#marked by wyrd

[wingedblooms]

Secret, slumbering land

This meta is a continuation of theories (forbidden secrets, blooming dreams, bright as the dawn, and heart of the night court) about Elain’s connection to Wyrd and the land. This new thread focuses on the gentle healing land and lake that the sisters visit in their stories. Maasverse spoilers below, so please proceed with caution.

It seemed like a secret, slumbering land that time had forgotten. (acosf)

Both Feyre and Nesta visit a turquoise lake nestled in the mountains. Because their description is the same, this theory operates on the assumption that it is the same place. And since things come in threes in this series, Elain may visit this magical lake in her own story. When I reread the scenes with previous visits, I was struck by the language Sarah used to describe it—secret, slumbering, forgotten—and the clues those words might hold for Elain and Wyrd, the Stone Mother.

Secret

During the first visit to this lake, Azriel teaches Feyre to fly and shares their court philosophy on training, which is connected to a legend about Nephelle (more on that later). During this scene, Azriel is bathed in blinding sunlight and his shadows are gone. His appearance is stark and clear, readable.

In the blinding sun off the turquoise water, his shadows were gone, his face stark and clear. More human than I had ever seen him. “There’s no chance that I’ll be able to fly in the legions, is there?” I asked, kneeling beside him as he tended to my skinned palms with expert care and gentleness. The sun was brutal against his scars, hiding not one twisted, rippling splotch. (acowar)

@offtorivendell connected his appearance to the bonus chapter ages ago, and it is still one of my favorite metas. In that bonus chapter, we learn Azriel’s shadows are also prone to vanish around Elain.

Elain sucked in a soft breath that whispered over his skin. His shadows skittered back at the sound. They’d always been prone to vanish when she was around.  The golden necklace seemed ordinary—its chain unremarkable, the amulet tiny enough that it could be dismissed as an everyday charm. It was a small, flat rose fashioned of stained glass, designed so that when held to the light, the true depth of colors would become visible.  A thing of secret, lovely beauty. (Azriel’s bonus) 

He tells us he doesn't need to rely on his shadows to read her, so his deep trust and vulnerability might be the only explanation for his shadows' behavior, but they can also sense power and respond to it as power themselves. For example, if someone's power is related to music, they might sing or dance in response. What power, other than the revealing light of Truth, might cause them to vanish?

But even the silence weighed too heavily, and though the shadows kept him company, as they always had, as they always would, he found himself leaving the room. Entering the foyer. Soft steps padded from under the stair archway, and there she was.  The Faelights gilded Elain’s unbound hair, making her glow like the sun at dawn. She halted, her breath catching in her throat. (Azriel’s bonus) 

The Faelight reveals Elain's secret, lovely beauty: she glows like the sun at dawn. What do we know about dawn? In nature, dawn restores the light and awakens the earth. In the Maasverse, it is also associated with healing magic. And when we return to the lake in Nesta’s story, we learn it was once connected to healing. Healing light is bright and warm like the dawn; it has the power to pierce the darkness and outrace Death itself. It is pure life in its rawest form.

Sarah has repeatedly connected Elain to rebirth and renewal, especially in relation to Azriel: in his presence, she's the lovely fawn, vibrant spring behind her. Standing before Death. Even the headache tonic, a lighthearted remedy, serves as potential hint for this secret, lovely beauty: 

Then Azriel tipped his head back and laughed.  I’d never heard such a sound, deep and joyous. Cassian and Rhys joined him, the former grabbing the bottle from Azriel’s hand and examining it. “Brilliant,” Cassian said.  Elain smiled again, ducking her head.  Azriel mastered himself enough to say, “Thank you.” I’d never seen his hazel eyes so bright, the hues of green amid the brown and gray like veins of emerald. “This will be invaluable.” (acofas) 

Elain’s gift awakens life, veins of emerald, in the earthy brown and gray within his soul, just as she does in her own garden. It is no coincidence that Elain, who is most radiant in healing hues, glows like the sun at dawn in the dead of night. And Azriel is stark and clear before her just as he is about to finally allow himself a taste of pure life, of healing. In the wake of Elain’s healing presence, we even glimpse Azriel’s emotional scars through his internal dialogue. On healing journeys, lingering scars are faced and overcome rather than avoided. Some wounds require deep trust as the healer, patient as a gardener, walks the road with them on that journey. 

Slumbering

On our second visit to the lake, we learn the surrounding land is inhabited by ordinary faeries who prefer solitude. This immediately made me think about Elain, content and beautiful in her simple gardening dress, and Feyre’s comment about her clinging to Azriel for some peace and quiet. It would be fitting for them to come here in their story, to find joy and love and healing here together. And if I were to hand select a place for Rosehall, where someone like Azriel's mother could find solitude and healing, this would be it.

He knew these mountains well enough from flying over them for centuries: shepherds lived here, usually ordinary faeries who preferred the solitude of the towering green and brownish-black stones to more populated areas. The peaks weren’t as brutal and sharp as those in Illyria, but there was a presence to them that he couldn’t quite explain. Mor had once told him that long ago, these lands had been used for healing. That people injured in body and spirit had ventured to these hills, the lake they were now two and a half days from reaching, to recover. Perhaps that was why he’d come. Some instinct had remembered the healing, felt this land’s slumbering heart, and decided to bring Nesta here. 

-

She’d never seen such a view. It seemed like a secret, slumbering land that time had forgotten. […] The mountains watched her, the river sang to her, as if guiding her onward to that lake. (acosf)

The mountains here aren't brutal and sharp, but they still have a powerful presence. Like the third sister. The mountains watched Nesta like a protective seer, and the river sang to her, as if guiding her onward to that lake, like Elain’s scent. Her scent is a sparkling river, a promise of spring, that guided Nesta to her. And what did Nesta find when she reached the source of that scent? Elain’s sharp angles, once like the Illyrian mountains after she was Made, were now replaced with softness. She glowed with health and her smile was bright as the sun. She also smells of jasmine and honey, which are soothing scents and herbs that have healing properties. 

Her sister’s delicate scent of jasmine and honey lingered in the red-stoned hall like a promise of spring, a sparkling river that she followed to the open doors of the chamber. Elain stood at the wall of windows, clad in a lilac gown whose close-fitting bodice showed how well her sister had filled out since those initial days in the Night Court. Gone were the sharp angles, replaced by softness and elegant curves. […] Her sister turned toward her, glowing with health. Elain’s smile was as bright as the setting sun beyond the windows. (acosf) 

In the span of a few pages, we're also told twice that this land is slumbering. Since it was once used for healing, it would make sense for healing magic to be at the core of its slumbering heart. Remember, the rawest form of healing magic is pure life and we just learned that Wyrd, the Stone Mother, was once blossoming with pure life. Elain’s wyrdcrown seems to mirror Stone Mother's creative powers in the form of sleeping buds:

She had no mental shields, no barriers. The gates to her mind…Solid iron, covered in vines of flowers—or it would have been. The blossoms were all sealed, sleeping buds tucked into tangles of leaves and thorns. (acowar)

This imagery of Elain’s power has always reminded me of the darkness of creation and rest Yrene receives guidance from while she bathes in Silba’s Womb, which she calls the slumbering heart of the earth. In the tog series, Silba was the goddess of healing and gentle deaths and Elain shares many connections with the healers who honor her. So, it’s possible slumbering simply means the land reflects the restful and restorative healing power of those who once lived on and fed the magic of the land. 

Slumbering or sleeping can also indicate dormant magic, which is something we’ve seen in both tog and cc. In tog, Dorian has raw magic and he can shape it into different things—phantom hands, shifting, healing, etc. His raw magic is sleeping in his heart before he explores it. 

“You have power in you, Prince. More power than you realize.” She touched his chest, tracing a symbol there, too, and some of the court ladies gasped. But Nehemia’s eyes were locked on his. “It sleeps,” she whispered, tapping his heart. “In here. When the time comes, when it awakens, do not be afraid.” She removed her hand and gave him a sad smile. “When it is time, I will help you.” With that, she walked away, the courtiers parting, then swallowing up her wake. He stared after the princess, wondering what her last words had meant. And why, when she said them, something ancient and slumbering deep inside him had opened an eye. (com)

We recently learned the Asteri poisoned the waters in Midgard with a parasite to feed off of the magic of its citizens. This parasite warped their magic and it is described as dormant and tethered as a result:

The Asteri had infected the water we consumed with a parasite. They’d poisoned the lakes and streams and oceans. The parasites burrowed their way into our bodies, warping our magic. (hofas) - Somehow, a barrier had been removed. One that had ordered him to stand down, to obey … It was nothing but ashes now. Only dominance remained. Untethered. But filling the void of that barrier with a rising, raging force— (Ithan’s magic, hofas) - Tharion withdrew. Lidia shook with rage and power. Tharion could feel it shuddering around him, rising up like a behemoth from the deep. What had that antidote woken in her? What had been taken during the Drop? And what had lain dormant, all this time? His water seemed to quail at it—like it knew something he didn’t. (Lidia’s magic, hofas) - Warm, bright magic answered. Healing magic, rising to the surface as if it had been dormant in his blood. He had no idea how to use it, how to do anything other than will it with a simple Save him. […] He willed that lovely, bright power to keep healing Ketos, though. (Ruhn’s magic, hofas)

Similarly, the Asteri pooled and imbued their magic in Wyrd to warp her purely creative magic. 

The Cauldron was of our world, our heritage. But upon arriving here, the Daglan captured it and used their powers to warp it. To turn it from what it had been into something deadlier. No longer just a tool of creation, but of destruction. And the horrors it produced…those, too, my parents would turn to their advantage. (hofas) - Those of us who ventured here found ways to amplify that power, thanks to the gifts of the land. We pooled our power, and imbued those gifts into the Cauldron so that it would work our will. We Made the Trove from it. And then bound the very essence of the Cauldron to the soul of this world.” (hofas)

Is it possible Elain’s sleeping buds, as a mirror of Wyrd’s original magic, represent what remains dormant, tethered?

“Or maybe it’s dormant, as the Cauldron is now asleep and safely hidden in Cretea with Drakon and Miryam. Her power could rise at any moment.” A chill skittered down Cassian’s spine. He trusted the Seraphim prince and the half-human woman to keep the Cauldron concealed, but there would be nothing they or anyone could do to control its power if awoken. (acosf)

In the scene above, Cassian and Rhysand are discussing Nesta’s powers. We learn that they aren’t dormant, which makes sense; they seem to represent the magic that the Asteri imbued into Wyrd to become a tool of death and destruction. That magic might be feeding off of Wyrd’s creative powers like a parasite and keep her half-awake, like the Fae in Midgard and, perhaps, the healing land: 

It was all so still, yet watchful, somehow. As if she were surrounded by something ancient and half-awake. As if each peak had its own moods and preferences, like whether the clouds clung to or avoided them, or trees lined their sides or left them bare. Their shapes were so odd and long that they looked as if behemoths had once lain down beside the rivers, pulled a rumpled blanket over themselves, and fallen asleep forever. (acosf)

Ancient, half-awake, behemoth. These terms are also used to describe Wyrd. The word behemoth in particular is associated with a primordial chaos monster in mythology and may be yet another potential hint that Chaos is Hel’s name for Wyrd.

The Under-King lounged on a throne beneath a behemoth statue of a figure holding a black metal bowl between her upraised hands. […] “And she,” the Under-King went on, gesturing to that unusual depiction of Urd towering above him, “was not a goddess, but a force that governed worlds. A cauldron of life, brimming with the language of creation. Urd, they call her here—a bastardized version of her true name. Wyrd, we called her in that old world.” (hofas)

-

As they walked up those steps and entered a space that was a near-mirror to temples back home—indeed, its layout was identical to the last temple Hunt had stood in: Urd’s Temple. […] “The Temple of Chaos is a sacred place,” Apollion said sharply. “We shall never defile it with violence.” The words rumbled like thunder again. (hofas)

-

But the Cauldron. As if some great sleeping beast opened an eye. The Cauldron seemed to sense us watching. Sense us there. (acowar)

@silverlinedeyes, @offtorivendell, and I believe Wyrd saw Elain as a kindred spirit and gifted her the language of creation with the hope that she could be the key to her freedom, her healing in body and spirit. Those original creative powers could include a deep connection with the earth (earth magic), divine sense (seer abilities), fluid form and movement (travel and shifting), and healing, pure life and world-building power. Elain might already be testing the boundaries of that creative magic, learning to shape it into different things (explaining her mysterious appearances).

Elain may also need to bring her sisters together to help Wyrd. They represent the three faces of the Mother together and have been marked by her from the beginning of the series. When Feyre physically healed the Cauldron with the help of Rhysand, she cupped her hands and became the first face of the Mother. Nesta became the second face of the Mother when she healed Feyre and Nyx with the Trove. And the healing lake appears to hint at Elain's role, the third face of the Mother:

Nesta cleared the hill that Cassian had mounted ahead, and a sparkling, turquoise lake spread before them. It lay slightly sunken between two peaks, as if a pair of green hands had been cupped to hold the water within them. Gray stones lined its shore. (acosf)

This is our first earthen depiction of the Stone Mother. Someone with green fingers or a green thumb is skilled at gardening. Gardeners provide gentle order to pure, blossoming life with their green hands. And we already know, thanks to Rhys and Feyre, that Elain won’t hesitate to get her hands dirty—stained green, even—for a pretty result. 

When Elain's creative magic rises in her story, will it flow like a sparkling river, unfurl like a bloom, to awaken the soul of the earth? Could it soothe Azriel’s icy rage and bring true spring and healing to Ramiel, softening its sharp angles when its heart, Wyrd, is finally restored? Only time will tell.

Forgotten

The land is also described as a place time had forgotten and, as I mentioned earlier, it's where Azriel shared the story of Nephelle—the one who had been passed over, who had been forgotten—while he tended to Feyre's wounds after a fall during flying practice.

Nephelle, who had been passed over, who had been forgotten…She outraced death itself. […] And yet her too-small wingspan, that deformed wing…they did not fail her. Not once. Not for one wing beat. (acowar)

Nephelle wanted to be a warrior, but was turned away due to her small wingspan. So, she made herself indispensable as a cartographer and excelled at finding the most geographically advantageous positions for their armies. And now that hofas has been released, we know earth magic can be used to locate the best geographical locations:

…those with earth magic were sent ahead to scout lands [...] Not only the best geographical locations, but magical ones, too. They could sense the ley lines—the channels of energy running throughout the land, throughout Midgard. They told the Asteri to build their cities where several of the lines met, at natural crossroads of power, and picked those places for the Fae to settle, too. But they selected Avallen just for the Fae. To be their personal, eternal stronghold.” (hofas)

Those with earth magic are deeply connected to the land and their creative power flows freely in places where the natural magic in the land is untethered. Is it possible Nephelle excelled at finding the best locations because she possessed earth magic? And could that come into play in the next story if Elain possesses earth magic as part of her creative powers?

Despite being perceived as weak, Nephelle outraced death itself with her small wingspan to save Miryam. Her miraculous rescue inspired the Night Court's philosophy toward training: 

I raised a brow. Azriel shrugged. “We—Rhys, Cass, and I—will occasionally remind each other that what we think to be our greatest weakness can sometimes be our biggest strength. And that the most unlikely person can alter the course of history.”  “The Nephelle Philosophy.” (acowar) 

We saw this philosophy in action at the final battle with Hybern when Elain raced against death itself and appeared out of nowhere with Truth-Teller to protect her family. Like Nephelle, she was and still is passed over, forgotten.

Elain is pleasant to look at, her mother had once mused while Nesta sat beside her dressing table, a servant silently brushing her mother’s gold-brown hair, but she has no ambition. She does not dream beyond her garden and pretty clothes. (Nesta's memory of Mama Archeron, acosf)

-

"Go back to Feyre and your little garden." (Nesta to Elain, acosf)

-

Elain said, "Then I will find it. I might require some time to...reacquaint myself with my powers, but I could start today." "Absolutely not," Nesta spat, fingers curling at her sides. "Absolutely not." "Why?" Elain demanded. "Shall I tend to my little garden forever?" When Nesta flinched, Elain said, "You can't have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater." "Then go off on adventures," Nesta said. "Go drink and fuck strangers. But stay away from the Cauldron." (Elain and Nesta's exchange, acosf)

-

Elain in black was ridiculous. Yes, she was beautiful, but the color of her long-sleeved, modest gown leeched the brightness from her face. It wore her, rather than the other way around. And he knew the cruelty of the Hewn City troubled her. But she hadn’t hesitated to come. When Feyre had offered to let her remain home, Elain had squared her shoulders and declared that she was a part of this court—and would do whatever was needed. So Elain had let her golden-brown hair down tonight, and pinned it back with twin combs of pearl. He’d never once in the two years he’d known her found Elain to be plain, but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court…It sucked the life from her. (Cassian's observation, acosf)

These quotes hit differently with the release of hofas. @offtorivendell and @willowmeres seem to be on track with their theories that the warped magic of Hewn City affected Elain's creative magic. What if she reflects the magic of the land around her, and when that magic is warped or tethered, her physical appearance mirrors it? Is this another sign she will be able to use the language of creation to unearth Prythian’s secrets, forgotten by time? And maybe, like the legendary Nephelle, the things that Elain is viewed as weak for—her little garden, a symbol of her care for and connection to the land, and her appearance, a reflection of what was forgotten—actually become her family's biggest strength.

[wingedblooms]

I love this and I agree that the runes on the blades are Wyrdmarks. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that they were Made in the Cauldron during a time of great need, and played an important role in defeating the Daglan/Asteri, just like the Archeron sisters were Made in the Cauldron and were instrumental in defeating yet another tyrant in the original series (a priestess, leaders, and Illyrians were present for that making as well). The sisters have been marked by Wyrd from the beginning, and I can’t help but think it is connected to restoring the land and the force that created it, Wyrd.

Truth-Teller, Gwydion and Illyrian Runes... or are they actually Wyrdmarks?

This post was written for @azrielappreciationweek Day 7 - Free

Disclaimer: as always, this is just a theory that I think is fun and it makes no claim of being canon. It's definitely entering crack theory territory. This post also isn't Azriel specific - it's more about the dagger he has used for centuries and how it may tie into the Maasverse, or Prythian's plot, as a whole than Azriel himself. I know it's Azriel Appreciation Week, but this is his dagger, at least currently, so I feel like it's okay. It also rambles a bit, sorry.

Spoilers: there are big, huge, massive Maasverse spoilers ahead, so please beware.

Other posts about Azriel and/or Truth-Teller you might find relevant:

Why is Azriel so different? On Dusk, Hel and the Valg

What if Azriel - or his Shadows - are Made Beings?

Azriel could be Koschei’s heir; a crack theory

Shadows, siphons and fog; has something happened in Velaris?

Powerful Heirlooms and the Four Treasures of the Tuatha de Danann

Does Truth-Teller portend a future relationship between Azriel and Elain Archeron? Especially the first section, about Fragarach inspiring TT.

The possible significance of Azriel and Elain Archeron, the Embrace of Solas and Cthona, the paired blades Gwydion and Truth-Teller, and thin places; a theory - in particular the section about the two Made blades.

Love it or hate it - though personally, I love it for many reasons - we all know about the "Truth-Teller scene" in ACOWAR. While I do think it will end up being incredibly crucial and symbolic for Azriel and Elain Archeron as a couple (you may disagree of course), I also think there is a good chance that its importance to the overall plot was intentionally highlighted by its inclusion in the ACOTAR colouring book, which is what I hope to discuss here (plot, not romance, though as this is romantasy I do think the couple will be reflected in the plot/vice versa).

Here is the passage again, to refresh your memory:

Viviane stepped in, offering a Winter Court fashion that was far less scandalous: leather pants, but paired with a thigh-length blue surcoat, white fur trimming the collar. In the heat, it’d be miserable, but Elain was thankful enough that she didn’t complain when we again emerged from the covered wagon and found our companions waiting. She refused the knife Cassian handed her, though. Went white as death at the sight of it. Azriel, still limping, merely nudged aside Cassian and extended another option. “This is Truth-Teller,” he told her softly. “I won’t be using it today—so I want you to.” His wings had healed—though long, thin scars now raked down them. Still not strong enough, Madja had warned him, to fly today. The argument with Rhys this morning had been swift and brutal: Azriel insisted he could fly—fight with the legions, as they’d planned. Rhys refused. Cassian refused. Azriel threatened to slip into shadow and fight anyway. Rhys merely said that if he so much as tried, he’d chain Azriel to a tree. And Azriel … It was only when Mor had entered the tent and begged him—begged him with tears in her eyes—that he relented. Agreed to be eyes and ears and nothing else. And now, standing amongst the sighing meadow grasses in his Illyrian armor, all seven Siphons gleaming … Elain’s eyes widened at the obsidian-hilted blade in Azriel’s scarred hand. The runes on the dark scabbard. “It has never failed me once,” the shadowsinger said, the midday sun devoured by the dark blade. “Some people say it is magic and will always strike true.” He gently took her hand and pressed the hilt of the legendary blade into it. “It will serve you well.” “I—I don’t know how to use it—” “I’ll make sure you don’t have to,” I said, grass crunching as I stepped closer. Elain weighed my words … and slowly closed her fingers around the blade. Cassian gawked at Azriel, and I wondered how often Azriel had lent out that blade— Never, Rhys said from where he finished buckling on his own weapons against the side of the wagon. I have never once seen Azriel let another person touch that knife. Elain looked up at Azriel, their eyes meeting, his hand still lingering on the hilt of the blade. I saw the painting in my mind: the lovely fawn, blooming spring vibrant behind her. Standing before Death, shadows and terrors lurking over his shoulder. Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two. The only bridge of connection … that knife. Paint that when we get home. Busybody. - ACOWAR, chapter 69

I have previously theorised that Truth-Teller may have pierced the veil of Prythian's world in order to let Elain shadow walk through the murky realm/void to save Nesta and Cassian at the end of ACOWAR - which of course parallels Azriel's threat to "slip into shadow and fight anyway" - but it also ties into the power that Truth-Teller and Gwydion/the Starsword can activate together: instead of opening a portal to somewhere, as a few of us had previously theorised about Truth-Teller alone, we learnt in HOFAS that the dagger and sword will open a portal to nowhere.

A black hole... or a Void?

@wingedblooms has previously suggested that the woman on the cover of HOFAS, who had runes - or were they really Wyrdmarks? - down her arms, may be Wyrd, and I agree. We would both especially love it if Wyrd was the secret language of the universe - the language spoken by shadow, wind and stone, or even what Singers used to cast spells - because how much would that make sense? It would also tie TOG in with a tidy bow, given the importance of Wyrd, Wyrdmarks, Wyrdkeys and Wyrdgates to Aelin's story.

But it could get wrapped up even tidier. I hope.

The markings on Truth-Teller's sheath

Take a much closer look at the "Illyrian runes" on Truth-Teller's scabbard, the runes that SJM made sure existed in print, in May 2017 (the colouring book was published the same day that ACOWAR came out, on the 2nd of May).

But back to the runes.

Do you see what I see?!

They are so similar to the runes on HOFAS' cover that it cannot be coincidental? I acknowledge that they're not identical, but they pass the vibe check.

A. I've previously discussed the possibility of the first rune on the HOFAS cover being derived from the Embrace of Solas and Cthona, and that it might have been indicating the two Made blades, Gwydion and Truth-Teller, coming together to create a portal to nowhere. @wingedblooms has also brilliantly suggested that it could be depicting the three mountains of the Night Court, or even the three sister peaks. But do you see the similarity with the top rune(s) on Truth-Teller's scabbard? The dot and two ^ type markings come together differently, but imo the components are still there.

B. This portion is the weakest link for sure, not least because there are more runes on the woman's arm than Truth-Teller's sheath - and I'm no artist so my opinion definitely comes with a huge heaping of salt (if anyone wants to weigh in then please do!) - but I can see similarities in the elements of certain runes. If I put my clown hat on then the spiral could be referring to a vortex/portal, and the marking half hidden by the O could be depicting a ship... you know, like those names after the Archeron sisters.

C. The two opposing triangles on Truth-Teller could be referencing the diamond on the woman's forearm and the crescent moon shape half hidden by Azriel's thumb could potentially be linked with the crescent moon shape above the diamond. Could the diamond on each of her forearms be suggesting siphons, like those worn by Azriel and Cassian? And is the crescent moon referring to the Mother, or Wyrd? SJM paralleled siphons and invoking stones were in ACOSF, was she hinting that the Illyrians and the priestesses all serve Wyrd in the end?

If I'm correct - a big "if" - the difference in runes, or Wyrdmarks, could be down to one of a few potential reasons (though the following list is not exhaustive):

It was always intentional so we wouldn't piece it together too easily.

The almost seven year gap between ACOWAR and the colouring book coming out in 2017, and HOFAS in 2024. Things change.

The in-universe time difference between Wyrd's birth/creation and Truth-Teller's forging. Did the wyrdmarks "evolve," so to speak?

The Wyrdmarks are not actually identical; perhaps they only look similar because they have similar or even complementary meanings?

I'm actually completely wrong and need to remove my clown makeup right now. 🤡

It would make sense that Truth-Teller's wyrdmarks were not identical to those we would see on Wyrd (assuming it is actually Her on HOFAS' cover). One of those things is a goddess, a force who created their entire universe, and the other is a dagger that can help open a portal to the Void and ferry the bearer through. Truth-Teller's scabbard might tell a story, it might hold a warning, or even contain a spell or the instructions for activating its magic etc; are they a spell to contain the power of the blade, as Bryce hinted at in HOFAS, or something else?

As if their sheaths had kept their power contained, the naked metal now throbbed against her palm, up her arms, tugging toward each other so violently it took all her strength to keep them apart. - HOFAS, chapter 48

It's just a pity that - unless I missed it - we weren't told about any markings on the Starsword, though that's assuming that its scabbard¹ was the original (or that Truth-Teller's is the original, of course - maybe it was given a new sheath, one with a very specific message, after Silene returned to Prythian). All we know is that both blades were Made by the Cauldron, with their obsidian² (wyrdstone?) hilts and black Iridium blades that can devour light (though Gwydion's blade can sparkle) and appear muted in darkness, I assume because there is no sunlight to charge their magic.

¹ @ladynightcourt3 has previously suggested that Truth-Teller may have been blessed by the God of Truth, who also blessed Damaris - the Sword of Truth, first wielded by Gavin Havilliard and currently claimed by Dorian Havilliard - which also has Wyrdmarks on its scabbard and was used in the Valg king Erawan's death. She's also reminded me that the Asterion blades in TOG also have markings, and are described as being made of a dark metal imbued with starlight... sounds familiar!

² @emmitaaa4 reminded me that wyrdstone can cause headaches in those who carry it - and who is known to rub his temples so much that Elain gifted him headache powder? Azriel.

I have spoken before about the possibility of the obsidian hilts either being possessed by some sort of Void based being, or that the material may help the Made blades attract a prince of Hel by design (here and here). Imagine if the Iridium³ blades come from a meteorite originating in Hel. Could the Made blades be secret wyrdkeys thanks to their hilts?

³ The element iridium's name is derived from "Iris," which means rainbow. Could this be where the meteorite that went into forging Gwydion and Truth-Teller have fallen... in the Rainbow of Velaris? What does this mean for Velaris' history, or the future of the Made blades? Will Feyre, the protector of the Rainbow, become involved?

What might this mean for Prythian?

Let's revisit the Truth-Teller scene, and pay close attention to Elain's clothes: Winter Court attire. Too warm, but Elain didn't complain... is that because she suspected she may have to brave the cold, harsh environment in the space between before the day was done? My next suggestion is unlikely, but could her face have turned crimson because she didn't know how to ask for warmer clothes without explaining that she'd Seen that she'd need them, especially if she knew that she was going to be sent away and she'd have to work from the shadows, as uaual? This could even tie in with my theory that the Archeron sisters will "sail" (for lack of a better term, sorry I know it's silly) the bat brothers by Singing them across the Void, possibly to Hel, as Nesta wanted insulated leathers in ACOSF. @elrieldreamer and I have previously discussed the fact that the serpents (dragons?) on HOFAS' cover look like they could be passing through Wyrdgates, which could also circle into the "sailing through the void" idea I mentioned in my post about The Weaver's Song, because Illyrian armour is known to feature scales. So isn't it handy that Emerie can source fleece-lined leathers!

“I was about to write to you before Bellius interrupted me. I asked about making leathers with fleece inside.” Emerie leaned her forearms on the immaculate counter. “It can be done, but it’s not cheap.” “Then it’s beyond my means, but thank you for finding out anyway.” “I could order it and let you pay it off as you’re able.” - ACOSF, chapter 25

Then there's the blade-like object that appears to be pointing down onto the eight-pointed star above the woman's head; could it be indicating Truth-Teller or Gwydion, or even Damaris - the Sword of Truth - from TOG?

The eight-pointed star obviously holds relevance to Nesta, given the tattoos that she and Cassian shared for much of ACOSF and Bryce's parting remarks in HOFAS, and we know the Starborn used it as their symbol, but why? Many don't realise that it may also have been the symbol on 'The Elain' ship that Papa Archeron commissioned among the three named for each of his daughters. Could it be a seafaring compass rose/rose of the winds, as Wingedblooms has previously discussed? Is it also related to Ishtar, another amazing theory shared by @wingedblooms' and @merymoonbeam? Or could it actually be the Chaos⁴ star, and truly be a symbol of Wyrd as Chaos, the Mother - or dam - to all?

⁴ I hope to post this theory soon.

I cannot move past the fact that, in addition to The Elain flying an eight-pointed star with nothing on either side (referencing the Void?), The Nesta was flying a dragon with two suns, and The Feyre was flying two crescent moons and diamonds. It has to mean something, right?

I still find it really interesting that one of the eyes of the woman on HOFAS' cover - which seems to be all about depicting gate travel and world walking - appears to be bleeding, when Gwyn remarked in ACOSF that reading Merrill's theories about multiple worlds made her eyes bleed.

Gwyn frowned. “Lots of things. Merrill’s brilliant. Horrible, but brilliant. When she first came here, she was obsessed with theories regarding the existence of different realms—different worlds. Living on top of each other without even knowing it. Whether there is merely one existence, our existence, or if it might be possible for worlds to overlap, occupying the same space but separated by time and a whole bunch of other things I can’t even begin to explain to you because I barely understand them myself.” Nesta’s brows rose. “Really?” “Some philosophers believe there are eleven worlds like that. And some believe there are as many as twenty-six, the last one being Time itself, which …” Gwyn’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Honestly, I looked at some of her early research and my eyes bled just reading her theorizing and formulas.” Nesta chuckled. “I can imagine. But she’s researching something else now?” “Yes, thank the Cauldron. She’s writing a comprehensive history of the Valkyries.” - ACOSF, chapter 13

Now, Gwyn was obviously being flippant while attempting to demonstrate the extent of Merrill's brilliance, but who do we know who has peered across one world so far, who may be set up as a worldwalker with a strong affinity to any thin places? Elain Archeron, the sister whose ship flew the eight pointed star sail for all to see. A Seer. Will the Seer's eyes bleed when she looks too far, or past wards of "mist and shadow" designed to keep her out?

“Firebird by day,” Rhys mused, “woman by night … So she’s held captive by this sorcerer-lord?” Elain shook her head. “I don’t know. I hear her—her screaming. With rage. Utter rage …” She shuddered. Mor leaned forward. “Do you know why the other queens cursed her—sold her to him?” Elain studied the table. “No. No—that is all mist and shadow.” Rhys blew out a breath. “Can you sense where she is?” “There is … a lake. Deep in—in the continent, I think. Hidden amongst mountains and ancient forests.” Elain’s throat bobbed. “He keeps them all at the lake.” “Other women like her?” “Yes—and no. Their feathers are white as snow. They glide across the water—while she rages through the skies above it.” - ACOWAR, chapter 33

Its over-large teeth clacked faintly. “Thrice now, we have met. Thrice now, you have hunted for me. This time, you sent the trembling fawn to find me. I did not expect to see those doe-eyes peering at me from across the world.” - ACOWAR, chapter 58

Alpha and omega. Ask and answer (and Azriel told Elain that Truth-Teller would "serve" - a synonym to "answer" - her well). Made (or Make) and Unmade (or Unmake). Matter and antimatter. Gwydion can kill the unkillable, while Truth-Teller slew an almost unstoppable king. They Sing⁵ to each other - is it a spell, or are they communicating in Wyrd, the secret language of the universe > Chaos > eight pointed star? - and to those who bear enough Starborn magic to hear it. Azriel learnt that he can charge a Starborn fae like Bryce in HOFAS, there are three Archeron sisters who share significant parallels with Bryce and Theia... and wouldn't you know it, Azriel has two brothers. I could always be wrong, but this all seems fated to me.

⁵ I know I'm not alone in speculating whether Elain heard Truth-Teller Singing to her like kin, as @wingedblooms, @emmitaaa4, @psychologynerd and @ladynightcourt3 all share this theory at least (I've also wondered if she can hear Azriel's siphons singing, but that's another theory). Is this why Elain's eyes widened when Azriel offered Truth-Teller? Did it Sing to her? Is she a Singer, as @silverlinedeyes, @wingedblooms and I suspect? Was this in addition to (or instead of) her Seeing herself using it to kill the king? If true, this could parallel the scene earlier on in HOFAS where Elain's eyes widened at "the shadowsinger's display" just before Azriel winnowed her to Windhaven; was Elain listening to his shadows and/or Truth-Teller such that she could activate the blades (or her own) hypothetical shadow walking magic later on?

Anyway, sorry for rambling on a fair bit there, if you made it this far thank you for reading my nonsense! I am so excited to learn what SJM has been planning, because just like Koschei I think she's been playing the long game and setting all of these pieces up for years, even if it was just in case.

[acourtofquestions]

Aelin stumbled over root and rock, the mask and the chains clanking, blood soaking her. Not just blood from her own wounds, but those of others. She was thin, her golden hair so much longer. Too long, even with the time apart. It fell nearly to her navel, most of it dark with caked blood. As if she'd run through a rain of it.

Aelin halted at the edge of the clearing. Her feet were bare, and the thin, short shift she wore revealed no major injuries. But there was little recognition in Aelin's eyes, shadowed with the mask.

Aelin, as if her body didn't quite belong to her, lifted her shackled, metal-encased hands. The chain linking them had been severed, and hung in pieces off either manacle. The same with those at her ankles.

She tugged at one of the metal gauntlets. It didn't budge. She tugged again. The gauntlet didn't so much as shift.

"Take it off." Her voice was low, gravelly.

Elide didn't know which one of them she'd ordered, but before she could cross the clearing, Lorcan gripped the queen's wrist to examine the locks. One corner of his mouth tightened. There was no easy way to free them, then. Elide approached, her limp deep once more with Gavriel's magic occupied. The gauntlets had been locked at her wrist, overlapping slightly with the shackle. Both had small keyholes. Both were made from iron. Elide shifted slightly, bracing her weight on her uninjured leg, to get a view of where the mask was bound to the back of Aelin's head. That lock was more complicated than the others, the chains thick and ancient. Lorcan had fitted the tip of a slender dagger into the lock of the gauntlet, and was now angling it, trying to pick the mechanism.

"Take it off." The queen's guttural words were swallowed by the moss-crusted trees.

"I'm trying," Lorcan said--not gently, though certainly without his usual coldness. The dagger scraped in the lock, but to no avail.

"Take it off." The queen began trembling. --

Aelin snatched the dagger from him, metal clicking on metal as she fitted the blade's tip into the lock. The dagger shook in her ironclad hand. "Take it off," she breathed, lips curling back from her teeth. "Take it off."

Lorcan made to grab the dagger, but she angled away. He snapped, "These locks are too clever. We need a proper locksmith."

Panting through her clenched teeth, Aelin dug and twisted the dagger into the gauntlet's lock. A snap cracked through the clearing. But not the lock. Aelin withdrew the dagger to reveal the broken, chipped point. A shard of metal tumbled from the lock and into the moss. Aelin stared at the broken blade, at the shard in the greenery cushioning her bare, bloodied feet, her breaths coming faster and faster. Then she dropped the dagger into the moss. Began clawing at the shackles on her arms, the gauntlets on her hands, the mask on her face.

"Take it off," she begged as she scratched and tugged and yanked. "Take it off!"

Elide reached a hand for her, to stop her before she ripped the skin clean off her bones, but Aelin dodged away, staggering deeper into the clearing. The queen dropped to her knees, bowing over them, and clawed at the mask. It didn't so much as move. Elide glanced to Lorcan. He was frozen, eyes wide as Aelin knelt in the moss, as her breathina became edaed with sobs. He had done this. Led them to this. Elide stepped toward Aelin.

The queen's gauntlets drew blood where they scraped into her neck, her jaw, as she heaved against the mask. "Take it off!" The plea turned into a scream. "Take it off!"

Over and over, the queen screamed it. "Take it off take it off take it off!" She was sobbing amid her screaming, the sounds shattering through the ancient forest. She said no other words. Pleaded to no gods, no ancestors. Only those words, again and again and again.

Take it off take it off take it off.

Movement broke through the trees behind them, and the fact that Lorcan did not go for his weapons told Elide who it was. But any relief was short-lived as Rowan and Gavriel emerged, a massive white wolf hauled between them. The wolf whose jaws had clamped around Elide's arm, tearing flesh to the bone.

Fenrys.

He was unconscious, tongue lagging from his bloodied maw. Rowan had barely entered the clearing before he set down the wolf and stalked for Aelin. The prince was covered in blood. From his unhindered steps, Elide knew it wasn't his. From the blood coating his chin, his neck... She didn't want to know.

Aelin ripped at the immovable mask, either unaware or uncaring of the prince before her. Her consort, husband, and mate. "Aelin."

Take it off, take it off, take it off.

Her screams were unbearable. Worse than those that day on the beach in Eyllwe.

Gavriel came to stand beside Elide, his golden skin pale as he took in the frantic queen.

Slowly, Rowan knelt before her. "Aelin."

She only tipped her head up to the forest canopy and sobbed. Blood ran down her neck from the scratches she'd dug into her skin, mingling with what already coated her. Rowan reached out a trembling hand, the only sign of the agony Elide had little doubt was coursing through him. Gently, he laid his hands on her wrists; gently, he closed his fingers around them. Halting the brutal clawing and digging.

Aelin sobbed, her body shuddering with the force of it. "Take it off."

Rowan's eyes flickered, panic and heartbreak and longing shining there. "I will. But you have to be still, Fireheart. Just for a few moments."

"Take it off." The sobs ebbed, tricking into something broken and raw. Rowan ran his thumbs over her wrists, over those iron shackles. As if it were nothing but her skin. Slowly, her shaking eased.

No, not eased, Elide realized as Rowan rose to his feet and stalked behind the queen. But contained, turned inward. Tremors rippled through Aelin's tense body, but she kept still as Rowan examined the lock. Yet something like shock, then horror and sorrow, flashed over his face, as he surveyed her back. It was gone as soon as it appeared.

A glance, and Gavriel and Lorcan drifted to his side, their steps slow. Unthreatening.

Elide only walked to Aelin and took up the spot where Rowan had been. The queen's eyes were closed, as if it took all her concentration to remain still for another heartbeat, to allow them to look, to not claw at the irons. So Elide said nothing, demanded nothing from her, save for a companion if she needed one.

Behind Aelin, Rowan's blood-splattered face was grim while he studied the lock fastening the mask's chains to the back of her head. His nostrils flaring slightly. Rage- -frustration.

"I've never seen a lock like this," Gavriel murmured. Aelin began shaking again. Elide put a hand on her knee. Aelin had scraped it raw, mud and grass stuck in her blood-crusted skin. She waited for the queen to shove her hand away, but Aelin didn't move. Kept her eyes shut, her ragged breathing holding steady.

Rowan gripped one of the chains binding the mask and nodded to Lorcan. "The other one." Silently, Lorcan grasped the opposite end. They'd sever the iron if they had to. Elide held her breath as both males strained, arms shaking. Nothing. They tried again. Aelin's breathing hitched. Elide tightened her hand on the queen's knee.

"She managed to snap the chains on her ankles and hands," Gavriel observed. "They're not indestructible." But with the chains on the mask so close to her head, a swipe of a sword was impossible. Or perhaps the mask had been made from far stronger iron. Rowan and Lorcan grunted as they heaved against the chains. It was of little use. Panting softly, they paused. Red welts shone on their hands. They'd tried to use their magic to break the iron.

Silence fell through the clearing. They couldn't linger here--not for much longer. But to take Aelin in the chains, when she was so frantic to be free of them... Aelin's eyes opened. They were empty. Wholly drained. A warrior accepting defeat. Elide blurted, scrambling for anything to banish that emptiness, "Was there ever a key? Did you see them using a key?" Two blinks. As if that meant something. Rowan and Lorcan yanked again, straining. But Aelin's stare fell to the moss, the stones. Narrowed slightly, as if the question had settled. Through the small hole in her mask, Elide could barely see her mouth the words. A key.

"I don't have it--we don't have them," Elide said, sensing the direction of Aelin's thoughts. "Manon and Dorian do."

"Quiet," Lorcan hissed. Not at the level of her voice, but the deadly information Elide revealed. Aelin again blinked twice with that strange intentionality. Rowan snarled at the chains, heaving again.

But Aelin stretched out a hand to the moss and traced a shape. "What is that?" Elide leaned forward as the queen did it again, her hollow face unreadable.

The Fae males paused at her question, and watched Aelin's finger move through the green.

"A Wyrdmark," Rowan said softly. "To open." Aelin traced it again, mute and still. As if none of them stood there.

"They work on iron?" Gavriel asked, tracking Aelin's finger.

"She unlocked iron doors in Adarlan's royal library with that symbol," Rowan murmured. "But she needed..." He let his words hang unfinished as he picked up the broken knife Aelin had discarded in the moss nearby and sliced it across his palm.

Kneeling before her, he extended his bloodied Kneeling before her, he extended his bloodied hand. "Show me, Fire-heart. Show me again." He tapped her ankle--the shackle there.

Silently, her movements stiff, Aelin leaned forward. She sniffed at the blood pooling in his hand, her nostrils flaring. Her eyes lifted to his, like the scent of his blood posed some question.

"I am your mate," Rowan whispered, as if it was the answer she sought. And the love in his eyes, in the way his voice broke, his bloodied hand trembling... Elide's throat tightened. Aelin only looked at the blood pooling in his cupped palm. Her fingers curled, the gauntlet clicking. As if it were another answer, too.

"She can't do it with the iron," Elide said. "If it's on her hands. It interferes with the magic in the blood."A blink from her, in that silent language. "It's why she put them on you, isn't it," Elide said, her chest straining. "To be sure you couldn't use your own blood with the Wyrdmarks to free yourself." As if all the other iron wasn't already enough. Another blink, her face still so hollow and cold. Tired.

Rowan's jaw clenched. But he just dipped his finger into the blood in his palm and offered his hand to her. "Show me, Fireheart," he said again.

Elide could have sworn he shuddered, and not from fear, as Aelin's metal-crusted hand closed around his. In halting, small movements, she guided his finger to trace the symbol onto the shackle around her ankle. A soft flare of greenish light, then--The hiss and sigh of the lock filled the clearing. The shackle tumbled to the moss. Lorcan swore. Rowan offered his hand, his blood, again. The shackle around her other ankle yielded to the Wyrdmark. Then the manacles around her wrists. Then the beautiful, horrible gauntlets thudded to the moss. Aelin lifted her bare hands to her face, reaching for the lock behind the mask, but halted.

"I'll do it," Rowan said, his voice still soft, still full of that love. He moved behind her, and Elide stared at the horrible mask, the suns and flames carved and embossed along its ancient surface. A flare of light, a click of metal, and then it slid free. Her face was pale--so pale, all traces of the sun-kissed coloring gone. And empty. Aware, and yet not. Wary. Elide kept still, letting the queen survey her. The males moved to face her, and Aelin looked upon them in turn. Gavriel, who bowed his head. Lorcan, who stared right back at her, his dark gaze unreadable.

And Rowan. Rowan, whose breathing became jagged, his swallow audible. "Aelin?" The name, it seemed, was an unlocking, too. Not of the queen she'd so briefly known, but the power inside her. Elide flinched as flame, golden and blazing, erupted around the queen. The shift burned Elide flinched as flame, golden and blazing, erupted around the queen. The shift burned away into ashes. Lorcan dragged Elide back, and she allowed it, even as the heat vanished. Even as the flare of power contracted into an aura around the queen, a shimmering second skin.

Aelin knelt there, burning, and did not speak.

[lazcorp]

This blog post is mainly concerned with the overlapping and/or adjacent spheres of hauntology, folk horror, the weird/wyrd, and other related subject areas, but the conclusions can probably be expanded to other disciplines.

[starlightbooklove]

No, they weren't sparks..., it was an effervescence of small symbols, perhaps in some ancient language of the immortals.

SLOW

THE

FUCK

DOWN

This is from Acotar, not TOG.

WHAT SYMBOLS ARE WE EXACTLY TALKING ABOUT???

[wingedblooms]

In hofas, we learned that Wyrd brims with the language of creation. After hosab came out, I wondered if Elain was given access to this secret language when she was Made. If this is true, she might be able to hear the song of creation around her and communicate with—sing to—it in return, as you both have theorized.

Crack Theory: Elain is a Singer

Ok, bear with me on this one. It’s a bit of a stretch. But I have a crack theory that Elain is going to be a capital-S singer. And by that, I don’t mean like a glee club singer, but like a shadowsinger or lightsinger, but more—almost like an omni-singer lol. I think Elain can sing to or call to a lot of different things—shadows, people, spirits, animals, even life and death maybe?

In ACOMAF, Feyre describes Elain like this:

This line seems innocuous, but what if Sarah is hinting about more to Elain here? What if Elain can actually convince anyone to do anything with a few smiles? What if she can exert some control over people if she puts her mind to it?

Then we have the prophecy from the book of breathings:

What if the “sing me” is hinting at Elain’s powers here? And what if the “rot and bloom and bones” is referring to Elain’s ability to call to life and death and the spirits (since bones are used for scrying)?

And finally, in ACOWAR, Elain steps out of a shadow to kill Hybern:

This is exactly how Azriel is described only 11 chapters earlier when the Cauldron comes to steal Elain:

How was Elain able to step out of a shadow? Did Elain sing to or control the shadows like Azriel does?

If Elain does have some sort of ability to call to or control certain elements or things like Azriel, then I think it could make her an integral part of not only the search for the Fourth Trove obviously, but also in the quest to defeat Koschei, since she could help search for his mortality.

This theory also supports the spy elain theory obviously, since Elain could use her powers to get information out of people, to infiltrate enemy territories, to use the shadows to disguise herself, etc.

If correct, Azriel will obviously need to train Elain to learn to use the singing power, and to learn how to speak to and control the elements (and in turn how not to).

And finally, calling to the spirits could be very interesting. Could Elain learn information from the Fae warrior who trapped Koschei? And could Elain communicate with the spirits trapped in the stone in the prison?

All this aside, I think Sarah has clearly hinted that there is more to Elain’s powers than we know, and that Elain is going to be quite quite powerful.

For example, Elain is able to find the Suriel without scrying.

And there are hints about what the scope of Elain’s powers might be in ACOSF, and that they’re unknown:

...

I’m really excited to learn more about Elain’s powers in the next book.

[fanwarriorfictions]

Not Again- Part Two

Azriel x Rowaelin daughter reader

Summary: Y/n woke up in a strange foreign land surrounded by strangers that she couldn’t understand. Alone and desperate to get home.

Series Masterlist

-Part Two-

Y/n kept her dagger pointed at them. The two males and the small female didn’t seem to mind that fact, they seemed more concerned about the Wyrd mark on her brow.

“What is that,” the beautiful male with violet eyes asks, “how did it toss me out of your mind.”

She glares at him, “that was rude of you, trying to look into a ladies mind without her permission.”

She’d felt those talons at the edge of her mind, hitting that ice cold wall that had grabbed him and threw him out without hesitation. She’d felt his shock when that ancient power had flared, she’d felt his pain as it ripped into him just as viciously as he’d attacked her.

The corners of his lips tug, “my apologies, we’ve had bad experiences with random females falling into this world.”

She couldn’t hide the surprise. So she wasn’t the first they’d encountered. How many gates had been opened here? How many had been wrenched from their home worlds against their will. How did the gates get unlocked.

“I don’t take kindly to strangers messing with my head,” she says, memories of sitting in her mother’s office, learning of the valg queen who’d held her mother captive during the war, torturing and twisting her mind, the queen who had gone into her father’s head and convinced him another was his mate just to get her killed, “this mark is the mark of my blood, and protection against beings like you.”

Her mother had woven the protection into her skin the moment she was born, the mark upon her brow no longer just a warning of the price to be paid. The mark will continue to pass down through the bloodline, and it will protect them as it had protected her.

“Who are you?” She asks, “why did you bring me here?”

“My name is Rhysand,” the violet eyed male introduces, his casual stance not moving an inch, a preformance, she was well versed in those, “We didn’t bring you here, Azriel over here found you laying in the dirt.”

He gestures to the male with the dark bat like wings who’s scent had woken her. The scent was familiar, something she couldn’t quite place at first. She’d felt him draw close and that’s when she struck without hesitation. He fought well, countering each of her moves, not attacking, just blocking. When she’d pulled away and truly looked him over, saw those shadows that reminded her of her uncles’, she had recognized that he smelled like the libraries of Orynth. It’d shocked her enough to let the grip on the air go, and when he’d sighed in relief she’d unconsciously warned the air even more. It was strange, very very strange, that reaction to his pain. Her father would bite her head off for the slip.

“There was no one else with me?” She asked the male, Azriel.

He merely shook his head, “just you.”

The small female who’d yet to introduce herself steps forward, “who would’ve been with you?”

Y/n eyes the female warily, she looked like a normal fae, but something told her that this female was more than she seemed, “I was sparring with my father when the gate opened, a force I couldn’t see pulled me down, my head smacked the ground and then I was waking up here. Whatever it was seemed to have just wanted me.”

She could hear her fathers yell as she was pulled away, she remembers the flash of light as he shifted and then everything went black.

“The Wyrd gates have been sealed for 25 years,” Y/n continues, “it shouldn’t have been possible.”

Her mother had almost given her life to lock those gates, she’d given almost everything she was to do it.

“Wyrd gate?” Rhysand asks, shakily testing out the word, it existed in their language, given the way she was able to say it with ease, but obviously it hadn’t been used in a very very long time.

“A gate between worlds,” the small female answers, “gates opened with marks like that.”

She gestures to the mark still faintly glowing on Y/n’s brow.

“Nameless,” the female slowly reads, “you’ve got quite a long name to have nameless stamped on you, girl.”

“Amren play nice,” Rhysand chides halfheartedly.

“Wyrd marks are used for many things,” Y/n says, “it’s the language of worlds, like I said, this one is the mark of my bloodline, passed on from my mother.”

Ever the silent figure, Azriel simply watches, his eyes not missing any details. It’s almost enough to make her squirm, but instead she holds his gaze, refusing to back down even an inch. He’s unfairly beautiful, dark hair curling slightly at the ends, his face unreadable, his eyes the shade of whisky in fire light. Several inches taller than her, she’d have to crane her head back to look him in the eye standing next to him. A warrior, built with lethal muscles that she could see beneath his black shirt, large yet he moved with speed, like one of those wisps of shadows at his shoulders. And those wings, large and foreboding, wicked talons at the beak and on the ends, if he stretched them open they’d be twice, maybe even triple the size of him. The shadows around him dance, more sentient than her uncles, more wild too, they swirl around and whisper in his ears, she wonders what they have to say about her.

“Should we move this conversation somewhere more comfortable?” Rhysand asks, a glimmer in his eye as he breaks the stare down between them.

He takes a step towards Y/n and that dagger is back up in an instant, “I’m perfectly happy to talk here in the open, rather than whatever cell you have in mind.”

Rhysand quirks a brow, “who said anything about a cell.”

Her answering laugh is as cold as ice, “you would invite me into your home? I wouldn’t if I were you.”

“We’ve been down this road before,” Rhysand says, “our last guest was keen on escaping anyway she could, I’m sure you would be as well. I’d like to be able to keep a closer eye on you. Azriel here would be more than happy to fly you up to the house of wind.”

Azriel sends him an inquisitive look, “I would?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Y/n says quickly, examining those bat like wings, “where is this house of wind.”

Rhysand grins as he points across the garden to the looming cliffs hanging above the city beyond, “up there. I promise flying will be much better than the ten thousand steps up to the door. Azriel won’t bite.”

She grins, showing off those sharpened canines, “who says I won’t.”

Azriel subtly examines those teeth, she could easily rip out his throat with them if she wished. Based on the way he shifts back on his feet, she’s sure he’s come to the same conclusion

“I’ll get there myself,” she continues, “just need a guide.”

With a flash of blinding white light, she shifts, taking the form of a large hawk. Surprise lights in the three fae’s eyes, Azriel’s wings flaring in shock. He takes in her form, her red tinged wings, those same cold eyes staring out at him.

“Well isn’t that something.” Rhysand’s head angles, “follow Azriel, he’ll show you to your room. We can continue this conversation in the morning.”

They glance at each other, a silent conversation passing between them, before Azriel spreads his wings and launches into the sky. She bows her head towards the two remaining before she’s shooting into the sky behind him.

She’s fast, faster than him in that nimble form. Azriel flies quickly to the house, yet she surpasses him and circles around to keep pace. He can’t help but feel like she’s stalking him, like he’s a field mouse that she’s picked out for dinner, waiting for the moment she decides to strike. Whatever sort of fae she was set him on edge, her power felt older and wilder like she was closer to the beasts the fae used to be, the ones with raw magic that drew directly from the earth beneath them. That wind could pull the air from beneath his wings, pull it straight from his lungs, that fire could burn him to ash from the inside out. It was the most unsettling feeling.

They land on the balcony, a bright flare of light and she is back to that fae form, cold eyes assessing every inch of the house around her. It fells like a mistake to turn his back towards her to walk inside, a mistake that could end with that red hot dagger in between his shoulder blades, maybe even one of those small throwing knives sheathed by her ribs. He can’t help but glance at the leather vest, it was tight to her skin, laced in the back to fit her form. The evidence of the way she’d been ripped from her world shown in the rips in her clothes, in the blood around her collar from the healing wound on her head. It’d started stitching itself together quickly considering how much she’d been bleeding when he found her.

“After you,” he says gesturing towards the hall.

Her eyes wisely slip towards truth teller at his side, but no complaint rises to her lips. She holds her head high as she walks past him, close enough that he could easily grab her and put his blade to her throat, close enough that he caught the scent of pine and snow and embers. She wasn’t scared of him, and with the way she fought, she had every right not to be.

He drifts behind her, giving her single word directions down the familiar halls until they were standing before the door he’d chosen as her room.

“The house will give you whatever you need,” he says, “simply ask and it will appear. If you need anything else, I’m right across the hall.”

If the sentient house was a surprise it didn’t show on her face, instead she asks with a small smirk on her lips, “are you my host or my keeper?”

The teasing tone takes him by surprise, “I’m here to keep a close eye on you. Our last guest had a tendency for surprises.”

She eyes him in that predator like manor, gaze drifting over his shoulder to a wisp of shadow, “keep any wandering eyes to your side of the hall.”

That shadow moves on its own accord, drifting towards her like she’s a magnet. She bares her sharp teeth at the little wisp, scaring it back to Azriel’s side. It hides like a scolded child and he finds himself holding back a chuckle.

“You’ve seen shadows like this before?”

She shakes her head, “not quite. Two of my uncles can control shadows like yours, but they’re not sentient creatures.”

He wasn’t surprised that there weren’t more like him in her world, he’d spent a long time looking for other shadowsingers to help him master his power, in the end it was just him and his shadows who’d figured it out. Even Quinlann’s brother wasn’t like him, not completely.

“They whisper to you,” she states, not a question.

“How’d you know that?”

A breeze drifts past him and she says, “I can feel them in the wind. Can’t quite understand what they’re saying, but I can feel their whispering in your ears.”

“It’s called shadowsinging,” he supplies, he’s not quite sure why but he tells her, “if you spend enough time in the shadows you learn their language.”

She hums, stepping towards her door, “keep the little busybodies close by, I don’t take kindly to little spies in my rooms.”

“As you wish, your highness,” he’s not sure where the title comes from, or the taunting tone.

She throws a look over her shoulder, those eyes blazing instead of cold, “Goodnight, shadowsinger”

The door slams shut behind her and Azriel simply watches. Watches as her shadow fades from the crack beneath, as a cold wind blows through his hair, as his shadows dance with that wind. He stands there for several moments until an amused chuckle sounds in his head.

Don’t let a pretty face distract you brother.

Shut up, Azriel scowls, closing the doors to his minds and turning to his bedroom. The breeze follows him and it gives him the strangest feeling of being watched.

Y/n found that Azriel wasn’t lying when he said the house would give her whatever she asked for. She’d barely thought about a bath before she’d heard running water in the adjacent room.

The bedroom was huge, to her right a large bed centered on the wall that looked like it could comfortably accommodate several people. A seating area to her left with plush couches and low backed chairs, made for winged males like her keeper across the hall she presumed. The red stone walls warm and adorned with a lit fireplace and giant windows overlooking the city far below. She’d admired the view on the flight to the house, but standing there looking at the twinkling lights below, the bright stars above, she could really appreciate the beauty in it. Yet, it didn’t hold a candle to the lights of Orynth in her eyes.

And just like that, the homesickness hit her. She could picture her family, her mother and father raging through the castle, looking for any clues as to where she’d been taken. She could see her uncles barking orders at warriors to search the castle and city surrounding from top to bottom. She could see her distraught aunt shifting into the snow leopard that would tear apart whatever person or thing that would dare harm her niece. What time was it back home, would they work until dawn, would they rest and come back in the morning, would her father hold together the pieces as her mother finally broke?

Y/n stared and stared and stared at that glowing city, wishing she was home, reading a book by the fire in her mother’s sitting room as she listened to her parents bicker back and forth. She’d been reading a romance her uncle had brought her from the castle library in Adarlan. It would still be sitting on the table, the scrap paper bookmark halfway through the well worn pages.

A tray appears on the table next to her, full of meats and cheeses and fruits. She could feel the curious presence around her, the house it seemed was a busybody.

She eyes the plate, “I’m not hungry.”

The tray stays put, and she huffs, pushing away from the windows towards the attached bathing chamber. That presence seems to sigh, clearly frustrated with her but she paid it no mind.

Her body ached, the adrenaline wearing off enough that she could feel each cut and bruise from the vicious way she’d been dragged through that gate and thrown to the garden floor in this strange world. Her head ached, pulsing with pain each step she took, everything ached, her head, her body, her heart.

A giant bath was drawn, steaming water with frothing bubbles that smelled of lavender. There were plush towels on the small stool by the bath, and clean clothes on the counter beneath the mirror. Soft light illuminated the space, she didn’t care to think where it came from, how it all worked. All she cared about was stripping off her tattered and bloodied clothes and submerging herself into that water. She felt each cut burn as she went down, felt the wound on her head scream in pain as she drifted down beneath the surface.

She burned, and kept burning, and burning and burning, and burning.

[awakenedsalamander]

This is gonna be a long walk. But I’ll get there. I promise.

In a lot of Chronicles of Darkness games, there are “minor templates” for players to take for their characters. These are basically lesser types of supernatural beings— undeniably marked by magic, but not transformed by it like the main templates are. So instead of being a werewolf, you might be a Wolf-Blooded, i.e., not the monster your stronger cousins are, but still recognizably having a connection to that world.

Again, a bunch of games have these. Mage has Sleepwalkers (and Proximi), Vampire has ghouls, Geist has the Absent, Demon has stigmatics, etc.

In Changeling: The Lost, there are the Fae-Touched. We’ll get to them in a bit. First, more on Lost.

In Lost, like many stories about faeries, oaths and vows are very important. They are, in the form of magical Contracts, the source of many fae powers. Changeling have a neat ability to make any spoken promise binding, invoking the force of the Wyrd to force even minor vows to be taken seriously. And many changelings are taken by the True Fae by getting ensnared in some kind of oath.

See, if you didn’t know, Changeling: The Lost is about humans taken to the home of the True Fae, and then transformed into changelings as the True Fae torment them. The game is very much about the way trauma changes a person, and how even recovering from trauma still doesn’t bring you back to the way you were— you’re healed, but you’re not the same.

And much like trauma changes a person, it isolates them too. Lost represents this in the fiction with fetches— the faerie-forged simulacra left behind in the stolen person’s wake, acting the roles of parent, sibling, friend, and so on while the original person is actually suffering with no escape.

But the Fae-Touched won’t stand for that.

Because while Changeling: The Lost recognizes that many promises aren’t serious, that when people swear, “I’ll always be there for you,” they don’t always live up to that, it also recognizes that some promises are different.

The Fae-Touched are the mortals who remember the words they swore, and will not ignore them. They can tell, in their dreams, through the nagging impulses they get in their waking moments, that the person they promised to help needs them now more than ever. They are lead by the Wyrd into the land of faerie to live up to that promise, and they follow it gladly.

A Fae-Touched is the father who knows the smiling fetch who claims to be his daughter isn’t the real thing, and that somewhere the girl he swore to protect is in mortal danger— and so he delves into a world of dreams and nightmares to bring her back.

A Fae-Touched is the woman who fights off briar wolves in a mad, twisting forest so she can find her wife, because when she said “I will never abandon you,” she meant it.

A Fae-Touched is the young man staring down a Lord of the True Fae and refusing to yield. He and his brother went through hell together years ago when their parents died, and they promised one another then that they’d always stand by each other, and some monster in a crown can’t change that.

Not every changeling is helped by a Fae-Touched, and not all of the Fae-Touched succeed. Sometimes you have to claw your own way back home. But God, what a beautiful concept.

I know that Changeling: The Lost is very dark, and the reason I love the Fae-Touched isn’t really because they’re the light to that darkness— I think that simplifies it too much.

I like the Fae-Touched not because they take away the darkness, but because they remind me we don’t always have to face the darkness alone.

Sometimes, when you think there’s no point going on, when you think it will just be the pain and the fear again and again and again… it’s not true. Because sometimes, maybe even more often than we think, there’s someone out there who knows you need help. And they ready themselves, they set out into the darkness, saying only,

“This is gonna be a long walk. But I’ll get there. I promise.”

[dark-corner-cunning]

The Virtues of Sacred Woods: Embracing the Magick of Trees

Note To Reader: As we find ourselves in the heart of summer, journeying along the southern road of the crossroads here in Appalachia, we embrace the virtue of earth and the magick of Old Mother Green Cap. This post is woven from the threads of traditional witchcraft, physical witchcraft, and my own path. As always, take what resonates and leave the rest. Feel free to make up or create your own correspondences and virtues as you see fit.

What is a virtue? In our witchy world, a virtue is a beneficial quality or power of something, a word whispered from the metaphysical lips of existence. It's the hidden essence, the subtle energy, the magick that pulses through the veins of the natural world. When we speak of virtues, we're invoking the spirit and energy that dwells within every tree, every branch, every tool crafted from nature's gifts.

Among the myriad stick-formed tools in the Traditional Craft of Cunning, two stand as pillars in our practice: the Wand and the Stang (or Staff). While their virtues are distinct, their roots intertwine deeply with the ancient woods from which they were born. Let us briefly explore these sacred tools, for within their grain lies the power to shape our craft and connect us to the hidden currents of the world.

-The Wand: Conduit of Power-

The wand, slender and elegant, is a faithful companion to the cunning practitioner. Its primary virtue lies in its ability to direct power and energy, much like a conductor's baton orchestrating the unseen forces around us. Wands are used to banish unwanted influences and spirits, sweep away negativity, and conjure helpful entities from the ether. When we cast a working circle, the wand traces the boundary, marking a sacred space or container where magick can unfold.

Each wand, depending on the wood it is crafted from, carries its own unique virtue. A wand of oak might offer a fiery virtue of strength, wisdom, power, protection, or aid to solar rites and magick… while one of willow could provide a watery virtue of emotional healing, strengthening love, divination, enchantment, enlightenment, or aid to rites and workings of the Moon. The wood whispers its secrets to us, guiding our hand and amplifying our intent. Thus, the wand becomes an extension of our will, a bridge between the mundane and the magickal.

My "Red Serpent" Wand: This wand is directly linked to the serpent energy of the land. It is made from Oak and has a Dragon Blood Stone, Snake rib, and Blood embedded into it. I use it as an extension of my own willpower and life force. I usually bury it under a Full moon to charge when "Sprowl" is at its peak.

-The Stang: Pillar of the Worlds-

The stang, often fashioned from a forked staff, holds a different yet equally potent virtue. It can stand as a representation of the Horned One, the dualities of nature, and the power that flows from earth to sky. In its form, we see the concept of the World Tree, a sacred axis that grants access to the virtues of both the upper and lower worlds and those that lie at the crossroads.

In ritual workings, the stang is a steadfast companion. Its presence anchors us, grounding our energy and connecting us to the land. When we walk the paths of the wild, the stang serves as a tool to gather and store land energy, the elusive "sprowl" that breathes life into our craft. It becomes a beacon, drawing the virtues of the earth and sky into our rites and rituals, where they can be harnessed and directed.

My Stang that I have been slowly working on for a few years now. It is made from Oak and the forked ends have Clear Quartz in each end. It has the Web of Wyrd Rune on the front and the symbols for each element on the back. I mainly use my Stang during laying and conjuring the crossroads for rituals.

-The Dance of Wood and Witch-

In the dance of wood and witch, we find our path illuminated by the virtues of our tools. The wand and the stang, though different in form and function, both serve as conduits of the ancient energies that flow through the natural world. They are not mere objects, but living entities that resonate with the heartbeat of the land.

Some practitioners favor keeping several wands, each made from different kinds of wood to suit various purposes. Yet, many find solace in the singular presence of one main stang or staff, a trusty ally that carries their spirit and intention.

As we continue to explore the virtues of the different woods, let us remember that our connection to these tools is a sacred bond. Through them, we touch the spirit of the trees, the whispers of the wind, and the silent strength of the earth. They are our guides, our protectors, and our allies in the timeless craft of cunning.

-The Virtues of Woods-

Note: This list is but a glimpse, for the world is rich with countless species of trees. Here, I focus on trees that dwell in my own corner of the world and the ones I know. These are mainly just the virtues of the wood and bark (not the leaves, flowers, seeds, or fruit). I highly recommend you embark on a journey to discover and list the trees within your local area, letting their virtues reveal themselves to you. Also, please take caution of any poisonous trees.

Alder: Defensive Magick, Strength, Leadership, Bravery, Divination, Healing, and Wind & Weather Magick

Apple: Love, Healing, Friendship, Divination, Garden Magick, and Harmony

Ash: Healing & Regeneration Magick, Sea Magick, Communication, Knowledge, Wisdom, Travel, Aids workings of Spirit, Passage Between Worlds, and is often the wood chosen for a Stang.

Beech: Wisdom, Knowledge, Focus, Meditation, Wishes

Birch: Purification, Creativity, Willpower, Initiation of Inception, Birth & Fertility.

Blackthorn: Baneful, Associated with Bucca Dhu/The Devil, Blasting, Defensive Magick, Setting Boundaries, Toad Magick, and Rites of The Dark Moon.

Cedar: Cleansing, Protection, Wards, Divination, Summoning, Consecration, Prosperity

Chestnut: Clarity, Focus, Justice, Encourage Longevity

Crepe Myrtle: Glamour Magick, Fertility, Youth, Peace, Money

Dogwood: Wishes, Protection, Health, Wisdom

Elder: Protection, Exorcising Illness, Spirit Conjuration, Blessing

Elm: Protection, Divine Feminine, Healing, Fae Magick

Gorse: Purification, Conjuration of Fair Weather, Discovering, Protection, Fertility & Love

Hawthorn: Associated with Bucca Gwidder/The Green Man, Dealings with Spirit Folk, Fertility, Enchantment, Wards, Charm, Spirituality, and Fishing Magick. Folklore suggests not using Hawthorn as a staff as it may employ ill luck upon walking journeys.

Hazel: Wisdom, Luck, Fertility, Wishes, Divination, Dowsing Wands, Inspiration & Visions

Hickory: Legal Matters, Protection, Protection, Wisdom, Leadership, Acquisition, Power, Wholeness

Holly: Aids Rites of Death/Rebirth, Exorcism, Defensive Magick, Potency, Logic, Power Transfer, Protection

Linden: Creativity, Enchantment, Enlightenment, Truth, Healing

Locust: Enforcing Boundaries, Binding, Defensive Magick, Enchantments, Wood and Thorns used to make pins for Baneful Magick, Appalachian Association with European Blackthorn Virtues.

Magnolia: Fidelity, Love, Hair Growth Magick, Marital Happiness

Maple: Love, Luck, Longevity, Money, Travel, Cleansing, Communication

Oak: Strength, Power, Protection, Wisdom, Longevity, Endurance, Doorways between Realms, Solar Magick, Potency, Associated with The Red Serpent.

Palm: Fertility, Focus, Potency, Divination, Purification, Protection

Pine: Strength, Protection, Healing, Prosperity, Exorcism, Wisdom, Increase of Power

Poplar: Spirituality, Change, Rebirth, Summoning, Wealth, Willpower, Witch Flight

Rowan: Protection, Guarding, Defensive Magick, Warding, Necromancy, Quickening, Conjuring Visions, Lifting Curses, A staff of Rowan protects while journeying.

Sumac: Cleansing, Healing, Creativity, Focus

Sweet Gum: Healing, Spirituality, Enchantment, Leadership

Sycamore: Ancestral Wisdom, Divination, Prosperity, Strength, Endurance

Walnut: Cleansing, Healing, Focus, Insight

Willow: Moon Rites & Workings, Emotion Healing, Love, Fertility, Divination, Change, Wishes, Enchantment, Spirituality, Wards

Witch Hazel: Chastity, Protection, Emotional Healing

Yew: Death Mysteries, Ancestral Wisdom, Transformation, Change, Renewal, Baneful, Necromancy

[pratchettquotes]

HALLO.

Verence drew himself up to his full height, or what would have been his full height if that part of him of which the word "height" could have been applied was not lying stiff on the floor and facing a future in which only the word "depth" could be appropriate.

"I am a king, mark you," he said.

WAS, YOUR MAJESTY.

"What?" Verence barked.

I SAID WAS. IT'S CALLED THE PAST TENSE. YOU'LL SOON GET USED TO IT.

The tall figure tapped its calcereous fingers on the scythe's handle. It was obviously upset about something.

If it came to that, Verence thought, so am I. But the various broad hints available in his present circumstances were breaking through even the mad brain stupidity that made up most of his character, and it was dawning on him that whatever kingdom he might currently be in, he wasn't king of it.

Terry Pratchett, Wyrd Sisters

[moonlightazriel]

Chapter 9: Two witches go to a war camp… /// Azriel X F!Reader

Summary: After a much needed talk with Elain, Nesta takes Y/N to Windhaven.

Word Count: 2,2K

Warnings: None for this part.

Notes:

Main Masterlist

Worlds Apart Masterlist

“I'm sorry if I made everything weird between you and her.” Y/N started, remembering the way Elain tried to stop him from going with her.

“She confuses me.” Lucien sighed, sipping on the liquor she had found hidden in a cabinet. “She’s with him, but whenever she sees me trying to move on, she finally remembers she’s my mate and acts with jealousy towards me.”

“Love sucks.” She let out a humourless laugh.

“After everything with Jessminda, I just wish to be happy.” Sadness overtook his features, he had shared about his past lover that day at the city, and Y/N felt her heart crack a bit.

“You will be.” She promised him.

Y/N woke up that day on her bed, her talk with Lucien still fresh in her mind, and as she jumped out of the bed, showered and got dressed, she knew what she would do that day.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Meraxes landed near the garden, on an empty part of the house Rhys and Feyre lived, she already had to talk to them, talking to Elain in the process was going to be perfect.

She strolled towards the hallways, the sound of her boots echoing around the house as she reached the office Rhysand had indicated to them last night as they got back from Hewn City.

She knocked, waiting for them to allow her in. Feyre opened the door with a gentle smile, welcoming her in. The office had dark wooden furniture and grey walls, a portrait of Feyre sat beautifully behind the desk, like she was the force that guided Rhysand even when she wasn’t there in person.

“Good morning.” He said, cradling his sleeping son against his chest.

“Good morning! Thank you for receiving me.” She cleared her throat. “I’m here to ask for permission to leave with Lucien and explore Koschei’s home.” The two shared a look like they were talking in each other’s mind. Like Maeve did.

“You are free in this court, but we appreciate your consideration.” Feyre spoke, hands cupping his shoulders. “We’re going to ask for Azriel to join you two, we also need to deal with Koschei and he can share what he already knows with you.”

Being stuck with Azriel and Lucien, when the two couldn’t stand being in the same room with each other for more than 5 minutes? Great, just fucking great.

“Do you think this will help?” Rhys inquired, his violet eyes piercing her into her seat.

“I’m willing to try anything at this point.” She shifted on her seat, her scar throbbing with anxiety.

“Mor found this.” He handed her a book, covered in a dark leathery material, looking like a diary. “She looked around her father’s office and this was the only thing that made sense.”

Y/N grabbed the book, flipping through the pages, drawings and an ancient alphabet she knew very well, Wyrd marks. She closed the book quickly, wanting to read it just as fast.

“This is going to be very useful.” She smiled at them. “May I take it with me during the trip?” Feyre nodded.

“Please do.” She waved her hand and Y/N shoved the diary in between her leathers. She groaned as she saw the state of her clothes that morning, the ripped fabric making her angry.

“We also will have some incursions of our own. Nesta and Cassian fly today to the war camps to see what they can discover . You may want to find her, she wants you to join them.” Rhys announced. “We’re in touch with the other High Lords, Koschei is a threat we all have in common, so it gives us the perfect excuse to roam around their libraries. Except Autumn of course.”

“Lucien asked his brother for help.” She blurted. “Eris says he will try his best.” Rhysand and Feyre shared a surprised look.

“Well, that is nice of him. Thank you.” Feyre spoke.

“Thank you for all your efforts.” She thanked them, getting up. “I need to get going so I can do everything that I need to do before travelling.” Feyre nodded.

“Of course, go ahead. But just be careful.” The female begged and Y/N nodded.

“I’ll try my best.” She said with a confident gleam in her eyes, exiting the office.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

She leaned in the doorway, Elain was kneeled on the ground, hands digging in the soil as she planted another pink flower in that already full and beautiful garden.

Elain stiffed, the black wyvern approaching the garden, its huge snot bumping against her perfect flowers, Meraxes sniffled, sitting on its back paws as his head rolled to the sides, happily appreciating the smell.

“Oh, do you like flowers?” She asked, looking curiously at the creature, Meraxes took a deep breath and his big grin appeared in approval.

“He does.” Y/N replied from behind her, prompting Elain to quickly whip her head in her direction, hurt and sadness filled her brown eyes as she made eye contact with her.

“What do you want? Tell me how wonderful your night with Lucien was!?” Elain got up, removing the gloves from her hands and walking towards Y/N, standing in front of her.

“I did have a wonderful night with him.” Elain scoffed but her eyes filled with tears. “Because Lucien is an amazing, caring friend. I came here to tell you that nothing happened yesterday, at least not what you think.”

“You two didn’t sneak out to be alone?” Elain’s breath hitched.

“We did, but I just needed to get away from that crowd, it reminded me of bad times, he was just helping me to get back in control of my emotions.” Elain watched her silently. “Take care of him, please, love him how he deserves to be loved. Lucien has a gentle yet fragile heart, handle with care.”

“I thought about what you told me.” She started. “Azriel and I are no longer together, and now it’s my turn to ask you to love him how he deserves, Azriel has been searching for love for so long, and I wasn’t what he needed, but I have a suspicion that you might be, so please, be careful and patient with him, he deserves it.”

Her words left her astonished for a few minutes, just blinking towards the female like a confused kid. Did Azriel say anything about dreaming about her? Did he feel the same increase in his heartbeat that she did whenever he looked at her? Did he love her like she loved him?

“Thank you Elain. And after everything ends and if I’m still here, would you teach me gardening?” Elain smiled.

“I would love to.” She nodded her head, smiling back at Elain before she headed towards Meraxes, she had to find Nesta.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“You can’t go like this.” Nesta stomped her foot down, looking at the damaged clothing Y/N was wearing. “You would be better in Illyrian leathers, they’re amazing.”

“And where do we get them?” She asked, to which Morrigan happily chimed in.

“In the best shop of all Illyria.” She had a big smile. “My mate’s shop.”

Y/N sat atop Meraxes, Morrigan pressed against her as the two made their way towards Emerie’s shop. Before Y/N met Cassian and Nesta at the camp.

Mor rambled about how she and Emerie met, the bond snapping for them and how they had busy life’s but always made time for each other, and in every opportunity she would fly to be with her lover.

The wyvern waited outside the town, and they walked towards the tiny shop in the middle of the town. Thousands of winged males and females walked there, minding their own business and going on with their lives.

The heavy door scratched against the floor as Mor pushed it open, revealing a well lit inside with clothes hanging around and a leathery smell. Behind the counter the female from that training day stood, her hair was braided and she was reading a book.

“Do you have any leathers available?” Mor said in a slow and sensual tone, Emerie lifted her eyes, her expression going from serious to pure delight as she saw her mate standing in her store.

“For you? I have everything.” She crossed the store in two quick steps, embracing Morrigan and pulling her in for a kiss. “I missed you.”

“Me too baby, me too.” The female turned to Y/N. “Emerie this is Y/N, Y/N this is Emerie.” Y/N shook her extended hand.

“It’s nice to see you again.” She spoke and the female nodded in agreement.

“She’s the female that disarmed Azriel, that I told you about.” She told her mate, who looked at them confused.

“Oh okay.” Morrigan laughed. “Makes sense.”

The blonde then started to talk about how Y/N could use some new clothes and Nesta had sent her there. It took exactly twenty minutes for her to get in full Illyrian attire, very tight on her body but not in a restricting way. And four more pairs ready to take home with her.

She had thanked them, leaving the two alone. Walking towards Meraxes, the clothes felt okay, not that different from what she was used to. She clicked her jaw and exposed her teeth, Godslayer behind her back. She mounted the wyvern and headed towards the camp where she was supposed to meet Nesta.

Devlon kept staring at her with annoyance, he hated having Nesta around, a witch as he claimed she was. The female’s gaze turned to the sky a few times, waiting for the winged shadow that would make them tremble in fear.

With a loud roar, she saw it. The wyvern descending from the skies, his powerful wings carrying the winds in them. Devlon turned to the commotion, cursing loudly as he spotted Meraxes landing and his rider dismounting, sliding down his leg and landing on the ground with ease.

“Who the hell is that?” He demanded to know, turning to the General that didn’t even try to suppress the smirk at the male’s terrified gaze.

“Our guest for today.” He announced. “Welcome to Illyria, Lady Blackbeak.” Y/N bowed her head to Cassian, not even looking at the static male beside him.

“Lord Cassian, thank you for having me. Lady Nesta.” She turned her body to the female.

“What are you?” The male spat, and she turned those deep blue eyes in his direction, her claws scratching her chin as she grinned, the sun shining on the iron, giving the metallic smile a creep touch.

“I’m a witch, what else would I be?” She spoke in a condescending tone, like it was obvious what her true nature was.

“First you bring her.” His crooked finger pointed at Nesta, the female scoffed. “And then another one? You curse our land. You two are going to be our doom.” He pointed to the females, Nesta had walked to Y/N’s side and the two smiled at him sweetly.

“I’m kinda busy to be anyone’s doom.” Nesta sarcastically remarked.

“Oh yeah, me too.” Y/N shrugged. “Maybe next year.” She winked at the male.

Devlon was seething with anger, their mere presence was an affront to them and their traditions, Cassian as an Illyrian should know. But it looked like he and the two females didn’t give a shit about it.

“What do you want?” He sighed deeply.

“Your oldest scriptures.” Cassian spoke and the male rolled his eyes before giving in.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“What is this?” Y/N pointed to the drawing of a monolith, the stone was sculpted with square edges with a slit on top. Like a keyhole.

“This is the monolith atop Ramiel, it’s where you have to reach in order to finish the Blood Rite.” Cassian spoke, giving her a brief introduction of what the Blood Rite was.

“And when you finish it just teleports you back?” She inquired.

“Basically.” He shrugged, not knowing where she wanted to go with it.

“Ramiel, here says it’s a sacred mountain, very powerful.” Both Cassian and Nesta nodded. “Powerful enough to open a gate?”

“What?” Cassian asked and in a second the two stood behind her.

“The Valgs used wyrd keys to travel, they inserted them in wyrd gates to open portals to other worlds. If the drawing is accurate..” She pointed to the marks adorning the monolith. “These are wyrd marks and this..” She pointed to the top part of the monolith, towards the slith. “Is a keyhole for a wyrd key.”

“How do we know that you’re truly correct?” Nesta inquired.

“I would have to see it with my own eyes.” She groaned, if they didn’t wanted her there, there’s no fucking way they would allow her at Ramiel.

“Rhys can show you.” Cassian spoke and she looked at him. “We have to go back to Velaris.”

The three rushed outside, thanking Devlon for the scriptures and Y/N promised to stay away for a while, making the male growl at her. They stood in front of Meraxes.

“You two go, I’ll meet you there.” Cassian urged and they nodded, Y/N climbed towards the saddle and Cassian dropped Nesta behind her, securing both in place, they flew, this could finally be a step towards the right direction.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

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[wingedblooms]

In honor of @elainarcheronweek, and thanks to encouragement from @santkazoya (months ago, whoops💀), I’ve compiled my favorite predictions and theories for Elain’s story (some of which build upon connections others have made, especially @offtorivendell and @silverlinedeyes since we often theorize together). I can’t wait for her story and will be overjoyed if any of these make it into canon. Links to these predictions and theories are below.

1. rose symbolism | language of creation

2. blodeuwedd

3. witches | marked by wyrd | three sister witches

4. groundings

5. witch glass | ancient summoning spell

6. balthazar | shifting forms of fate

7. mapping forbidden secrets | blooming dreams

8. ramiel | spring comes to ramiel

9. slaying wyrms and rescuing damsels

10. the starborn symbol (reblog of ramiel) | sacred geometry

11. the space between | peering into hel

12. illyrians and the cauldron (within ramiel post)

13-14. the healing land | blooming hope 1 & 2

15. rose symbolism | forbidden secrets | blooming dreams

[offtorivendell]

What if the eight-pointed star is a symbol of so much more than the Starborn; on Wyrd, Chaos, the Cauldron and the Archeron sisters...

Disclaimer: this post is just a theory and makes no claims of being canon. These thoughts are definitely not unique at this point in time - I'll link to existing posts where relevant - but I had both a moment and the motivation to get my thoughts down, so here we are lol. Also, I am aware that the bigger stars in the gif above have more than eight points but as it's very pretty, has crescent moons and little motifs with three tear drops each... it stays. A massive thank you, as usual, to @wingedblooms for always being up for some theorising. 💜

Spoilers: the entire Maasverse is fair game, be careful if you're not up to date.

The eight-pointed star is a symbol that exists across the entire Maasverse, in Erilea, Prythian, Midgard.

Erilea:

The High Priestess walked onto the stone platform and raised her hands above her head. The folds of her midnight-blue gossamer robe fell around her, and her white hair was long and unbound. An eight-pointed star was tattooed upon her brow in a shade of blue that matched her gown, its sharp lines extending to her hairline. “Welcome all, and may the blessings of the Goddess and all her gods be upon you.” Her voice echoed across the chamber to reach even those in the back. - TOG, chapter 37

Prythian:

There, dead in the center of the Illyrian tattoo snaking down his spine, a new tattoo had appeared. An eight-pointed star, whose compass points radiated in sharp lines across and up the groove of his back, twining with the Illyrian markings long inked there. The eastern and western points of the star shot right onto his wings, black blending into black. A matching one, he knew, would be on Nesta’s spine. - ACOSF, chapter 12

Midgard:

Ruhn held out his phone, the picture of the illuminated manuscript glaringly bright in the thick shadows. The illustration of the carved horn lifted to the lips of a helmeted Fae male was as pristine as it had been when inked millennia ago. Above the figure gleamed an eight-pointed star, the emblem of the Starborn. - HOEAB, chapter 21

“You first.” “Not a chance. I want to hear how you hid the fact that you’ve got a star inside you.” He looked down at her chest then, as if he’d glimpse it shimmering beneath her skin. But when his eyebrows flicked upward, Bryce followed his line of sight. “Well,” she said with a sigh, “that’s new.” Indeed, just visible down the V-neck of her T-shirt, a white splotch—an eight-pointed star—now scarred the place between her breasts. - HOEAB, chapter 95

Bryce has told us that she thinks it's the symbol of the Starborn, but I think it could go much deeper - all the way down to Wyrd/Urd.

She found nothing but open curiosity on Nesta’s face. Nesta said, “The scar your light comes from … it’s shaped like an eight-pointed star. Why?” Bryce peered at where the light was muffled by her T-shirt. “It’s the symbol of the Starborn, I think.” “And the magic marked you in this way?” “Yes. When I … revealed who I was, what I am, to the world, I drew the star out of my chest. It left that scar in its wake.” She glanced to Azriel. “Like a burn.” - HOFAS, chapter 12

As @wingedblooms said in her amazing meta earlier this year, she, @silverlinedeyes and I all think that Urd - who we now know is Wyrd - could be Chaos.

In addition to being significant to the Starborn fae within the Maasverse, the eight-pointed star is also known as a compass rose - or rose of the wind - as @wingedblooms has previously discussed. So isn't it suss that 'The Elain' ship (as pictured below, in the ACOTAR colouring book - far right) has what could be an eight pointed star on its sail? One with empty space - as in void of anything - on either side?

In addition to her thoughts about the compass rose, @wingedblooms has previously discussed how SJM's use of the eight-pointed star could also be inspired by the star of Ishtar. Wingedblooms made great points as usual - so I won't rehash them - BUT I have wanted to add for ages that there is also an eight-pointed star called "the Chaos star." 👀

Is the eight-pointed star a symbol of Chaos?

Source.

Aidas told us in HOEAB that it was the Void who sired the Princes of Hel, and Chaos was their dam. While the Chaos star as a symbol of Chaos began its life in a completely separate work of fiction, it has - apparently - been adopted by other authors and fandoms, so there's always the possibility that SJM might be one of those who has done/will do that.

I think it's interesting that after Bryce and co found Helena's cave under Avallen and dream-travelled to Hel, they wound up in the Temple of Chaos, by boat.

“The Temple of Chaos is a sacred place,” Apollion said sharply. “We shall never defile it with violence.” The words rumbled like thunder again. - HOFAS, chapter 59

Each of the Archeron sisters had a ship named for her (as above). Word and Wyrd are homophones of each other, though I may be clowning with the latter point. Ramiel means "thunder of god" - we'll come back to that later - but Apollion's words "rumbled like thunder"... was SJM linking Wyrd and thunder, or Ramiel, here? Will the Archeron sisters travel by boat - sail the Void - to meet, or free, Chaos?

Pushing aside every raging thought and question for the moment, Hunt kept one eye on the exit behind them as they traded the pebbled shore for the smooth temple steps. As they walked up those steps and entered a space that was a near-mirror to temples back home—indeed, its layout was identical to the last temple Hunt had stood in: Urd’s Temple. - HOFAS, chapter 59

But he tried to at least look like it—back straight, shoulders squared—as he and Hypaxia stood before the Under-King in a gray-stoned temple to Urd. The Under-King lounged on a throne beneath a behemoth statue of a figure holding a black metal bowl between her upraised hands. Symbols were carved all over the bowl, continuing down her fingers, her arms, her body. Ithan could only assume it was meant to represent Urd. No other temples ever depicted the goddess, no one even dared—most people claimed that fate was impossible to portray in any one form. But it seemed that the dead, unlike the living, had a vision of her. And those symbols running from the bowl onto her skin … they were like tattoos. - HOFAS, chapter 81

“And she,” the Under-King went on, gesturing to that unusual depiction of Urd towering above him, “was not a goddess, but a force that governed worlds. A cauldron of life, brimming with the language of creation. Urd, they call her here—a bastardized version of her true name. Wyrd, we called her in that old world.” - HOFAS, chapter 81

That "unusual depiction" of Urd in the Bone Quarter sounds eerily similar to the statues in the corridor leading to the library under the House of Wind, as well as the statue of the primal goddess that Nesta found in the same house - the one by which she placed Elain's carved wooden rose.

It's almost like a mix of the two.

“Because the books were full of magic, and things they wanted to keep humans from knowing.” Rhys slid his hands into his pockets, leading me down a corridor lit only by bowls of faelight upraised in the hands of beautiful female statues, their forms High Fae and faerie alike. “The scholars and librarians refused to keep slaves of their own—some for personal reasons, but mainly because they didn’t want them accessing the books and archives.” - ACOWAR, chapter 20

Her gaze shifted to the carved wooden rose she’d placed upon the mantel, half-hidden in the shadows beside a figurine of a supple-bodied female, her upraised arms clasping a full moon between them. Some sort of primal goddess—perhaps even the Mother herself. Nesta hadn’t let herself dwell on why she’d felt the need to set the rose there. Why she hadn’t just thrown it in a drawer. - ACOSF, chapter 56

The Cauldron... the court of thorns and roses?

We now know that Urd is none other than Wyrd, from Erilea - a cauldron of life that is "brimming with the language of creation" (which fits with my theory that Elain might Sing Wyrd, as the language of the universe, through the murky void to See as a parallel to the priestesses in Prythian requiring darkness to commune with the Cauldron), and a force that governs worlds. One with many forms - "high fae and faerie alike"?

Could Chaos actually be Wyrd, given the similarities Hunt noted between the temples of Urd and Chaos?

Chaos the Dam?

The Mother?

But why the notable lack of tattoos - Wyrdmarks? - in the statues at the House of Wind's temple to the Mother, or on the Cauldron itself?

The Cauldron was absence and presence. Darkness and … whatever the darkness had come from. But not life. Not joy or light or hope. It was perhaps the size of a bathtub, forged of dark iron, its three legs—those three legs the king had ransacked those temples to find—crafted like creeping branches covered in thorns. I had never seen something so hideous—and alluring. Mor’s face had drained of color. “Hurry,” she said to me. “We’ve got a few minutes.” - ACOMAF, chapter 62

Could that be the influence of the Daglan/Asteri when they warped the Cauldron so long ago? Wyrd, and Her marks, were removed in the process?

“Unless … ” The boy bounced each finger off his thumb, his hand like some pale, twitchy insect. “Long ago, before the High Fae, before man, there was a Cauldron … They say all the magic was contained inside it, that the world was born in it. But it fell into the wrong hands. And great and horrible things were done with it. Things were forged with it. Such wicked things that the Cauldron was eventually stolen back at great cost. It could not be destroyed, for it had Made all things, and if it were broken, then life would cease to be. So it was hidden. And forgotten. Only with that Cauldron could something that is dead be reforged like that.” - ACOMAF, chapter 18

Before Bryce could contemplate this further, Silene went on, But my mother and father knew they needed the most valuable of all the Daglan’s weapons. Bryce tensed. This had to be the thing that had given them the edge— The snows around Ramiel parted, revealing a massive bowl of iron at the foot of the monolith. Even through the vision, its presence leaked into the world, a heavy, ominous thing. “The Cauldron,” Nesta said, dread lacing her voice. Not a useful weapon, then. Bryce braced herself as Silene continued. The Cauldron was of our world, our heritage. But upon arriving here, the Daglan captured it and used their powers to warp it. To turn it from what it had been into something deadlier. No longer just a tool of creation, but of destruction. And the horrors it produced … those, too, my parents would turn to their advantage. - HOFAS, chapter 19

And isn't it interesting that Papa Archeron carved the aforementioned rose for Elain - out of a dark, heavy wood that a few of us have wondered was ironwood (just like the bed on which each of the Archeron sisters was born) - while the legs of the Mother's iron Cauldron were covered in thorns?

She plucked another figurine from the mantel: a rose carved from a dark sort of wood. She held it in her palm, its solid weight surprising, and traced a finger over one of the petals. “He made this one for Elain. Since it was winter and she missed the flowers.” - ACOSF, chapter 55

Her gaze shifted to the carved wooden rose she’d placed upon the mantel, half-hidden in the shadows beside a figurine of a supple-bodied female, her upraised arms clasping a full moon between them. Some sort of primal goddess—perhaps even the Mother herself. Nesta hadn’t let herself dwell on why she’d felt the need to set the rose there. Why she hadn’t just thrown it in a drawer. - ACOSF, chapter 56

In yet another of her brilliant posts, @wingedblooms theorised that the Cauldron might represent the flower of life; roses* are obviously a flower (shh), so the imagery of the Cauldron being an iron rose on a thorny pedestal is, quite possibly, significant. One of the definitions of the word "court" is "a sovereign's residence." Has the series title "A Court of Thorns and Roses" been referring to the Cauldron all along?!

* Posts involving roses and rose imagery pertaining to Elain are here, here, here and here.

The Ouroboros and Ramiel's black monolith - the "seat" of Wyrd/Chaos?

But let's get back on topic. I have theorised in the past that the Dusk Court - which we now know are the Starborn Fae - may have had four items, or four treasures, similar to the Tuatha de Danann of Irish mythology (my first Dusk Court post leaned heavily into that association).

I suggested that they may have been paired as:

Dagda's Cauldron/The Undry - the Veritas

Spear of Destiny/Spear of Lugh - Narben

Sword of Light/Claiomh Solais - Gwydion

The Stone of Kings/Lia Fail - the Ouroboros

Fragarach - Truth-Teller (as a bonus)

@merymoonbeam has also posted about her own take on the four treasures of the Tuatha de Danann; we agree about the Spear of Lugh and the sword of light, but diverged with Dagda's Cauldron - she suggested it may have been the Cauldron, and I agree that makes sense as well - and the Lia Fail, which she theorised was the stone on top of Ramiel (again, a solid choice that makes sense). Now, I know that the Ouroboros might seem like an odd choice as an in-universe stone of kings, but if you read my four treasures post I still think it fits... but it's not a stone. And Mery's thoughts about the Lia Fail fit, too. Both options made sense to me.

Which brings me back to HOFAS.

Before Bryce could contemplate this further, Silene went on, But my mother and father knew they needed the most valuable of all the Daglan’s weapons. Bryce tensed. This had to be the thing that had given them the edge— The snows around Ramiel parted, revealing a massive bowl of iron at the foot of the monolith. Even through the vision, its presence leaked into the world, a heavy, ominous thing. “The Cauldron,” Nesta said, dread lacing her voice. Not a useful weapon, then. Bryce braced herself as Silene continued. The Cauldron was of our world, our heritage. But upon arriving here, the Daglan captured it and used their powers to warp it. To turn it from what it had been into something deadlier. No longer just a tool of creation, but of destruction. And the horrors it produced … those, too, my parents would turn to their advantage. - HOFAS, chapter 19

As others have suggested already, this sounds like the same black stone monolith that Cassian flew by in ACOFAS.

The conifer forests and ravines that dotted the landscape flowing to Ramiel’s foot gleamed under fresh snow. Empty and clean. No sign of the bloodshed that would occur come the start of spring. The mountain neared, mighty and endless, so wide that he might as well have been a mayfly in the wind. Cassian soared toward Ramiel’s southern face, rising high enough to catch a glimpse of the shining black stone jutting from its top. Who had put that stone atop the peak, he didn’t know, either. Legend said it had existed before the Night Court formed, before the Illyrians migrated from the Myrmidons, before humans had even walked the earth. Even with the fresh snow crusting Ramiel, none had touched the pillar of stone. A thrill, icy and yet not unwelcome, flooded his veins. It was rare for anyone in the Blood Rite to make it to the monolith. - ACOFAS, chapter 3

* A quick aside: conifer forests and ravines surround Ramiel; who smells like night-chilled mist and cedar, and may be associated with/related to Thanatos, the prince of the Ravine? Azriel!

In @wingedblooms brilliant post about Ramiel as the heart of the Night Court, she wondered if the black monolith and Cauldron together may have been a complete depiction of Wyrd, and then something clicked (and now I'm finally getting to the point lol, sorry for the wait); what if the black stone and the Ouroboros were combined as the Lia Fail/Stone of Kings? Or Wyrd/Chaos (as the Queen)? If the Cauldron is the "court" (residence) of Wyrd, and it once "sat" at the base of the black stone Monolith as @wingedblooms suggested, it checks out.

And there, against the far wall of the chamber, snow crusting its surface, its bronze casing … The Ouroboros. It was a massive, round disc—as tall as I was. Taller. And the metal around it had been fashioned after a massive serpent, the mirror held within its coils as it devoured its own tail. Ending and beginning. From across the room, with the snow … I could not see it. What lay within. I forced myself to take a step forward. Another. The mirror itself was black as night—yet … wholly clear. [...] Up close, the surface of the Ouroboros was like a gray, calm sea. Undisturbed. Sleeping. - ACOWAR, chapter 68

So now we have a black monolith as a (hypothetical) statue of Wyrd, with the Ouroboros being held high above Her head... sound familiar?

Her gaze shifted to the carved wooden rose she’d placed upon the mantel, half-hidden in the shadows beside a figurine of a supple-bodied female, her upraised arms clasping a full moon between them. Some sort of primal goddess—perhaps even the Mother herself. Nesta hadn’t let herself dwell on why she’d felt the need to set the rose there. Why she hadn’t just thrown it in a drawer. - ACOSF, chapter 56

But wait, there's (possibly) more...

Despite the plush furniture, the room definitely belonged to a witch: a small crystal altar to Cthona adorned the eastern wall, covered in various tools of worship; a large obsidian scrying mirror hung above it; and the fireplace built into the southern wall had various iron arms, presumably to hold cauldrons during spells. A royal suite, yes, but a workroom as well. - HOSAB, chapter 56

Ithan crossed his arms. On the desk itself sat a statuette of Cthona, carved from black stone. In one arm the goddess cradled an infant to her bare breast. In the other, she extended an orb—Midgard—out into the room. Cthona, birther of worlds. He touched it idly, gathering his courage. - HOFAS, chapter 13

Ithan was carefully setting down a figurine of Cthona giving birth on all fours—the planet Midgard crowning between her legs—when Jesiba’s phone rang. The shrill sound shattered the silence, but Ithan’s sunball reflexes kept him from dropping the fragile marble. - HOFAS, chapter 44

Could the Ouroboros represent the moon associated with the priestesses of the Mother? I mean it's big and round, and I'm a simple person haha. Was there ever a temple to Wyrd/Chaos on - or underneath - Ramiel? Does the black stone monolith represent the goddess/Wyrd, the Ouroboros the moon and the Cauldron the world to which she's giving birth? If black stone/obsidian attracts the princes of Hel, is that because obsidian is a stand in for Void and they are themselves a mixture of Void and Chaos? Is black stone used to depict Wyrd/Chaos because it acknowledges that She is attracted* to the Void? And the Ouroboros, which I have previously thought could be a portal (and hey, it's taller than Feyre, so tall enough), and @wingedblooms theorised it may be a mirror of witch glass... it seems intentional.

* This imagery reminds me of the Embrace of Solas and Cthona.

Sailing the Void

In my post about The Weaver's Song, I theorised that it might be a prophecy suggesting that the three Archeron sisters may sing, or "sail" (for lack of a better term haha) the bat brothers through the Void, either figuratively or (I hope!) literally. Either to Hel or to some other place - I would scream if it's Erilea, as @psychologynerd has theorised for Elain - but ultimately, wherever they go, I think it will be with the goal of finding and freeing Wyrd from whatever (hypothetically) binds Her, thus purifying Her and the Cauldron from the corruption of the Daglan/Asteri.

Which, speaking of, could the Asteri/Daglan have bound Wyrd with wyrdstone as like calls to like? Or did they use a crystal prism - like the one Bryce found in the Autumn King's study - to split Her light into its many facets and bind - tether - each to something or one? Did they create an anti rainbow with wyrdstone to split Wyrd apart, weakening Her?

With a sharp inhale, Bryce rallied her magic. On the exhale, she sent a stream of her starlight into the prism, her power faster than ever before. Starlight hit the prism, passed through it, and— “Huh.” It wasn’t a rainbow that emerged from the other side. Not even close. It took her a moment to process what she was seeing: a gradient beam of starlight. Where the rainbow would have been full of color, this one began in shimmering white light and descended into shadow. An anti-rainbow, as it were. Light falling into darkness, droplets of starlight raining from the highest beam into the shadowy band at the bottom, devoured by the darkness below. Like the fading light of day—of dusk. What did it mean? She was pretty sure her light had been pure before, but now, with Silene’s power mixed in … there was darkness there, too. Hidden beneath. - HOFAS, chapter 39

I've previously spoken about the need for balance to be restored to the universe, and that something may be preventing light (Chaos?) from flowing freely through the Void. If this is true, and it stems from the Asteri's corrupting efforts, it would make sense that purifying their influence on the Mother and Cauldron - who we now know is Wyrd - would help to heal the land, by unchaining the magic, as Feyre hinted in ACOMAF (and @wingedblooms has discussed extensively).

I shivered, craving the moderate winter of Velaris, wondering how it could be so temperate in the far north, but … everything in Prythian was strange. Perhaps when the wall hadn’t existed, when magic had flowed freely between realms, the seasonal differences hadn’t been so vast. - ACOMAF, chapter 23

I have more thoughts on this but I'm getting off track, hopefully I'll post them soon.

I've already discussed the possible significance of 'The Elain' ship flying a sail with the compass rose, or rose of the winds - an eight-pointed star - with nothing (void) on either side. I think it's interesting that 'The Feyre' flies two crescent moons and two diamond-type symbols that represent some of the (hypothetical) wyrdmarks on Wyrd's arms as depicted on the cover of HOFAS, and that 'The Nesta' flies a sail with a dragon and two suns, possibly referring to the dragon Ariadne from HOSAB (in Greek mythology, Ariadne was heavily associated with labyrinths, ie. finding one's way) and the sun being a star with a powerful flame? I know I sound like a broken record, but will the Archeron sisters be like the light from Eärendil's - a mariner! - star contained in the phial of Galadriel, but as the three brothers' most beloved stars? Will they light their way through the Void?

Getting back to the compass rose, Cassian refers to the eight-pointed star as a map for striking with a sword, and we know that light can be wielded as a weapon, as Yrene Towers did in Erilea, to heal Chaol and execute the Valg King Erawan.

“You didn’t ask.” He unsheathed his Illyrian blade. “Enough history.” He drew four lines in the dirt, all intersecting to form an eight-pointed star. “This is your map for striking with a sword. These eight maneuvers. You’ve learned six of them. You’ll learn the other two today, and we’ll start on the combinations.” - ACOSF, chapter 44

Additionally, Nesta suggested that the eight-pointed star was stamped on her heart.

Nesta lifted the sword and executed a perfect arcing slash. Her weight shifted to her legs just as she flipped the blade, leading with the hilt, and brought up her arm against an invisible blow. Another shift and the sword swept down, a brutal slash that would have sliced an opponent in half. Each slice was perfect. Like that eight-pointed star was stamped on her very heart. - ACOSF, chapter 50

This sounds incredibly similar to Bryce carrying a star in her chest - her star tattoo was over her heart - so I would not be surprised to learn that Feyre and Elain had something similar, too. It makes sense. Each Cauldron-Made sister carrying one third of a whole star, to replace Theia's protective magic that Bryce took with her to Midgard (as she didn't return it when she did Truth-Teller, Prythian is currently unprotected). And if the Cauldron is Wyrd's vessel, as it appears to be, this makes Feyre, Elain and Nesta supremely important. Perhaps they're not the "scum" Vesperus suggested at all.

Perhaps they are the wyrdkeys to everything? At least in Prythian, if each sister holds within her one third of a whole star that Wyrd planted Herself.

[arlequinelunaire]

Verthandi in the Middle Ch. 1.1

SV Next>

CW: The first couple of chapters involve a serial killer.

_ _ _

Because I’m the one who gets stuck with the serial killer, aren’t I?

…Okay, guess I should back up. Long story short, short-ish anyway, I go by Vera Norin, well down here I do. I’m one of the three owners, okay, one of the only three employees of the Wyrd Sisters Agency in Stockholm. Says a lot that my older sister Ruth told us we’d all have equal say, but then named the agency after herself. Er, after one of her alternate names.

Put simply, we control fate. No, we don’t just see your fate like a fortune teller, and unlike them we’re the real thing. Control it. Wanna go from rags to riches with us as your fairy godmothers, send someone you don’t like from riches to rags, or avoid your appointed death? Arranged all that and more thousands of times, and big sister Ruth even gets to control the past. Because of course she gets everything.

Er, guess I’m not being much of a saleswoman here, am I? Hey, I’m still the best of my sisters in that department, probably. Like Ruth would just tell you a bunch of flowery mythic-mystic bullshit before getting to anything important, while my little sister Svea would just prefix everything with ‘SUPER-’, ‘AWESOME-’, and ‘EPIC-’ and add a whole bunch of exclamation marks and a digi-cyber-guitar solo. Wait no, not epic, nobody says epic that way anymore, unless they start doing that again in the future when it’s retro. Huh, you’d think Svea of all people would know the actual meaning of the word ‘epic’, given we were there when the old sagas were being written. Then again, the past is Ruth’s domain- oh shit, I’m giving too much away, aren’t I?

Right, I take it you’re thinking if we’ve got power over fate itself, why are we letting mere humans have a say with this agency? Er, fellow mere humans, I mean. Simple, come the 21st century, someone as stuck in the past as Ruth has finally learned about democracy, and not just the barely-counts Ancient Greek kind. If we’re gonna hold this much power over people’s lives, the least we can do is actually give those people a say in things. That’s part of why I’m sharing this with all of you. Not that there aren’t conditions and restrictions of course, we’re still judge and jury, been doing this for millennia- ah, for years after all. Though I assure you, Ruth’s just as strict with us as she is with you, way more so. She’s had thousands of years to hammer into us “You can’t do that”, “Such is unbefitting of us”, “No using your power for your own gain” and on and on.

Okay, what’s this about me getting assigned a serial killer then? It started when a bunch of teens, you know the type, pimply, dour-faced, arms perpetually crossed, would’ve worn baseball caps backwards in past decades, lurched their way right into our office. “Wait, this is the place? Thought a ‘fate-writing’ place would be all dark and spooky, y’know all haunted castle. But this looks like where my parents work,” one of them whined.

“Fate-weaving, kid,” I muttered. Actually, we were still renting this basic white walled, brown carpeted office, and this kid reminding me of that got him on my nerves even more. Granted, freedom to decorate would give Ruth full reign to make everything all lacey and doily-draped and Svea to put spikes everywhere and drown it all in black paint. I shuddered at the thought. But speaking of her, “Svea, you know these guys?” I called out, since they were about high school age. Not that there’s only one high school in Stockholm, but eh, no harm in asking.

“Awesome, you guys saw my flyers!” Svea’s voice rang out all through the room. Which at least showed I was right, even if my ears throbbed. She ran up to them dressed in the exact opposite attire your standard office would demand. With her black hair uneven, leather coat clearly too big for her, knee-high combat boots ringed with spikes, it showed restraint that she didn’t enter the room to a guitar riff. Of course, I showed up to work in my usual anorak and jeans, and Ruth normally arrives in full Victorian garb, so we’re hardly any better. “Alright, so what can Verth and I do for you guys? Anything fate-related, that’s us!” Svea said with an ear-to-ear smile and both thumbs up.

“…Yeah, knew the loudmouth to be behind this. The handwriting on that ad was so bad, couldn’t be anyone but her,” one teen said, rolling his eyes. Huh, since when did stroppy teens care so much about handwriting? Oh yeah, as an excuse to bully Svea they do, though it looked like that remark only got a twitch out of her, on the surface anyway.

“So, if you people really can control fate,” another of the teens began as a smirk crept across his face, with me facepalming at what he said next, “Prove it by making the hottest girl in class fall desperately in love with me.”

“Not happening,” I wasted zero time in telling him. There was no way I’d risk Ruth coming into the room and hearing that one of her biggest rules was in danger of breaking. “We can weave what a person does or what happens to them into their fate, but not how they feel about it. Emotions are a person’s own domain.” It’s a testament to how much Ruth drilled those words into us that I could repeat them on the spot.

“Pfft, sounds to me like you can’t ‘weave fates’ after all,” that teen had to say, his smirk somehow even wider. “Or that hearing about hot girls reminds you how plain and drab you are, anorak,” he snickered like he thought I couldn’t hear, I then winced as Svea snickered with him. The little shit was so lucky that I was in a professional service environment right now and so couldn’t just deck him. Though any more talk like that, and he may find fate has decreed for him quite a few fists to the face. Or worse, decreed for him a life in retail.

“Hey, we can still do a whole bunch of stuff. Like with my domain, I get to decide who lives and who dies-” Svea began, before I put my hand right over her mouth.

“Oh no, you’re not putting that power in these losers’ hands,” I hissed in her ear. And on top of… the obvious, did she have to use the term ‘domain’? I then turned to the brats and told them, “How about sticking to your own fates, okay?”

But then one of them, an even more morbid type who’d been slinking in the shadows so far, had to ask, “What if you fated someone who really deserved it to die? Like a serial killer.”

Now that had me thinking. Obviously there’s been debate after debate on if killing someone can ever be justified, even the oh so brutal Viking Age still had Althing meetings over this sort of thing. On the other hand, like I’d shed the slightest tear over the death of a serial killer. On the other other hand, I was in no mood to become a bunch of snotty teens’ own assassin for hire, let alone foist that on Svea.

So I wussed out and went the rehabilitation route, how Scandinavian-justice-system of me. “How about we just fate it so that they never succeed in killing anyone again?” I offered. Naturally, I said that before knowing who and how bad this serial killer even was. Of course, Svea promptly frowned right at me.

“Fine. Just as long as, y’know, you actually do something involving fate already,” the first teen said. “Oh right, and that you don’t charge too much, we’ve been here long enough.”

Long enough? Since when’s a few minutes ‘long enough’? Not that I can’t sympathise with being strapped for cash, as Ruth won’t let us fate-weave ourselves rich since we ‘can’t use fate-weaving for own advantage’. But at the same time, who the Hel’s this kid to tell us how to run our business? Still, a compromise came to mind as I smirked back at him, “Our price is the satisfaction we get when you all concede that we really do control fate. How’s that?”

“Deal,” the teens said in unison, their faces still sour. Hey, I’d be happy to get this whole thing over with too. The one in the shadows then kept scrolling on their phone until they went, “Yeah, this guy looks like the right candidate.”

“Wait, you mean you didn’t have an actual killer in mind till just now?” I asked them, mouth agape. Just when I thought these teens couldn’t annoy me more. And they flat out ignored what I just said and held the phone up to my face. “Anastasios, surname unknown, the ‘Scarecrow’ killer,” I read. So named for his scrawny, nigh skeletal looks and the way he ties up his victims. Main stalking ground is… all the way down in Athens? These kids were absolutely sure they didn’t pick this guy at random? Then again, a serial killer’s a serial killer, and I like to think I’m more principled about death than Svea. “You got it, this guy’s killing days are done for. Check the news for any more reports on him if you don’t believe us,” I said with a smirk of my own. “Oh, and when that happens, make sure you tell all your friends just how wrong you were about us. Now scram.” Not the best thing to tell your customers, but Ruth wasn’t around, so as if I cared at this point.

“You mean you’re not gonna let us see your actual fate-writing, weaving, whatever process?” one of them had to blurt out.

This again. “Look, a nuclear plant isn’t gonna let you hang around radiation, we’re not gonna let clients hang around the destiny threads. They’re the whole of a person’s time on this Earth, maximum caution required. Now scram,” I said as I shoved them one by one out the door. Hel, ‘scram’ was me holding back, my first instinct was to tell them ‘Fuck off’. Then again, scram is what you say to kids, too Sesame Street reminiscent, while fuck off is what you say to adults, and I didn’t fancy treating them like that.

Then the second I’d dusted my hands of them, I turned around to see Ruth as prim and proper as a 19th century nanny staring right back me into my soul. Oh come on, I didn’t even hear her come in. Well, that’s typical for her, why announce your presence when you could make your sisters fear you’re always watching? “Vera,” she said looking down at me, like that word was all she needed to say.

“Hey, it’s just us three now, you do know you can use my real name?” I said first, then actually replied to what she’d implied with, “And I’m doing my job. I kept putting up with those kids till we reached an agreement, and now we’re gonna change fate per their request. What more do you want?”

“For you to start treating our customers with respect, to begin with. It would not do for our business to be saddled with a bad reputation,” Ruth said as she loomed closer over me. She then placed a hand on Svea’s shoulder as she kept chewing me out, “And in addition, you insulted the very customers your little sister invited. Think about how she must feel, after she put in all the hard work of advertising.”

I was about to point out to Ruth that, had she not shown up at the last minute, she would’ve heard these kids insulting Svea too. But as the future’s not my domain, I’d failed to foresee that Svea would betray me. “Oh yes, Verth was really mean, and to me too. She kept telling me no when I had any idea about how to give our clients what they wanted,” Svea said as she ‘cried’ at Ruth.

“Because Svea wanted to let teenagers order a guy’s death,” I hissed. Don’t know why I did, because if Ruth didn’t ignore me, she probably would’ve manufactured some excuse to defend Svea. Anything for the ‘baby’ of the family. So I then said, “Hey, we’re the only fate-weaving business on Midgard, in all the Realms even,” …as far as I knew, “We’re the last people who need to be worried about customers leaving for the competition.”

Ruth sighed down at me. “We know that, but they do not. To those more superstitious, any charlatan with cards and a crystal ball could be just as valid as we. To those more skeptical, we could be yet more quacks. We cannot afford to drive away clients, Vera. And even if we could, such behaviour would still be utterly unprofessional,” she said through gritted teeth. Then she softened her voice and used my real name, “Verthandi, as the past is not your domain, I don’t know how well you remember this. But in the Eddas, in all the Sagas too, any time our names were said, it was in fear or hatred, and that was when they chose to acknowledge us at all. The last thing I want is for that same fear and hatred to follow us into the 21st century. And that is why manners matter,” she huffed as her voice shot back up to its normal volume.

“…I know,” is all I said to her about our, well, past infamy. I seethed at her thinking all those things said about us didn’t still hurt me. I mean I get it, if you hear someone else controls your fate, it makes sense you’d be resentful of them. But I never asked to be shat on just for doing my job.

Though now she mentions it, if restoring our rep’s so important, doesn’t us using aliases defeat the whole point? Especially when they’re so paper-thin anyway, though I was at least grateful not to get stuck with the proposed ‘Bertha’.

Oh, and since Ruth had just ‘wrecked’ me, Svea of course had to stick her tongue out and pull down an eyelid at me. Yeah, that’s ‘manners’. And how is Svea going ‘killing is totally awesome’ not as harmful to our reputation as me saying a swear word to some kids? “Let’s just weave this fate already,” I settled on.

Guess it’s no use still trying to hide who we are, huh? Even Ruth’s gone and used my real name. Right, I’m Verthandi, Norn of Present Time. And if you’ve so much as squinted at a Norse mythology book, I take it you’ve figured out Ruth’s Urth of the Past and Svea’s Skuld of the Future. Told you our aliases were flimsy. We’re the Nornir and we’re, er, hard to describe, and that’s coming from one of them. We’re not goddesses, let’s make that clear, even if we do have to hang out with them. Urth tells us we’re Jotnar, which gets translated as ‘giants’ despite her only being six foot four, Skuld being a shrimp, and me being average as always. Yeah, you can argue the exact difference between Jotnar and Gods is pretty flimsy, but trust me, you really don’t want to compare the two to their faces.

Of course, my domain being the Present and not the Past means my memory’s kinda hazy, so I only have Urth’s word for it that I even am a Jotun. Hel, I don’t even know my own parents, think I heard Dad’s someone called Mogthrasir? He’s a real deadbeat, whoever he is. But I guess Urth’s telling the truth, like what would she have to gain from saying we’re Jotnar specifically?

Anyway, the fate-weaving. The three of us walked over to a corridor as bland and unfurnished as the foyer, till we came to a door no mortals could see. Or at least, they better not see, if all the runes we scribbled on it are working right. Our local fate-weaving room… how to even describe it? Have you heard of a tesseract, you know, a four-dimensional cube? Picture a whole cavern of four-dimensional spiderwebs, where each dewdrop reflects a moment from someone’s life, from big things like birth, graduation, and death, to the smaller stuff like that one time traffic was real bad, or it rained when the forecast said it’d be sunny. These webs of fate are also this room’s sole light source, with a person’s past shining white, their future shrouded in hazy black, and their present a smushed pallet. Or so it looks like to me anyway, if my sisters see their domains differently they’ve told me squat. Though I think Skuld wouldn’t want her domain to be any other colour than black, like her soul~.

While we didn’t have any super strong leads, knowing some basic information on this killer did help in tracking down his specific thread of fate. As Skuld and I approached the threads, our hands as usual morphed themselves into instruments akin to a spider’s pincers. Yet another reason we don’t humans watch us fate-weave, they’d be sent screaming seeing us turn semi-arachnid. Still, it’d help a lot if I could actually use an opposable thumb for all the tricky, obnoxiously precise bits.

I got to plucking out all the murders the Scarecrow killer ever would’ve committed from this point; I suppose I should’ve felt disturbed seeing them but well, I’m thousands of years old. I may not have the best memory, but the seriously bleak things from the past are all too good at sticking in the mind. Meanwhile, Skuld got the even more laborious job of lengthening all the threads of his future victims, now their fated deaths had changed. And all the while, Urth just… stood in the corner. Watching us do all the work.

“We are tampering with the web of fate enough,” Urth told me as soon as I glared at her, “Were I to get involved and rewrite the fates of his past victims, we don’t know how drastically we would complicate the web.” Which yeah, was exactly the response I expected. Again, alive for thousands upon thousands of years, I can’t fathom how many times she’s told me that. Although, makes sense we couldn’t show those kids we’re the real thing if the killer never even got to kill in the first place. “Not to mention-”

“The gods of the dead don’t like us taking those who’ve already died back from them, I know,” I said. Though it wasn’t like those three could afford to lose a soul or two, especially Odin. I then dusted my hands and said, “Anyway, we’ve got all these fates sorted. Let’s hope our next client asks us for something more pleasant.” And has more money to throw around.

“Oh no, we are not done yet,” Urth said as she looked right at me again. “You’re to watch over this Scarecrow to see how he reacts to having his capacity to kill taken away.”

“What? Why?” I asked, as I instantly assumed she was having me do this out of spite. “We know he’s not gonna kill any more, so what’s the point?”

“Yeah, and how come Verth gets to meet a serial killer and not me?” Skuld had to ask.

“Because Verthandi, you should know by now that the consequences for reweaving fate are nothing you should ignore. And seeing the reweaved in person is to remind you that these are fates of people we deal with, not dolls,” Urth told me, then turned to Skuld and said, “Skuld dear, I will absolutely not let you meet a serial killer. It simply isn’t healthy for you.”

“Why isn’t it?” I actually found myself coming to Skuld’s defence for once. “We can’t weave ourselves into his or anyone’s fate, but even then he still can’t kill her. Can’t kill the future after all. Not to mention some gods she’s met are way worse than serial killers,” I felt the need to keep my voice low for that line.

“Yeah, so lemme meet the killer. Why does Verth get all the fun?” Skuld kept whining.

“Verthandi, this is your little sister you are talking about!” Urth snapped at me. She then steadied herself with a deep breath and said, “Besides, while he may not be able to kill her, there are still plenty of awful things, physical and mental, he could still try on her.” Then she turned around and went, “Skuld, why don’t you and I go out for ice-cream instead? Maybe we can bring your hoverboard to the park?”

Oh, so suddenly those ‘awful things’ are okay when I’m the one in the crosshairs, are they? Yeah, Skuld’s stuck in permanent adolescence, but she’s still been in existence since, like, forever. Though I could immediately imagine Urth replying to that with ‘as have you’.

But if I said all that, it turned out Skuld wouldn’t have my back anyway, as she instantly said, “Ooh, ice cream!”

By the way, if you wonder why we make Skuld go to school even though she’s an immortal, well, one part that permanent adolescence, her being future potential embodied, but also Urth’s whole ‘gotta know the people’ thing. Everything I’d heard about school just made me glad Skuld got stuck with the Future and not me.

With me left with nothing but to groan, I followed Urth out into the scrubby patch that passed for our backyard. There, she picked up a rune-adorned old clay jug of water and held it aloft in the air. Everything shook as a massive, twisting root came down from out of the sky to drink from it. That’s our other job, attending the World Tree Yggdrasill. Well, ‘Yggdrasill’ is just what it’s called now, after Odin hanged himself from it. Its real name is… huh, I don’t think I even know. Maybe Urth does, but if she did she’d probably find some excuse not to tell me.

Anyway, even a root this size was still a minor root for Yggdrasill, nowhere near the three big ones, but it’d do for my assignment. “Ah, the Norns, what can I do for you today?” the tree’s personal squirrel chirped as he scurried his way down the branch, his alien green eyes letting you know this wasn’t your standard red squirrel. Well, that and the little reporter's hat and jacket he was wearing. And the voice thing.

“Nornir,” Urth had to correct, as if the fuzzball at all cared.

“I just need a lift to Athens, Ratatosk. That’s all,” I told him quick. I was about to tell him not to dump me on the outskirts, but knowing my luck that would probably be where the killer’s hiding.

“Why, you three already bombing in Stockholm?” he had to say. Him being the only one amused, and then having to dodge a can thrown by Skuld, he followed with, “Okay okay, your ride to Athens is ready. All aboard.”

I then took hold of the end of the root, and with that was pulled through creation all the way from Europe’s north to its south. Nothing I hadn’t done a bunch before, but I could only imagine how terrifying the experience would be for a regular human, especially for their arm.

And now you know all about how I got assigned to babysit a former serial killer. Here’s hoping he won’t be too much of a headache to deal with in person, I could use less of those in my life.

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

Leman: "Brat! In here, now."

Your baby: "What? What's wrong?"

Leman: "Your grades. I've gone over them, and I'm seeing top marks across the board. Care to explain?"

Your baby: "You told me to do good in school!"

Leman: "Good, yes. But this is too good."

Your baby: *Nervous silence*

Leman: "Allfather knows, I've done my best with you. But academic achievement is not my wyrd."

Your baby: *Nervous silence intensifies*

Leman: "But. You know who delights in that sort of thing?"

Your baby: *Petrified panic*

Leman: "Who steeps himself in any and all lore, hoards and disseminates any and all knowledge, whether it be good or ill?"

Your baby: *Hyperventilating*

Leman: "Your uncle Magnus has been tutoring you, hasn't he?"

Your baby: "He just wanted to help me learn!"

Leman: "That bastard! I'll show him–"

Omg, poor Leman's child. They can never be friends with Magnus or his children. But he has Uncle Mortarion! Yes, he is a little creepy, but his children are normal. And most importantly, they also hate psykers.

[sejdkvinna]

rune misconceptions

Learning and studying runes is no small task, and there's a lot of misinformation and misconceptions out there! We are also limited on historical sources of magical uses for runes, so reconstructing how to use runes often requires some creative liberties. Modern interpretations of the runes absolutely have their place, but understanding what we do and don't know about runes for historical sources can help you discern where information is coming from.

Blank Rune

The blank rune isn't a rune! Ralph Blum's "Book of Runes", published in 1983, is responsible for the creation of the blank rune. He preferred a 5x5 grid system over the 3 aettir sets, so adding a blank rune was convenient for this purpose. Additionally, the blank rune can be considered redundant. The blank rune is associated with wyrd and that you are not meant to know the answer, which is a meaning I've also seen many attribute to the rune Pertho.

Rune Spreads

While rune spreads can absolutely be useful in modern witchcraft/divination, we don't actually know that rune spreads have a historical basis. Our knowledge on the potential of rune casting in old customs comes primarily from Tacitus in "Germania" (not written by a practitioner, only an observer), who writes:

"They attach the highest importance to the taking of auspices and casting lots. Their usual procedure with the lot is simple. They cut off a branch from a nut-bearing tree and slice it into strips these they mark with different signs and throw them at random onto a white cloth. Then the state's priest, if it is an official consultation, or the father of the family, in a private one, offers prayer to the gods and looking up towards heaven picks up three strips, one at a time, and, according to which sign they have previously been marked with, makes his interpretation. If the lots forbid an undertaking, there is no deliberation that day about the matter in question. If they allow it, further confirmation is required by taking auspices."

However, this still doesn't necessarily indicate that the runes were the symbols in question, so whether runes were used for divination is still disputed! If rune castings and spreads work for you, keep at it! My only advice is to recognize that runes aren't just Norse tarot cards, respect their differences and treat them as separate. But be wary of sources that claim that their rune spreads or methods of casting are based in ancient practice - we know very little about divinatory uses of runes!

Origins

I've heard a few different stories on the origin of runes (mythologically speaking). Some claim that Oden created the runes and therefore belong to him. Others claim that Freja is responsible for teaching Oden the runes. While Oden is heavily associated with the runes and Freja did teach Oden magic (specifically sejd/seidr), the runes were revealed to Oden when he sacrificed himself on Yggdrasil and waited nine days and nights.

Learning the Runes

"Runes none should grave ever Who knows not to read them; Of dark spell full many The meaning may miss. Ten spell-words writ wrongly On whale-bone were graven: Whence to leek-tending maiden, Long sorrow and pain."

Egil's Saga warns people to not use the runes if you do not know them well. This isn't meant to fear-monger or discourage people away from learning the runes, but take your time learning them! Reflect on their meanings, understand how they fit into their mythological/cultural context.

References

http://whispersofyggdrasil.blogspot.com/2012/04/wyrd-blank-rune.html?m=1

https://www.groveandgrotto.com/blogs/articles/whats-up-with-the-blank-rune-how-and-whether-to-read-it

https://norse-mythology.org/runes/runic-philosophy-and-magic/

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Runic_magic

"Germania" by Tacitus

Egil's Saga

https://norse-mythology.org/tales/odins-discovery-of-the-runes/