn’t do.

He sighed and sat down next to Cassian. “Amarantha’s spell was so cunning. So slippery and yet so pervasive. The more I try to delve into its magic, the more it evades me. Now that Feyre is here, it’s starting to change, starting to become...more oppressive.”

He put his head in his hands. “I can feel it inching towards the core of my power.”, he softly whispered.

He could see Cassian schooling his features to hide his surprise.

Some nights were harder than others, but for them, for his people, Rhysand would never give up. “I am trying. With Feyre, I will try better-”

Azriel coughed. Rhysand could hear hesitant steps down the hallway.

They all fell silent and waited for the door to slowly open.

When they brought her home, she was in no state to talk to anyone. The girl, Rita, who was with her was equally shaken, but Az made sure she was returned to her family, while Cassian flew Feyre back to the House of Wind. On arriving, the always courteous Cassian pointed out the closest bathroom, and asked her to meet them in Rhys’ study when she was done hauling her guts out.

Feyre slowly stepped in, shoulders hunched, head held low but unharmed. Rhys didn’t let himself imagine what would she would look like if his brothers hadn’t happened to be flying so close to the Rainbow.

Almost unharmed. Rhys’ eyes immediately went to the backs of her hands. The cuts there were relatively shallow, but dirty. He had spent enough time during the war with humans to know how quickly those simple wounds could become life-threatening infection.

She met his eyes, and straightened her spine defiantly.

He quirked an eyebrow. So you think you were right to come up with that ridiculous escape plan?, he thought.

The fire in her stormy blue eyes clearly answered the unspoken question.

He peaked his fingertips together and lifted them to his lips. His hold on his emotions tonight was taut, like a tightly pulled string. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

Azriel coughed again.

He sighed, anger deflating.

He was actually at a loss. How am I meant to treat you?, he thought, grappling for words. He was five hundred years old. He had ruled over two very different courts for most of that time. He used to command legions of Illyrians and Fae alike. And he didn’t know what to say to a 19-year old human girl. Not just any human girl.

He looked into her small, proud face, holding her gaze.  Feyre Archeron, you could save us all.

“Sooooooo...” Cassian came and stood between Rhys and Feyre, breaking their intense stare, “you seem to have some battle scars there.”, he gestured to her hands.

She quickly tucked them behind her back.

Azriel looked pointedly at Rhysand.

Rhys broke his silence. “The Attors have their own poison. To prevent those from getting worse they should be cleaned. There are those I trust, in fact I can have Velaris’ best healer-”

Azriel coughed a third time. Rhysand’s eyes narrowed at him, I should punch him in the throat, give him something to cough about. The stoic shadowslinger barely moved a muscle, but the small gleam of light in his eyes betrayed his mirth.

Ok Rhys, big smile, he thought and forced a smile of his face, “Well, how about I’ll heal them myself. Please sit down, Feyre”.

                                                          *** *** ***

Cassian and Azriel subtly stepped out of the room.

Feyre had been terrified that whole walk into the study.

After their initial interaction, the highlord suddenly excused himself, remembering something important he had to tell the two males outside the room.

Feyre was left alone in the surprisingly personalised and homely study. Unlike the rest of the palace, the usually bald red walls were covered with rich tapestries and abstract artwork, with the most surprising being a wall-high landscape vista painted directly onto the stone face.

Amazing. She had never seen art like this.

The painting showed a beautiful waterside city, teeming with life. There were vibrant buildings, giant cargo-filled boats, lush trees and pockets of wildlife scattered throughout. And there were people - well, Fae. Fae from all different origins; High fae that looked like the highlord, and faeries that looked like those in the dockyard.

That was when she noticed how familiar the broadwalk looked, how if the light was different, the dark looming mountains that shadowed her flight here could be like the open and inviting peaks of the painting. And the city, the colourful, alive city, could have been like Velaris. She turned towards the window where a wretched dying mirror image of the painting looked back at her. Why did he have this here, only to create the world outside?

Wait, what are you doing you idiot!, Feyre started, You’re alone in his study. Stop examining the art and find something that will help you.  

She began looking around. There were rows of books stacked neatly, a few choice artifacts on the low table between the couches, and in the far corner a desk with-

A desk! Feyre quickly moved to the desk hoping she would gleam any information that might help her.

She was ecstatic to find a map. She had never learned to read, she family too consumed by their own poverty to realise that she only knew her alphabet and nothing more, but she could understand a map.

Or so she thought.

There was neat scrolling writing throughout, possibly labelling cities, rivers and mountains. There were also lines all through it, making paths through various points on the continent. None of it makes sense, the script didn’t look like she expected. She squinted in the dim firelight, her eyes frantically trying to find the human settlements beneath the wall.

“Interesting technique. Not one I’ve seen before”, a cool voice said behind her.

Shit! Feyre said, jerking and dropping the map. Before it could hit the floor, he bent down snatching it up.

The Highlord of the Night Court. She dared to look him up and down properly for the first time since she returned - if only to see if he had any weapons on him. Instead, all she saw was his all-black fitted suit jacket and tapered pants, this one with violet embroidery on the edges. Even after midnight he looked pristine. Did he sleep in that? Feyre thought, despite knowing that she really had more emergent things to worry about that his sleep attire.

Just distraction as a coping mechanism. She knew being caught rummaging in his desk was only going to make her night worse.

“Maps,” he said, a self-satisfied tone to his voice, “are usually read with the inked side facing the reader, and the right way up.” He spun the map around.

Oh. She couldn’t stop the shame from blooming on her face.

His looked at her again, head cocked to the side.

She just stood there silently, holding her head low in a fake gesture of subservience. Try not to piss him off any more, Feyre, she told herself.

He rolled his eyes, not buying it, “Alright, fine. I’ll ignore your invasion of my privacy. Give me your hands.”

“What are you going to do?”, she tried to not let the very real fear show on her face as she whispered, “...Magic?”

She almost thought she saw a shadow of a smile, “Not today. Just antiseptic and bandages.”

He waved his hand and a metal table with various sized pieces of cloth and brown glass bottles appeared next to her. He carefully picked up her hands.

Silence descended over them as he methodically cleaned each scratch. He seemed content not speaking, which suited Feyre perfectly.

Her mind whirled with conflicting thoughts. It was hard to rationalise this male next to her. Here, in what had to be his personal study, there were personal touches and an inherent warmth that did not fit in with the dangerous and destitute city below and the dark highlord who ruled it.

Not to mention, he surely has more important things to do that tend to his latest prisoner’s minor wounds.

She was surprised by how gently he picked swabbed the fragile skin before applying a cool cream. She noticed he was careful not to touch her more than necessary. And she very much noticed that when his warm hands did lightly brush her skin, she didn’t want to jerk away.

Surprisingly, he hadn’t mentioned how thoroughly her escape plans had failed.

As if by thinking it, she had jinxed herself, he said “Unlike your cartography skills, I hope your survival instincts are sharp enough that I don’t need to elaborate just how insanely stupid your plan was tonight.”

And just like that every kind thought she may have had about him was gone; he is such a arrogant, self-absorbed…

“Not only was it stupid, but I would have lost something valuable to me,” he continued while tying off the clean bandage on her hand.

...entitled, egotistic... wait, what?

He looked up at her as he finished the clipping the gauze in place, “My beautiful curtains.”

...PRICK!

She snatched her hands back, huffing out a breath.

He stood up, nodding towards the door.  

Feyre was sick of him having the last word; “Well the only thing truly beautiful in your disgusting city is that painting!” she blurted, pointing to the painted wall.

He didn’t say anything as he rearranged the bottles and gauze pads on the table. His head down, it was as if he didn’t even hear her.

She felt stupid standing there, after being so clearly dismissed by the highlord.

However, as soon as she stepped outside she could have sworn she heard him whisper; “I know.”

                                                         *** *** ***

She wasn’t sure how she managed to fall asleep that night, but at some point during her uninterrupted mental stream of swear words to describe Rhysand, she had drifted off into dreamless sleep.

She was awoken the next morning by gentle sunlight as Cerriwden pulled back the curtains. She could not recall the last time she had slept in after dawn, and it looked terrifying like midmorning already.

“The highlord requests your presence on the grounds this morning.”, she informed Feyre softly, while subtly ushering her out of bed and in the direction of the bath. Feyre’s eye caught on the tray Cerridwen had brought up, laden with breakfast food.

Food. She skipped the bath and immediately sat down devouring the fresh pastry and brightly coloured fruits.

Halfway through, a thought struck her and her eyes jerked up at Cerridwen, “Oh! Can I eat this? I mean, is this safe for...humans?”. Cerridwen looked at her with a small smile, “Yes Miss. I would never serve you otherwise. You are safe here.”

Safe. She held back a snort, Cerridwen sounded like a parrot for her prick of a highlord. 

Although - she had been treated with nothing but kindness by her, Feyre wasn’t stupid enough to believe she could truly trust anyone in this world - she thought, as she relished a second serving of fluffy flourcakes and spiced milky tea.

“Sorry Miss Feyre, I’ll make sure that there is lunch waiting for you when you return, but the Highlord insists on your presence now”.

Feyre may have been dragging out her breakfast, particularly as as she doled out the last of a large bowl - which had likely contained a serving size for at least four people - of cream and strawberries onto her plate. She knew the highlord was waiting, she somehow sensed his…impatience.

“Miss Feyre--”, Cerridwen’s voice held a strong warning now.

Before she could shovel the plump strawberry with the perfect ratio of cream into her mouth, it vanished.

In the next heartbeat, the whole breakfast tray vanished!

And then, before she could voice her outrage, her table and chair vanished - landing her smack on her bottom on carpeted floor.

Fae prick! She narrowed her eyes. She had seen him perform his vanishing trick before.

Fine, I’m on my way.

                                                         *** *** ***

Rhysand squinted in the distance, fiddling with the coins in his pockets. The training ring on top of the House of Wind almost had a pleasant view, if you overlooked his ruined, sprawling city. He looked away and started rearranging the knives.

“We have company” Azriel mumbled.

A moment later, Feyre walked into their training room, her duelling emotions of surprise and agitation clear in her expression. It’s the tilt of your eyebrows, I can tell exactly what you are thinking, little darling, Rhysand thought.

He knew his little magic would have made her angrier with him. He was willing to pay what it may cost him - it was infinitely preferable than her being scared of him again.

He turned around reaching for her bow. Azriel had found it when he returned to make sure all the Attors were taken care of. Rhys had fixed it himself this morning with a bowstring that wouldn’t fail her again.

“Good morning, Prick,” she said.

Rhysand’s head snapped up in surprise. Oh!

“Good morning, Fiery”, he said, deliberately mispronouncing her name. He could almost hear Az rolling his eyes. His brothers had made it very clear later last night that his skills with the ladies had truly suffered in the last few decades, and he wasn’t doing a great job at proving them wrong.

“Well ‘Highlord’ seems to be pronounced ‘arsehole’ so why not?” she retorted.

“His name is Rhysand,” called Azriel, the nosiest shadowslinger he had ever met, from his spot near the grass.

Feyre pursed her lips, stopping herself from saying it.

“Oh. “No shove it up your arse” for Azriel here? He is saved from your loving nicknames, even though I am the one who made sure you had a delicious breakfast waiting this morning.”

“Do you expect me to thank you?”, she snapped, with none of the confused reticence she had last night.

She turned gesturing around her. “Since you seem to have so quickly forgotten. I am a prisoner here. I’m your prisoner, entirely at your mercy. My whole life and my family’s life is in your hands, and- and” she voice shoke, all her bravado stripped away, “And you expect me to be grateful?”

Her words hit him hard. He had sworn her safety to her family and to her. He had made sure her rooms were fittest with the most luxurious trappings, and even had Cerridwen, one of his most trusted employees watch out for her, and yet his city, his palace remained a prison. He shouldn’t have been surprised, its destitute walls were a cell for people who called it home, let alone a human he had forcibly brought here. 

He suddenly wanted to do anything in his waning, fading power to help her. He would at the very least help her.

“Let me make you a bargain.” he said quickly, “In my lands, you will be safe, you will not be harmed by anyone’s hand, not even my own. And I promise that while you are here your family will not want for anything.”

It was intricate, difficult magic but he could do it. He understood more than a little of that magic now, and Cauldron-damn him it was the very least he could do for this girl that he had taken everything from.

“And what do ask from me in return?”, she asked cautiously.

Smart girl. “Your time. No more escapes. No more climbing out windows. No ripping up my curtains.” he replied, holding all emotion out of his voice.

She bit her lip, unable to hide the uncertainty on her face.

“Oh and - let’s throw in learning to read there too.” Rhysand said, picking invisible lint off his suit.

Her face became flushed and her eyes narrowed. He could see her weighing up lying versus admitting her vulnerability. He noticed how she misread the map, it was clear she didn’t understand what was written on it. Plus, he knew how cruel human societies could be towards their females, it wasn’t unheard of that she wouldn’t be given her right to education.

Come on, take my offer, he urged her.

“Okay”, she whispered, looking at Azriel, rather than Rhysand.

“What did you say?” Rhys pushed.

“I said Okay!”, Feyre growled at him.

With a half-smile, Rhys dug in deep, deep into the recesses of his power, and starting winding out the bargain magic. In response, he felt a twinge between his shoulder blades, just as he could see the tattoo forming on Feyre’s forearm. He couldn’t help but detail in night court-black  ink, his beloved illyrian whorls, sprinkled dots shaped like Velaris’ unique starlight, and the leaves and blooms of jasmine, the flower of his court and his mother’s favourite.

He was surprised at the twinge of joy he felt looking at her arm.

And she looked appalled. “I didn’t agree to this. What is this?”

The unbridled consternation on her face took him the closest he’d been to laughing in half a century. His face remained impassive as he decided to add something to the already-completed tattoo.

A devious cat-eyed pupil winked up at from the middle of Feyre’s palm.

Her jaw could have hit the floor, and this time, Rhysand couldn’t hold back his smile.

                                                        *** *** ***

Eight hours later, Rhysand found Feyre where he had left her at her desk in her room. She knew her letters but she needed to practice her penmanship and progress to words if she was going to learn to read in the next few weeks.

Azriel had checked on her earlier in the day, and the shadowslinger had decided to stay in her rooms finishing off his own work and keeping her company.

Rhys was quite sure she didn’t wanted to talk to him, and he was happy taunting her from a distance. He had given her some provocative lines to copy, that she detested. Plus she was no doubt staring at that eye thinking he could somehow see her through it.

Strangely fun. He had had plenty of time to imagine what it would be like when he finally found the human, but fun was not what he expected. It was not an emotion he thought he could feel anymore; perhaps it wasn’t an emotion he deserved to feel anymore.

Despite his guilt, he found himself looking forward to seeing her progress.

He nonchalantly leaned against the door frame, “Ahem,” he said, crossing his arms in emphasis. 

The shadowslinger nodded his hello from the couch across the room, but Feyre continued to ignore him. He didn’t expect any less. It was odd, he hadn’t known her for very long but he felt like he knew her responses exactly. Not that she was predictable, but rather, somehow, she was familiar.

“You know if you don’t speak, I can just hear what you are thinking,” he said.

Her head snapped up, shock in her eyes.

“Just joking.” Rhys said, using her distraction as a reason to jump up behind her and peer over her shoulder.

She smelled...nice. She smelled like citrus and a fresh cool breeze. And her hands, most of them were covered in his dressings, but he could see her long delicate fingers poking out of them. Her hands were poised gracefully, like an artist’s.

“Are you happy, Highlord?” she looked up at him.

He paused, lost in those stormy eyes. He took in a breath, that was the first time she didn’t look at him with fear, or anger, or feigned disinterest. She was looking at him with laughter.

He snapped back, quickly looking down remembering he was meant to be checking her progress.

In already surprisingly neat script she had 100 lines of Rhysand is the most pompous Highlord. Rhysand is the most conceited Highlord. Rhysand is the most FLATULENT Highlord.

Feyre sniggered. Cerridwen, making up Feyre’s bedroom, giggled. And he could have swore he heard quiet laughter from Azriel’s newly-vacated chair, where now only wisps of smoke remained.

Unable to stop himself, and even Rhysand let out a small but very real laugh.

                                                        *** *** ***

Nesta pushed through a bramble of thornbushes, and came upon a tree with dark peeling bark and sprawling roots - a very familiar, tree with dark bark and lots of roots.

“The fire of all the hells!”, Nesta swore aloud, likely realising this was the third time she had come upon this same tree in an hour, from three entirely different directions.

Cassian stepped out from where he was hidden from her eyes.

“Why are you here?”, he asked frankly and with authority.

She straightened herself, trying to hide the shock from her face. “None of your business. Leave me alone.” Her eyes darted from side to side, looking for an escape route.

Stupidly, she pulled out a kitchen knife, which she held with clear ineptitude.

He was tempted to roll his eyes.

He had been monitoring the Archerons. Rhysand had made sure they were cared for, the day he brought Feyre home. He had seen the poverty they lived in, and he knew Feyre had kept them alive. Cassian was there to make sure that everything went to plan, that they had everything that humans desired. He was on his way in when he scented the older Archeron sister in the woods. He scoffed, he could have just as well heard her. Not only did she swear every five minutes, but she wasn’t very good at keeping her position in the woods a secret.

In a few hours, her dress was already ripped, her shoes were falling apart, and her face covered in mud. But her eyes were clear as they looked up at him, instead of fear, he was fierce determination thinly veiling crushing despair.

Cassian didn’t want to feel sorry for this girl.

Damn myself! He thought - because he did feel sorry for her. Rhysand had shown him all of what happened that day in the cottage. This girl standing before him with squared off shoulders had let her little sister get taken away by a stranger, had not fought back one bit to keep her, had not used her last moments to bid her goodbye. 

He understood what it was like to have family that rejected an innocent. Despite that, the girl was standing in front of him with her head held high. 

“You are Fae. Show me how to get through the Wall.”, she demanded. 

“Why?”, he demanded back. 

“None of your business.” she retorted. 

Cassian’s temper was uncharacteristically short. He wanted this girl back in her home. He didn’t want to have his Highlord or Feyre troubled by her insignificant family anymore. 

He became the Commander of the armies of Night Court, the Lord of Bloodshed, and he held it all over this girl. Standing to his full height, letting his wings flare out.

Her eyes widened as she took in the wings he knew she hadn’t seen yet. Instead of cowering, she stood her ground, even widened her stance. And unblinkingly locked her stormy grey eyes with his hazel ones. That was not something even most battle-hardened soldiers could do. 

“Tell me where the hole in the Wall is.” she said, this time slowly, vehemently.

“No,” he said, trying not to be impressed. “Go home.” 

“You know her?”, her wall of ice chipped, there was some hope in voice. 

“Yes.” 

Despite the set of her shoulders, her eyes betrayed relief, and he could see the toll of physical exhaustion hitting her.   

“Tell me.”

He sighed. “She is safe. She will not be harmed. And honestly, she is better off without you.”, he said, knowing his last words would find a mark. He needed her to stop looking for Feyre, and he needed to know.

“Now GO HOME. If not I can promise you the next time you run into a Fae in the woods, they won’t hesitate ripping you into little shreds.” he said. He pointed behind her. “Go that way, in about twenty minutes you will be on the border of your town. Now.”

She didn’t look like she was going to go anywhere. She gritted her teeth and stared him down. But finally, something in her snapped. Her shoulders sagged as she sensed the truth in his words. She turned around and started walking away, but not before imperiously glancing over her shoulder with one last word: “Bastard.”

How she knew he was from Rhysand’s court, he didn’t know. How she knew he wasn’t there to hurt and harm humans like some of the other Fae that made it over the wall, he had no idea. How she knew that that he could be trusted, that he would eventually give her the information she so desperately wanted, he didn’t know. 

But he thought about it the whole way home.

                                                       *** *** ***

The Highlord watched Cassian fly back into the city borders. It was a common sight, the silhouette of the Highlord looking out of the watchtower above the heavy city gates. Most knew, and those who didn’t, suspected the truth; that the curse trapped the Highlord in Velaris. As payback for keeping this city a secret from Amarantha, he was sentenced to watch it fall. He could leave sometimes, when the terms of the curse allowed him to, but he could not leave of his own free will. They watched his harsh, cruel expression as he stood unmoving as a statue above the city dying around him.

No one noticed the hooded figure walking straight through the small service door in the iron fence. No one could truly see him, their brains filling in his image as a just another guard or part of a shadow. No one saw as he finally did what he had been planning for the last 49 years, the plans that caused him to stretch him magic further than he ever had before, the plans her arrival had solidified. He was going to save Prythian. 

And as Rhysand, Highlord of the night court, winnowed away, no one would know.  

[bookaholic1012]

Prythian Magazine Part 11

Cassian and Lucien talk, Azriel gets his tea, and the Archeron sisters will soon be reunited. Oh, and Rhysand's mom and sister make an appearance.

Tagging: @sugarcoated44 @unicornbooks @ourbooksuniverse @ame233

If you want to be tagged or no longer want to, let me know!

ALL CHARACTERS BELONG TO SARAH J. MAAS

PM Masterlist  My Writing

Was going over to Mor’s armed with a thermos of soup for Lucien’s ‘sickness’ when I was really going to find out the truth a bad idea? One may call it that, but not me. In fact, I would say this is one of the best ideas I’ve ever had. Part of me knew that there was a reason why my friends lied about Lucien’s reason of absence and I should leave them alone, but I couldn’t. At least if he is ill, I would know that I did something to help him get better.

I pulled up in front of Mor’s and walked up to her front door. It only took a moment for Mor to open the door after I knocked.

“Cassian!” She greeted me, “What are you doing here?” Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, voice laced with distrust.

I gave a nonchalant shrug in return. “I had some leftover soup from dinner last night. I thought I could some over for Lucien.”

“Oh. Uh, thanks. I’ll just take that for you.” Mor’s tanned arm reached out for the thermos in my hands. I pulled it out of her grasp as her hands clenched around where the thermos was a mere second ago.

“Actually, I was hoping to bring it to Lucien myself. Give him my best wishes on his recovery and whatnot. Also, I owe Feyre an apology for cornering her earlier.” I explained.

“Okay. First of all, ‘Give him my best wishes on recovery’ really? By the Mother, Cass, you sound like he was in an accident, not like he has a cold. And second, what about me? Don’t I deserve an apology? Need I remind you, that you hounded me all day trying to get information on Lucien’s health? Finally-”

“I’m sorry, Mor.” I interrupted.

“Apology accepted, don’t worry about it. And don’t interrupt. Where was I? Oh, yeah. Finally, you cornered Feyre? Jeez, Cassian. He has a cold. Why must you ask so many questions?” Mor threw her arms up in exasperation when she was done scolding me.

“I asked questions because I don’t- I mean I didn’t - believe you two. Now I do, and I have something for Lucien. Can I come in now, Mor? It’s cold.” I said.

“Fine.” She grumbled, stepping out of the way.

Victory is mine!

“We should put makeup on you!” Feyre whisper-shouted at me.

“What? No!” I whisper-shouted back.

Through my open door, which Mor forgot to close on her way out after informing us she ordered pizza, we heard her and Cassian’s whole conversation. Currently, we were rushing around to get things that would help me appear sick.

“My skin’s paler than yours! If we put some foundation or something on you, you’ll appear sickly!” She explained.

“We are not putting makeup on me, and that is final!” I stated.

“Fine. You would look hot with makeup though. I might have some eyeshadow that would bring out your eyes…” She trailed off, most likely thinking about me,makeup, and how hot I would look.

“Feyre! Focus!” I told her, breaking Feyre out of her thoughts. Just then, we heard two voices, one male and one female, and heavy footsteps coming closer to the door. I dove under the covers, ruffled my hair, and attempted to look groggy and under the weather. Feyre grabbed a trash can, filled it with crumpled tissues, and sat down on the edge of my bed, so she appeared to be taking care of me.

The door opened fully, revealing Cassian and Mor, the former carrying something that resembles a thermos.

“Hey, Foxboy. Hi, Feyre.” Cassian greeted us.

“Hey, Cass.” Feyre said, getting up from the bed to give him a hug. I greeted him too, attempting to sound like a person who has a cold. I don’t think I succeeded.

When they parted, Cassian came over and took Feyre’s spot beside me, placing the thermos on the bedside table. He smiled down at me, which made me feel… something.

“Mor, Feyre, can you guys leave us? I want to talk to Lucien alone.” He requested, still holding my gaze.

“Sure, but aren’t you forgetting something, Cass?” Mor said with a pointed look in the other male’s direction.

“Hmm?” He looked up, “Oh, right. Sorry about earlier, Feyre. I was just doubtful, but now… I see you were right, so sorry for doubting you, and for questioning you earlier.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it, Cass. I get it.” Feyre shrugged it off.

With that, the ladies left, leaving me alone. With Cassian. In my room.

Someone help me. I begged. It’s not that I’m uncomfortable around Cassian. I just… feel something when I’m around him. I become aware of everything he does. Everything that happens when I’m with Cassian makes me feel guilty; I feel as if I’m betraying Jesminda and Andras, the latter more than the former.

It was then I realized there was an expectant silence in the air. Hazel eyes shown with amusement.

There’s more green than brown today.

Stop it. I reprimanded myself.

“Sorry. What did you say?” I asked, embarrassed at being caught not paying attention.

“I was just asking how you felt.”

“Oh, I’m feeling a little better thanks to the medicine I took.” “Good. Good. I hope you feel better soon. We have to get back to our regular scheduled bickering at work.” He teased. Him wanting me to get better though… that was sincere. It left me baffled. After everything my family has done to Mor, why would he want to get better? I always thought his comments were out of spite, not because we were friends, or something akin to that.

I let out a chuckle. “Yeah. I’ve missed our little squabbles.”

“Do you mind if I stay here and just talk?” Cassian asked, breaking the comfortable silence that enveloped the room.

I expected myself to feel that I did mind, but I found myself wanting to know what it was Cassian had to say.

“You can stay.” I told him.

“Bron. Hart. What information do you two have for me.” I said, hiding in the shadows. They knew who I was, but I couldn’t risk any paparazzi or passerbys to take a photo of myself.

“Well, we found out Tamlin has a meeting with Anthony Hybern. Ianthe will be with them.” Bron informed me.

“Do you have any details?” I inquired.

“We don’t know what the meeting is for,” Hart added, “But we do know that it will be held at Tamlin’s office at six in the evening on Friday.”

Two days from now.

“Is that all?” I further questioned.

“For now, yes. After Feyre and Lucien left, he’s been more secretive than usual.” Hart said.

“Okay, then. You’ll receive payment at the end of the week.” With that, I left. As I walked over to my car, I mulled over the information I received. Whatever the reason was for the meeting, it couldn’t be good if Hybern was being involved.

Before driving away, I made one last call.

“Amren? It’s Azriel. Are you in your office?”

“I am. Did you find something?” Her voice answered.

“I did. And it’s not good.”

“Where is my sister?!” Nesta screeched. I took a step back from the terrifying girl. Nesta Archeron is someone you do not want have angry with you.

“She left.” I answered, mustering up my courage.

“I know she left, but I want to know the correct circumstances as to why she left.” Nesta yelled.

“You read the article.” I said, nodding in the direction of Elain, who held the magazine where I told reporters of why Feyre left me.

“Feyre, would never cheat on someone. Whoever she is dating can be a scumbag and treat her poorly, but she would still remain faithful to them. What. Is. The. Truth.” Elain’s voice iron, her face contorted with fury. Elain, who was usually so kind and calm, was much more frightening when angered.

“Why do you care? It’s not like you ever cared for her in the first place.” My voice rose along with my temper.

A loud slap filled the room and my head cracked to the side. Nesta stood in front of me, her hand raised.

“We had our reasons. Tell me where my baby sister is now!” Nesta roared.

“Ask her yourself. She’s in the Night Court.” I snapped, trying to not lash out. Nesta was a lawyer, and a damn good one, too. Loads of people respected her. I couldn’t have someone like her ruin my reputation by informing the world of what I had done.

Feyre will tell them though. A nagging voice in my mind told me.

They’ll never find her. I reassured herself.

“Come on, Elain. Let’s go to Night Court.” Nesta said, storming towards the door.

“How do you know she’s in the Night Court?” I asked.

“Because you just said so, you moron. Even if you didn’t, your question confirmed it.” Elain snapped, before Nesta could even open her mouth. Before I could say anything, Elain slammed the door shut.

I’m not a moron… Am I?

“Rhys, can you please set the table.” My mom asked while checking the chicken she was baking.

“Of course, Mum.” I got up from the chair I was reading in to get the dishes and silverware for dinner.

“And please get your sister.” Mum added.

“Got it.” I told her, hurrying to finish setting up the table. When I was done, I rushed up the stairs to Luciana’s room.

“Luciana? May I come in?” I asked, knocking on the door.

“What’s the password?” My little sister’s voice answered from the other side. I smiled at her antics.

“Rhysand is the best big brother ever?” I guessed.

“Nope.”

“Rhysand is the best male model ever?” I suggested.

“Guess again!” Luciana sang.

“Rhysand is the handsomest person to ever grace the universe.”

“Wrong again! And you are not the handsomest person, Rhys.”

I gasped and grasped my chest even though Luciana couldn’t see me. “I’m wounded! Someone doesn’t think I am handsome! Help me by opening up this door!” I cried, jiggling the doorknob.

“Don’t be so dramatic.” My sister said, but she still opened the door. I stepped in her room, twirling as I did.

“I’m saved! Thank you, Lady Luciana. I am forever in your debt.” I bowed down at her feet.

“Get up, Lord Rhysand.” Luci snorted.

I did what she said and plopped down on her bed, dragging her down with me. Luci let out a squeal as she fell, and collapsed into giggles when she landed on top of me. I then proceeded to tickle her.

“S-stop! P-please!” She called out between her laughter.

“Never!” I exclaimed.

“Rhysand! Luciana!” My mother stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips. She tried her best to look stern, but her hazel eyes shone with amusement, and the corner of her lips were tugging upwards. I stopped tickling Luci immediately, trying to contain my own laughter.

“Rhys, I told you to get Luci for dinner. Not for you to start fooling around!” Mum scolded me.

“Sorry, Mum.” I apologized.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Just come down you two. And no more shenanigans.”

“Okay.” Luciana and I said in unison, but we shared a look, agreeing that the battle wasn’t over.

We gathered around the table, filling our plates with baked chicken, salad, and a variety of Illyrian meals.

“So, Rhys, when were you going to tell me that Feyre and Lucien were staying with Mor?”

I choked on my food. “How do you know?” I asked, staring bewilderedly at my mum, who kept on eating.

“When I invited Mor to dinner on Sunday earlier today, she asked if it would be alright if she brought along Lucien and Feyre.” Mum explained.

“Wait, you are hanging out with Feyre and Lucien again? Why didn’t you tell me?” My sister demanded.

“I was going to say something, Luci, but I knew you would beg to see her, and I wasn’t sure if Feyre would be ready to handle anymore company than me and the inner circle.” I explained to my sister.

“Still should have said something.” Luci pouted.

“I’m sorry, Luci.”

“Your forgiven, I suppose.” Luciana responded with a dramatic flair.

“Anyway,” I said, turning back to Mum, “I was going to tell you, promise, but like I told Luci, I didn’t know if Feyre could handle more people.”

“It’s alright, Rhys. I hope they can make it. Feyre and Lucien are such lovely people.” Mum said, though I could tell she was curious as to why Feyre may not have been able to handle more than a few people.

After dinner, I went to bed claiming I was tired. I laid, burrowed in my black sheets, trying to continue reading my book. In ten minutes, I read one sentence. My thoughts were consumed with Feyre Archeron.

*Luciana is Italian for 'light;moon' (at least according to the internet. If it's wrong, please let me know!)* *Selene (Rhys's mom) is Greek for 'moon' (again, according to the internet. If it's wrong, tell me!)*

Luciana is 10 in this fic. And now, that I'm thinking about it, you guys don't know any ages for the characters. I'll let you know, next chapter. As usual, please let me know your thoughts on this chapter! Weekly updates on Saturday!

Much love, bookaholic1012 <3