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fanwarriorfictions · 11 months ago

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Not Again - Part Nine

Summary: Y/n is desperate to try and get home, willing to face near death again to try if she must. Azriel is not willing to let her risk herself, and fortunately neither is the rest of his family.

Warnings: she’s a little angsty

Series Masterlist

-Part Nine-

“You’re not trying it again,” Azriel snarls, arms crossed over his chest, “We don’t even know what went wrong in the first place, you could’ve died.”

Y/n sighs, rubbing her temples, they’d been at this for hours now, surrounded by the inner court. So far, no one seemed to be on her side, least of all Azriel. As soon as the words had left her mouth he’d been seething, that quiet calm mask replaced by burning rage.

“Give me the book of breathings and I’ll figure it out,” Y/n snaps back, bearing all of her teeth at him, “I must have misread something. Maybe the ancient busy body will have answers for me.”

“You’re not going anywhere near that book!”

“Az, chill out,” Cassian says, gripping his brother’s arm, “Let’s all calm down and think for a damn moment.”

Y/n slumps into her seat, glaring at Azriel as he paces on the other side of the table, the only thing keeping them from lunging at each other and tearing out each other’s throat. He glares right back, shadows whipping around him like they might grab her and strap her to the very seat she sits on to keep her from trying the spell again.

“Azriel’s right,” Feyre sighs, “That book was holding you hostage, and the book of breathings has done the same to me, I don’t want to risk you getting hurt again, or worse.”

“I’m not a child in need of your protection,” Y/n says, ice cold and guarded.

“No,” Amren says then, “But you are stranded and in need of our help. We will not risk ourselves because you want to foolishly run head first to your death.”

“Y/n, it’s in your best interest to take it slow, and let us help you,” Rhys chimes in, “I felt something when you opened that portal, something dark, powerful. There’s something out there, and whatever it is took an interest in out dear Y/n here.”

Y/n’s shoulder lock up, and Azriel’s glare turns to ice, “You already knew that didn’t you?”

“What was it?” Nesta leans on the table, steely eyes staring directly into Y/n’s soul.

“I don’t know,” she says, holding that piercing gaze, not backing down an inch, “I heard something, when I was trapped. Something cold and wicked.”

“What did it say?” Azriel demands, stepping closer to the table that separates them, multiple times in the last hour she’d been half tempted to leap across that table and fight it out with teeth, fists, and daggers, “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

“Oh please.” She rolls her eyes, and she can see the exact moment it crawls beneath his skin, he looks half tempted to strangle her, “It’s kind of hard to talk when you’re to busy shoving your tongue down my throat.”

“I’m sorry,” Mor says, looking at Az with wide eyes, “What?”

“Listen, princess.” Azriel leans on the table, ignoring Mor, ignoring the rest of his family who look between the two with varying degrees of alarm, “I don’t give a shit about this whole, I’m tougher than the world act, you’re scared and I know it, I can fucking see it, so go ahead and tell me what the fuck it said.”

She practically hisses at him, leaning forward in her seat, arm in casual reach of the blade at her thigh, “You don’t fucking know me, shadowsinger.”

“That’s enough,” Feyre snaps, “if you two can’t be civil together one of you can get out.”

Azriel looks ready to argue but one sharp glare from his high lady has him backing down. He turns on his heal, taking three long strides away from the table, putting distance between them like it would cool the raging flames in their eyes.

“What did you hear?” Feyre asks calmly, that air of dominance in her voice, High Lady, a queen in her own right.

Y/n holds her head high, meeting Feyre’s eyes, she may not be a queen but one day she would be, and she would bow to no one, “It told me to pay the price, gods killer’s kin.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Cassian asks, “Why can’t these things just say what they mean?”

“When my mother banished the gods to that hell realm to die,” Y/n says, “It would seem not all of them did. And whoever survived is demanding the price my mother was supposed to give.”

“And what price is that?” Azriel’s voice is deadly soft.

She could feel the anger radiating off of him, not necessarily at her, not necessarily not at her. He was angry that she’d nearly died, that she was willing to do it again if it meant going home. He was angry at her for being so damn stubborn that she wouldn’t listen, that she wouldn’t let him play protective fae male. She was angry to, so gods damned angry at the Wyrd for handing her this fate. For bringing her here in the first place, for putting her in their lives, in his, only to take her away again.

“My life.”

Azriel felt the words echo through him, bouncing around in his skull, each syllable cracking another piece of him until he was on the verge of shattering. My life, my life, my life, her life, her life, her life, her, her, her. Sharp stabbing pain in his chest like each word was a ash arrow through his sternum and directly into the heart beneath.

“No.”

“You don’t-“

“No,” he growls again, gaze matching Y/n’s, fire and ice pushing and pushing against each other to create a storm.

“We don’t know what this thing is,” Rhys interjects, “If it’s an actual god like thing, one of Quinlann’s Asteri, or something else entirely. Amren will search that dreadful book for answers about the gate. You two, will sit and calm the fuck down, and the rest of us will get back to work.”

The High Lord’s voice held an air of finality, no room to argue, even Y/n slumped in her seat, letting some of the cold fire go out. Amren is up and out the door as soon as Rhys stands, grumbling something beneath her breath about ungrateful little girls that has Y/n glaring between her shoulders like she was imagining that dagger strapped to her thigh buried between them.

“It will be alright, Y/n” Feyre lays a gentle hand on the female’s shoulder, “We will get you home, and if this god wants a fight, we will give it one.”

Azriel notes the shattered and broken look in Y/n’s eyes as she nods at his High Lady. He is so busy examining each of her motions that he doesn’t notice his family file out, doesn’t notice the concerned eyes and subtle glances between him and the female before him. She won’t look at him, he can tell she is actively trying not to meet his gaze. Fine, if she wanted to play the silent game, he’d play it and he’d win. They were going to have this out one way or another.

He sits across from her, arms crossed over his chest, eyes searching her face for any motion, but she sits still, that absolute fae stillness that looks like she isn’t even breathing. If it wasn’t for the steady beat of her heart in his ears he would think she wasn’t.

They sat there in silence, neither willing to be the one to break first. She stares at the wall beyond him, he stares at her face.

The tension in the room is suffocating, Azriel’s shadows are the only movement, the only sound, whispering in his ears, she’s upset, help her, comfort her. He wants to scream, to tell them to mind their own business.

He knows she’s upset, he knows and there’s a part of him that wants to take her into his arms and hold her, to tell her it’s alright and that he’d help her figure it out, but there’s an even bigger part of him that wants to keep yelling, to grab her and shake her till she stops and actually listens to him. He wishes he was like Rhys, that he could go into her mind and show her what she had looked like, trapped in that spell, he wishes he could show her the terror in his heart. How could she be so gods damned stubborn that she would even think to try it again, to put herself through that again, to put him through it again. Because if she did it, he would be right there beside her, and he would burn all over again to keep her safe.

Both of them were to stubborn to break first, they sat there for nearly an hour before Azriel stood, that far away look in his eyes that meant Rhys was talking to him in his head. He didn’t say anything to Y/n, only sending her a warning look before stalking out the doors and jumping from the balcony. She was half tempted to follow, to take her talons directly into his back, to get the fight she’d been itching to have with him. Instead she sat there, staring at that same blank space on the wall, mind spiraling down and down into that dark portal that ate up the Walking Dead book.

She wishes she still had it, that she could figure out how it all went wrong. She was so sure she’d copied those marks perfectly, spelling out the name of her home meticulously. Orynth, Terrasen, she’d learned how to write out the name in the Wyrd marks as a child, she knew it like the back of her hand. It should’ve worked, the gate should’ve worked.

When it had opened, she swore she could feel home on the other side, lands of pine and snow, the smell of the kings flame blooming across the mountains. It was right there, just beyond her reach, and that was when she’d felt it, when there had been something else, something dark that took her mind and whispered those words. Which god had survived, which one now demanded her death, she wasn’t sure. Quite frankly she didn’t want to know.

Whoever it was, they were angry, angry at her mother for what she had done, for the deaths of the other gods, and for that, they would take the one thing her mother cherished beyond anything else, Y/n. They would take her, using the power in her blood to make the lock that would bring them home, squeezing every last drop of life from her till there was nothing left.

Azriel knew he was going to walk into the River house and be bombarded, the question was, who would get to him first.

“Who needs a babysitter now?”

He glares at his brother, “Shut up, Cassian.”

“No, no, I’m going to enjoy this,” Cass grins at him, “I’m surprised you actually came down here, with way you two were staring each other down I was sure there would be some rough-“

Azriel sends him a warning snarl, “Watch it.”

Cassian only grins wider, holding his hands up in mock surrender, “I’ve never seen someone get under you skin like that. I’m surprised it took this long for, how’d did she put it? For your tongue to end up down her throat.”

Azriel was seconds away from sending his fist into his brothers face when Rhys opens his office door, “I’m surprised you’re not in a bed right now.”

Cassian’s roaring laughter fills the hall way and Azriel doesn’t hold back the fist he sends straight into Cassian’s stomach. His brother breathlessly laughs, even as he doubles over. Rhys’s eyes sparkle in amusement and Azriel sends him a look that dares him to say anything else.

“Why did you call me down?”

The High Lords humor vanishes just like that, it’s enough to even sober up Cassian, “Amren found something.”

No, no, no, no, “What is it?”

“The book of breathings was very talkative, it kept telling her that the storyteller should have heeded its warnings,” Rhys sighs, leaning against the door way, “With enough snarling Amren was able to wring a solid answer out of it.”

Azriel felt like throwing up as he asked, “What did it say?”

Rhys gives him a look, one that seems pleading, “That the Wyrd brought her here for a reason, as a gift to her, and it was angry at her for not accepting it.”

Cassian sighs, “What does that mean. What gift?”

There’s a moment where Azriel thinks Rhys won’t answer. Whatever it was, Az isn’t completely sure he wants to know. Whatever that wretched book had to say, it couldn’t be good.

“Fate brought Y/n here as a gift to her,” Rhys says again, taking a deep steadying breath, “Brought her here as a gift to her and her mate.”

Everything went quiet, the air, the best of his heart, quiet. No sound, no breaths, nothing. Just that word, mate, her mate.

“Az.”

He didn’t know who said it, Rhys, Cassian, his shadows, he didn’t know, he couldn’t hear beyond the echo of the word, mate, mate, mate, mate.

“Who?” He chokes on it, drowns in it, mate, mate, mate, “Who is it?”

He could feel it, like a tendril of shadow that reaches far far above the city, to the red cliffs, to the house carved into it’s side.

Rhys gives him a pitying look, “Brother, who do you thi-“

A soft tug, on that shadow, so faint it feels like it slips between his fingers.

“Who?” He pleads, breaking beneath it, mate, mate, mate, “Please.”

He collapses beneath the weight, knees digging into the soft plush rug beneath him. His brothers don’t move, they let him get crushed beneath the word.

“The book said it was a gift,” his brother whispers, “a gift to the storyteller and the shadowsinger.”

Mate, mate, mate, mate. That tendril of shadow firmly in his grasp, and on the other side, sits a storm of ice and fire. His mate, sits on the other side, high above him in the House of Wind, mate, mate, mate, mate, mate.

She is his mate.

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utterlyotterlyx · 9 months ago

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The Fox and The Fawn

High Lord Eris x Rhys!Sister!Reader x Azriel

Part Twelve

Summary - The High Lord's meeting takes place which provides the perfect opportunity to set you free.

Warnings - Get ready besties! Angst, trauma, ptsd, fluff, mentions of death, depression, weight loss, mentions of scarring

Word Count - 8.5k

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven

Time had ticked by tantalizingly slow, hours felt like days, and days felt like weeks. The rawness of your throat made every cough and splutter tease the death that was lurking around your small form, the same body that was shaking from the chill in the air and bones protruding from your skin from the lack of nourishment you had been given.

It was as though you had been forgotten.

The taunts had stopped, the other prisoners noticing how dire the situation had become, and they instead sought to comfort the imprisoned princess holding onto life by a single tensed golden thread. It had become clear that you weren't much different from them, plagued by the need to create a better life no matter the consequence. No matter the cost.

Visits from your fractured family had dwindled, only Feyre could enter the hell you found yourself in unnoticed, though, she carried the intriguing scent of cedar on her clothes but she didn't speak of him, she knew that above all, the betrayal of Azriel had cut you the deepest. It was Feyre who reminded you of the light beyond the confined walls, she carried messages from Cassian and Mor, and Amren, she carried whatever hope she could to you.

They were all desperate to convince you to just hold on for a little longer. Just another day.

Though, what you couldn't understand was how the queen dwelling deep inside of you could leave so abruptly. Perhaps it was the thick onyx stone embedded into the walls, maybe it made her cower back into her cage leaving the weakest part of you in the dim faelight.

Shuddering, you wrapped your arms around yourself, curling into a ball atop the stone altar that had been calling to you for Mother knows how long, so long that you had succumb to it and used it as a place to rest your dreary head. The matted hair attached to your scalp swept across the stone, gathering the last remnants of blood and dirt from the surface, the rest had seeped into your bones long ago.

The air had shifted somewhat, like the shifting sands of a land far away, telling you that beyond the walls that worked tirelessly to contain you, something was happening.

Thunder rumbled in the grey skies, you could hear the lightening barrel into the tower where your cell lay, cracking rock in its wake, as though nature itself was growing restless. There were little tears left to cry even when the shackles binding your limbs broke through your once glowing skin, it didn't hurt anymore, nothing did.

You were empty.

Is this what death felt like? To feel so stiff and empty, numb to the point where the screams within the prison no longer made your toes curl or heart clench?

If it were to be your end, then you would accept it. A part of you welcomed the idea, to be free of it all, to go to a place where you could find peace.

Eris.

It was the only name that could make you ache.

You had made peace with the fact that you may never see them again, that you’d never get to feel the touch of Eris' lips on yours, or Lucien's arms wrapped around you, Elain's kind words or Nesta's friendship. They would be better off without the danger your existence brought to their lives, not even from Rhys, but from whatever evil dwelt within you.

Running your tongue over your bottom lip, you hissed slightly, the skin broken and sore from the gnawing of your teeth; the same sensation grappled at your fingertips, your nailbeds raised and angry and nails split and jagged. When you ran your fingers down the front of your body, all that met your touch was the boned outline of your ribs that you could count one by one, and the sharpness of your collarbone and shoulders.

If Eris saw you, he would burn the world to ash. You were sure of it.

Had he met with Helion and Tamlin? Had he forged a path to free you? Had Rhys ended him before he could rise?

"Your thoughts are too loud, Princess," the taut voice of your neighbour called through the darkness, the thunder acting as the sonnet to his ire as it clapped somewhere overhead, rumbling the skies and shaking the ground beneath the altar where your body lay.

Jovian was one of the very few prisoners who hadn't taunted you after your rather unfortunate arrival within their home. What he did to land himself in such a place you never wished to know, but he had become an important crutch in your dwindling existence. The smallest surviving part of your imagination wanted you to believe that he was a handsome male, such notions derived from his voice being as warm as summer rain and as rich as chocolate.

Being neighbourly wasn't something you'd find within your personal hell, but you had learned that life had been made to surprise you in the most strangest of manners.

A strained hum sounded against your wilting lips, plastered downward as though they didn't know joy anymore, "Sorry," your voice broke with the rawness of your throat, the dryness that settled so deep within your oesophagus that you were convinced it would never leave even if you did by some miracle become free.

Jovian was daemati, just like Rhys, although, he couldn't control it very well at all, he was never trained with the gift after being locked away at such a young age. Thoughts seemed to scream at him, like a carriage racketing through a tunnel, loud and grating. He had been nice enough to you though, using gentle words and a soft voice to make you feel seen and heard, to make you feel like you were still important to someone despite being locked away and the key dropped into the Sidra.

A faint shuffle moved through the air, a sign that Jovian was moving closer to the bars of his cell, and he sighed, the warmth of his breath stretching to kiss your ice cold skin, "It's alright," his voice spoke, you could almost picture the male with his back pressed against the bars, his fingers reaching outward to where they could graze against yours if you would only move to accept it.

Thunder screamed beyond the walls, lightening and rain battering against the foundations, wearing away the stone bit by bit so that it may be able to reach you. "Can you feel it? The world tilting?"

Jovian hummed low, "I can. We all can."

It wasn’t a lie. The residents of the Prison had become restless, their maniacal laughter howling into the night, and part of you had wished to join them.

Using whatever little strength you had left, you pushed yourself upward and swung your legs over the side of the altar, the flashes of the same moment in another time splintering their way into your consciousness; your bare and bruised feet padded against the damp floor, a slight limp possessed your step from the countless times your ankle had twisted from not being able to hold your own weight.

Matching Jovian, you pressed your back against the onyx bars of your cell, crawling your fingers through them to brush lightly against the tips of his own, "What does your name mean?"

It was something you had thought of since the moment he told you it, it was such a unique name, much different from the names you knew. Jovian's index finger curled around your own, "Father of the sky. My mother enjoyed astrology and the study of planets, she said that it fit me perfectly." A beat of silence passed, "What does yours mean?"

Furrowing your brow, you couldn't seem to remember it, "I- I don't know."

A contemplative sound came from his lips, "I think it means warrior, it takes great strength to survive and hang onto your light in the face of great darkness."

A humourless laugh passed through you, "I'm no warrior."

"You're still here, aren't you? You could have given up long ago, but you didn't. What keeps you here?" Here as in Prythian, here as in the world, here as within life.

Flashes of laughter and love caressed against your soul, of warm Autumn evenings with your legs propped up on a lap and a furry head resting on your thighs, "Someone that I love, very much."

Reuniting with Eris was something you had forbidden yourself to dream of, it was futile given your condition, and maybe he would take one look at your ruined form and decide that he was better off. Eris would never do such a thing, but it helped you to believe that there was better things in the world awaiting him. Though, when those dreams did grace you, you had always awoken feeling full with your soul glowing gold. Multiple scenarios of it had poured through you, running through the forest at the edge of the estate into his open arms, on the beaches of the Day Court in the instance that Helion would break through the rock and pluck you from your cell, in Velaris when you would overthrow Rhys and bring peace to the Night Court.

Every scenario was beautiful and perfect, but they were just dreams, and dreams didn't tend to come true for you.

Jovian's finger traced the hem of the cuff secured against your wrist, cringing at the marred flesh thriving beneath it, "To love is a beautiful thing," his was was toned with longing, of a desire he would never get to experience for he too was subject to the knowledge that he would never leave.

"Yes," you cleared your throat, "It is."

"Whoever owns your heart is the luckiest male in the universe, y/n. Fighting is worth it when you have someone waiting for you."

Laying your cheek against the bars and staring onward like the stones may part and reveal you to one another, you asked, "Do you have someone waiting for you?"

Jovian pondered the question, sadness settling into his chest as he thought of how long he had been locked away, at how he had slowly aged over the time where everyone he once held dear had perished, "I may have once, not anymore though."

"If I ever get out of this place, I'll come back for you. I swear it."

For awhile after your voices died against the roaring skies, you sat with your backs pressed against your respective bars, fingers entwined, and for just a moment, you both didn't feel alone.

The Day Court was just as stunning as Eris had remembered it to be, tall marble pillars and ethereal artworks encapsulated the ceilings, and he wondered how he hadn't spent longer admiring it all the last time he had been within Day. Then he remembered that the last time he had been in the Day Court was when you had asked him to take you away, you had stolen his attention that night, and you had each day after.

All of the High Lords of Prythian had answered the call, even Rhys, and the day had come where the world would get to know what he had done to you.

Tension had been rife within the family you had brought together, Nesta was on edge about seeing Cassian and Feyre, Elain was on edge about seeing Azriel, Lucien was ripping at the seams at the thought of being around Rhys, and Eris was on edge about everything. One wrong move and Rhys could easily send the order to have your existence wiped from the world.

It was silly to assume that Rhys would bring you despite the demand for it, though Eris couldn't help but hope to see your glossy hair sauntering through the halls or the hem of your dress sweeping against the stone as you turned a corner.

The Day Court had always been your favourite place, you had often spoke of how you adored the sun seeping into your pores, how you'd never felt more complete and peaceful when walking along the sandbank with the water rushing up to greet you. Eris pictured you leaning against every wall he passed, a soft smile on your lips and skin glowing with love and health, hair bundled over your shoulders that he could twirl a finger in if he so wished, eyes burning so brightly that it made his stomach flip.

Helion had studied the texts as he had promised to do, and he was confident in his approach to rid the demon queen from your body thanks to the talents nestled within his court. Eris had been warned that it would be painful for you to endure and him to watch, but that it would put an end to the evil entwined within you.

The chamber chosen for the meeting was regal in its own right, high ceilings with coving made of solid gold, larger than life chairs arranged in a perfect circle around a pond of seawater that scattered its waves across the ceiling, large open arched windows with thin drapes that danced in the ocean breeze.

Kissing the horizon, the low sun signalled that it was time.

Eris sat across from the chairs assigned to the Night Court, Nesta to his left and Lucien to his right, both of whose orbs were trained on the empty seats awaiting the presence of the High Lord and Lady of night, if the latter would even show her face that is. Helion sat to the right hand curve of the sphere before the largest of the windows with the sun dipping just below the arch of his seat, fingers tapping against the table becoming annoyed with the lateness; Tamlin sat to the left curve, eyes darting to the High Lords and nose occasionally sniffing to catch a speckle of your scent.

All the other High Lords knew was that a crime had been committed, and that such a crime required a hearing of sorts, an attempt of resolution before the land was consumed by war on four fronts. Day. Night. Spring. Autumn.

It was clear that Rhys had spouted lies to the Winter Court, such was clear by the stone-faced glare being sent Eris' way by Kallias, and Eris could only imagine what vile words had been spoken between the two of them. Kallias had no doubt been told that Eris was a kidnapper, a manipulator and liar that had weaved his way into the mind of his dearest sister and turned her against her home and family.

The doors to the chamber opened once more, to announce the presence of the final bodies they were awaiting. Rhys appeared as stoic as ever, dressed in his finest onyx tunic, his crown dipping low on his brow and violet eyes swimming with poised anger; beside him was Feyre, eyes weary and stressed, dressed in her usual blue-grey ensemble. Then the Inner Circle appeared, all varying in their levels of ire and discomfort, Cassian whispered Nesta's name as soon as he saw her and she froze in response, noting how his wings had drooped slightly and skin tinged with illness. Mor hadn't looked much better, the shine to her hair had disappeared, her nail polish was chipped and her dress seemed a bit loose on her frame.

Counting them all one by one, it soon became glaringly obvious that a certain Shadowsinger had refrained from attending the meeting.

Rhys all but glided to his seat, giving Feyre a stern look as they both sat, their Inner Circle following suit to either side of them and bringing their night-kissed dread to a once warm room.

From their pallid complexions Nesta knew what they had seen, she knew that they too now knew the truth, and it gave her some form of hope to know that maybe you had some people looking out for you. Nesta's eyes connected with those of her mate, and she felt the air rush from her lungs at the pleading she found within them and the gentle tugging on the bond that she opened willingly, feeling his guilt and reassurance soaring across it.

"I appreciate you all for coming on such short notice," Helion spoke after a beat, allowing the tension to fester upon Rhys' entrance, his power causing the room to swelter.

It was taking all of his control to not lunge across the serene pool that separated them, Eris would give anything to be able to wipe that smug grin off of his face. The day would come when he could do such a thing, but that day wouldn't be the one where your life and sanity loomed over his pretty red head.

From the way Helion's eyes drifted to Rhys, with fire coursing through the speckles of his irises, did the other High Lords realise what had called them to the Day Court Palace, or rather, who.

"Rhysand," Helion drawled his name, a smirk tugging on his lips, "You are here to answer to a court of your peers, to the High Lords who wish to rule this world harmoniously, for the crimes you have committed against your own court, and your own flesh and blood." Helion moved his gaze to Kallias, then to Thesan and Tarquin, then to Tamlin who shuffled in his seat, and then to Eris who he gave a short, curt nod.

"For those of you who don't know of Rhys' treachery, allow me to fill you in," Helion waved his hand and sank back into the comfort of his seat, "For the last fleeting eon, Rhys has held his own sister captive within his court for fearing that her power could overthrow him. Upon realising the betrayal of her own brother, y/n approached Eris and asked him to free her of the confinements of the prison that she called home and found herself thriving within the Autumn Court."

Not expecting the words but also not wanting to go head-to-head with Helion, all Rhys could do was sit and listen, and Eris caught the poorly hidden smirk itching its way onto Feyre's mouth.

"Rhys threatened her, manipulated her into believing that she belonged to the Night Court and that if she didn't return then he would kill the family she had made with Eris," Helion's stare bore into Rhys, his orbs glowering with intensity and anguish over what he had done to his friend, "Rhys placed collars of onyx stone on her to make her void of power, and has psychologically tortured her to the point where she no longer resembles the female she used to be, and," Helion turned his head slightly to Eris in silent permission, not once tearing his eyes from the seething High Lord in his eyeline. Eris nodded once and felt the fate of the world move at it, "Rhys removed the memories of Eris and y/n from one another. They are Carranam, and they were very much in love. It threatened his power and position, so he stole their memories and locked her away so that she would never learn of what he did, and instead spread vile lies and vicious rumours so that no one would ever think to look for her or wonder about her."

Feyre soundlessly uttered the word, Carranam, her lips moving perfectly with the roll of her tongue, and her eyes widened. Feyre turned to her husband and mate with horror laced within her orbs but said nothing, instead her gaze flickered to Cassian, and then to Mor, before settling on Amren whose fists were clenched and nostrils flared.

"Where is she?" Tamlin asked, voice low and dangerous, "You were ordered to bring her."

Rhys ticked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, seemingly unphased by the stare of betrayal from his mate and the mother of his child, "My sister is elsewhere. To move her for a meeting so futile would cause her a great deal of pain."

"Where is she?" Eris hissed, his fingers creating scratches in the arms of his chair. Rhys was too smug, the lazy grin on his lips made Eris' blood boil so much so that ash pooled beneath his palms.

Finally, Rhys looked to Eris, he cocked his head to the side and pursed his lips, "The location of my sister is none of your concern," Rhys relaxed into his chair, unphased and unbothered, which only irked Eris more, "As Night Court tradition stipulates, an unmated female is the property of her family until she finds her mate or a suitable arrangement is made. My sister is unmated, and therefore, she's mine."

"That thought would hold if it were true," Nesta smirked, peering at Rhys through her lashes, her fingers drifting over the hilt of Ataraxia.

His eyes narrowed, and more a moment, Nesta could have sworn that she had saw a flash of fear within them, "It is true."

Eris hummed, "No, it's not actually," he allowed his glamour to fall, and the scent of your bond flooded the room, pine and spiced orange mixed with jasmine and salted air, "Y/N is my mate, she is my Carranam," Eris rose to his feet, "She is to be my wife, my High Lady, and the mother of my children. But before all of that, she is going to be free."

No one had been expecting so much information when they had arrived within the Day Court that afternoon, the collective mind of Prythian was reeling.

"Tell me where my mate is, Rhysand. We won't ask again," the red of his waistcoat strained against his chest and he inhaled deeply, partly relishing in the surprise in Rhys' eyes as he attempted to hold onto some reason why he could continue entrapping you.

Then, a sweet voice spoke, one raw from holding back tears of fury, "She's in the prison. Rotting away on his orders," Rhys' widened gaze moved to the owner of the voice, finding Feyre unwilling to look at him after confessing his darkest act.

A low growl emitted from Eris and he felt Nesta rise to her feet beside him, "We've been helping her the best we can, but she doesn't have much longer left," Cassian added, flinching when Rhys' head snapped to face him, but his eyes didn't move from Nesta, and she felt his sincerity flow down the bond and settle within her heart.

Cassian had become your ally, he was on your side trying to help you, but there was little he could do against Rhys' power, no matter how determined he was.

Realising that his own Inner Circle, his own family, had betrayed him, Rhys' eyes darkened and the ground began to rumble beneath their feet. Then it stopped. Rhys shivered. Rolling his neck at the sensation peeling down his spine, Rhys snarled, and peered back to the door as though he was expecting someone to enter. His ears twitched and his eyes narrowed, then he froze, it dawning on him what exactly he was feeling.

"What have you done?" Rhys turned his head to Feyre sadistically slow with a voice dangerously calm, but Feyre didn't back down, no, she rose to her feet and stared down at her mate with every ounce of disdain in her body.

"We," Feyre motioned between herself, Cassian, Mor, and Amren, "Have done what is right."

It dawned then on your found family that all this time, when they had believed that they were all against you, it was actually the opposite. They had been working tirelessly to find a way out for you, had been orchestrating their own movements to get to that moment, to get Rhys far away from the Night Court for long enough to give you a fighting chance.

And on knowing what was happening, Rhys blew through the wards around the Palace like it was nothing, shattering the shields into oblivion with his fury, and winnowed from sight.

The stiffness in your legs warned you what was coming.

There was no energy or fight left within you to do anything about it as you retreated to the far corner of your cell and draped the thin blanket over your tattered dress.

Wind slammed against the side of the tower, roaring into the night, desperately attempting to break through the stone as strong as iron. The skies cried with it, unable to idly stand by and watch you succumb to the thing that terrified you.

Death.

It had always been a concept you had been scared of, you loved life too much, and all of the possibilities that could have been yours if you were brave enough to just take the chances when they were in front of you.

One more dream, you could allow yourself that.

Your eyes drifted closed and you drowned out the words of Jovian who felt so close yet so far away, focusing solely on the male who owned your heart in every single way that mattered, on the male who had never been afraid of you.

In that moment, you imagined laying in your bed at Fir Manor, his ear pressed to your swelled stomach and lips stretched into a wonderous smile as he tried his hardest to listen to the heartbeat of the babe growing inside of you. His babe. You imagined running your fingers through his hair, wondering if your children would be blessed with hair the shade of glowing embers or hair as dark as the night. Eris would press his lips against your skin, whispering sweet promises to your growing babe that he would be nothing like his father, that he would protect your little family with every fibre of his being.

It was a sweet dream, a glimpse into the future, so sweet and perfect and impossible that you felt a single tear slip down your ashen cheeks.

One day you'd see him again. One day you'd be reunited in the stars and the heavens would sing their adoration. And you'd wait, and you'd watch him go through life, and you'd guide him to the next day, and protect him with your light until he would one day join you.

It would be a beautiful day.

Though, apparently someone was eager to pause that day from occurring as the bars of your cell splintered, the door itself twisting from the hinges with a sickening groan and and an array of cool kisses pecking at your calves.

Hazel eyes hovered before your own, marred fingers grazed your hallowed cheeks, "You don't get to die on me, Princess," he looked about the room, tucking the thin blanket around your body to keep you as warm as he possibly could, "It's time to go home."

A pained cry sounded from your lips and Azriel internally cringed at it, knowing that even cradling you in his arms was bringing you untold amounts of pain, "I know it hurts. I'm sorry, y/n. We don't have much time, I need to get you out of here."

Azriel rose to his feet and curled his wings around you, trying to will some warmth into your trembling form as he stepped into the hallway and kept walking without looking back, paying no mind to the teary eyes of Jovian who was pressed against the bars to his own cell, trying to catch a glimpse of your eyes open and full of fight, fingers outstretched and trying to brush against your light for one last time.

As soon as he exited the Prison, Azriel halted, feeling your fingers curl around the skin of his armour. Looking down, he noted the tears in your eyes as you stared up at the calming skies, the clouds splitting to reveal the brightest stars you had ever seen glimmering overhead, "I didn't think I'd ever see them again," your raw voice spoke, and if he looked hard enough, he swore he could see your heart pulsing in your chest.

"You're going to be seeing a lot more beautiful things than this sky," Azriel promised you, holding you a little tighter in his arms, knowing that it was probably going to be the last time he ever could. "I'm going to have to winnow us, okay? It's the only way to create enough distance between us and Rhys."

Nestling further into his arms, you nodded stiffly against his chest, your cheekbone rubbing against his leathers, so sharp that it threatened to split the intricate fabric. Curling his wings tighter around you, Azriel inhaled deeply, and then disappeared from sight, the only sign of his presence being the tint of cedar laced into the air.

Within a few minutes, the winnowing had halted, and your once screwed closed eyes softened as the scent of fresh foliage blossomed within your gut, gently caressing you and whispering to you that you were safe, that home was so close, mere metres away.

Azriel gently placed you on the ground, the grass soft beneath your feet, but he kept his hands on your waist to steady you, to catch you if your knees gave out.

The air felt lighter, teeming with life and the chirps of small creatures, glancing about, you spotted a manor in the distance, shrouded with fresh flowers and vine. "Are we in Spring?"

The Shadowsinger hummed softly in agreement, "Autumn is just over there," he motioned to where a shield of glamour rippled, a sign of the wards of Autumn ready to part and welcome you back, "Can you make it?"

"Yes," you answered instantly, energy flowing to your limbs and loosening the muscles within them. You peered up at Azriel, "Rhys-"

"Had to believe that I was on his side, had to trust me enough to loosen the leash," his brutally marred finger brushed a stray hair behind your ear, "I promised to never hurt you, I intend to keep that promise. I'm sorry for everything that I've done, for letting you believe that I betrayed you. I'm sorry. Rhys had to believe that he was winning, but I should have never allowed it to go this far. I should have protected you, got you out at the first chance I had."

Azriel stumbled back a step as your body collided with his own, winding your arms around his neck and doing your best to contain your wobbling bottom lip, "I forgive you," at the sound of your broken whisper Azriel curled his arms around your frame, allowing his shadows to pepper their love over your shoulders and spine.

It was a tender moment, one full of the unspoken love that had once flowed between you, a love that was still the centre of his universe but that had been replaced in yours. Azriel pulled back, his fingers lingering over the bargain tattoo that wrapped around your bicep, and smiled sadly, "You have to go. Rhys would have been alerted by now, he'll be looking for us."

"He'll kill you."

"Maybe," Azriel shrugged, "But if my death means that you make it out of this alive then it's worth it," the sky rumbled and you felt Rhys' power draw closer, "Go. I'll hold him off. Cross the boarder, go home," Azriel pressed his lips to your forehead and closed his eyes, drinking in everything he could about you before he stepped back and nudged you toward the rippling wards that were already parting for you, almost reaching out to envelope you in their protection.

You couldn't waste a moment, so you turned toward the boarder and willed yourself to not look back as that power rumbling in the skies slammed into the ground behind you. Ignoring the screaming ache in your limbs, you propelled yourself forward, feeling the wind rip through your hair and your skirt glide against your thighs.

A roar sounded behind you, a clash of swords, sinful words and the sickening crunch of bones as bodies smashed into the ground. The wards of Autumn reached for you, wrapping behind your body and urging you forward, and you leapt over the boarder, feeling Autumn welcome you back like a lost lover and solidify the shields around the court.

You spared a glance backward, witnessing Rhys looming over Azriel who was grounded and spitting blood, Truthteller curled in his grip and ready to dispose of the Shadowsinger. A scream ripped through your throat, loud and shrill enough to pull Rhys' attention from Azriel for a singular moment; his gaze shot up to find you, knowing that cry from anywhere, and he rose, going to take another step just as red siphons entered your vision and propelled Rhys through the air.

Cassian moved to Azriel, steadying his brother and muttering something to him, and then you saw Mor, and then Amren, and finally Feyre winnowing onto the field of Spring, all dressed in their leathers and the latter of which turned her head to you and as clear as day, you saw her lips telling you to go.

Stumbling backward, you turned again, moving through the forest and paying little mind to the blood seeping from the bottoms of your feet. A gentle galloping drew near, growing louder with each passing second until his black coat shone in the light and his large eyes found you, approaching you with urgency and softly whimpering as his head nuzzled into your shoulder.

"Hello Axos," your fingers raked through his mane and he lowered himself to the ground, bending at the knee and waiting for you to clamber onto his back, you hitched the hem of your tattered dress around your thighs and swung your leg over his back, leaning your chest against it as he rose from the ground and cantered onward.

Arched branches brushed against your back as though in greeting, small animals peaked up from their stones and hearths to watch you pass by, and the darkening sky sparkled as the last touch of sun vanished from sight. Weakness settled into your bones, the adrenaline wearing off and leaving you exhausted and wincing at every movement Axos made as he carried you through the forest.

The stallion came to a slow stop, craning his neck to tell you that you were safe. Sitting upright, a sob escaped you as you laid eyes on Fir Manor, and you rubbed your eyes to make sure that it was real and not some sort of wicked dream. Sliding from Axos' back, cool cobbled stone greeted you, the warm Autumn wind flowed through your hair and filled you with energy.

You ran down the path, dress billowing behind you, and flew through the oaken door. Part of you had expected to see them all in the seating area, a fire roaring, Nesta curled up reading one of her smutty books, Elain and Lucien cuddling in the corner and comparing the sizes of their hands, and Eris sat reading reports with Willow resting in his lap.

But the manor was cold and dark, the usual fire that roared in the hearth was nothing but ash, the only light that existed was birthed from the moonlight pouring between the curtains. Tugging at the skin around your fingernails, you moved through the house, calling out for Eris and Nesta whilst following the soft tug deep within your soul; you made your way up the stairs and winced at every step, the twisted muscles in your leg causing you more pain than you'd like to admit. You padded down the halls, peeking into each room and feeling warmth pool in your heart, the neatly made beds and the cascade of trinkets that told you which room belonged to each member of your found family causing a faint smile to pull at your lips.

Continuing your search, you used the walls as a crutch, having to pause every few metres to take a deep breath to control the contorting pain in your leg and shoulders. The grating of your chains filled the silence, that, and the sound of your breathless straining as you meandered through the space. You stumbled forward, reaching for a familiar set of doors that upon looking to them caused memories to swirl in the forefront of your mind, memories of opening that same door on a light morning, a certain shirt drowning your figure and whiskey amber orbs trailing up your thighs. Hesitantly, you reach for the handle, taking it between your fingers and pushing the door open to find the same darkness that lingered across the estate, but also a pair of furry ears that had perked up the moment your head curled around the door.

Your shoulders fell lax and you let out a sigh, "Hello Willow," the pup cried and unfurled herself from the ball atop the cream comforter, tail wagging and softly slapping against the sheets, relieved whimpers flowing from her lungs. The hound gingerly nuzzled her snout into your open palm, resting her chin atop it and giving small licks to your wrists, "Have you been looking after him for me, hm?" As if she understood you, she cried once more and saddled up to the edge of the bed, leaning her body into yours and shivering as your hands rubbed small circles into her fur.

It hadn't changed, the room, all that was different was the aroma that clung to the air, of spiced oranges and pine, a tell-tale sign that Eris had tortured himself just to be able the breathe your scent to sleep. His clothes were strewn about the room, lazily draped across the back of the armchair and his riding coat hung on the corner of the mirror where your dress had once swayed. Open books were played over the coffee table, and upon further inspection, you recognised them to be the books that you had read once upon a time when you had been wedged beside him and dousing in his fire.

The windows were wide and welcoming, and you allowed yourself a moment of serenity. You approached the glass panes, fingers running down the lapels of Eris' riding coat before you wrapped your arms around yourself as your eyes scanned the estate, from the quaint ponds to the right to the small garden Elain had erected to the left, and sighed.

As if it were a dream, you heard voices darting about by the treeline, and your weak vision pinpointed the location exactly just as a speckle of red stepped onto the cobbled path. His eyes were frantic and wild, and he inhaled deeply, the scent of you threatening to cripple him to his knees.

Within moments his eyes were darting through the windows, working their way upward until he froze. Eris' eyes faltered, blinking furiously, and he took a single step forward, and that action was enough to make you turn on the balls of your feet and hurtle through the manor, ignoring the screaming in your body as you flew down the stairs and through the halls and seating area until you were flinging the door open and stepping into the moonlight.

Eris stood frozen at the end of the cobbled path, staring straight ahead at you, loosening a breath and eyes watering as you wobbled down the steps, "Eris? Are you listening? She wasn't there, she has to be in the forest somewhere," Nesta appeared at his side, grabbing his shoulder and shaking him lightly, trying to pour some sense into him to get him to turn around. Frustration built within her gut as he continued to stand there, cemented to the ground and staring ahead with features teeming with disbelief, "Eris, what are you-"

Nesta followed his line of sight, her words catching in her throat as her eyes landed on you; Nesta's hand dropped from his arm and she turned slightly, to Lucien and Elain who had also just stepped forward from the treeline.

It was then that Eris realised that it wasn't a dream, that Rhys hadn't somehow infiltrated his mind and filled it with torturous hope. The air was brimming with jasmine and sea salt, though it was laced with pain, of despair so heavy that he was wondering how you were still standing.

The cobbled stones shifted beneath his feet, each step absentmindedly quickening until he was running up the path. The closer he got, the clearer he could see the bags under your eyes that were illuminated by the pale moonlight, the thin arms and tattered skirt, the knotted hair and pallid skin, and the bands of onyx stone wound around your neck and ankles as well as the shackles tying your limbs together.

Before he had even reached you, your face contorted, arms stretching out to meet him as he collided with you, his arms wound around your broken and trembling body, lifting you into the air and burying his nose into the curve of your shoulder.

A sob ripped through you and your body shook, the weight of all that had happened crashing down on you causing a sorrowful scream to split past your lips. Eris sank to the ground with you, his arms not once moving from your body, they ran from your sides to your shoulders, and one hand curled around your head, tugging you into his chest, and Eris rested his chin atop of it, pressed his lips into your hair.

It was meant to be a beautiful moment, but the reality of it was far from beautiful. All you felt was pain, from the shackles digging into your skin to the onyx collar drinking your light, none of your thoughts were making any sense, and all you wanted was to have them off.

"Take them off," your broken voice pleaded, tears falling from your chin and sizzling against the searing skin that was peeling and marred, "Please. Please take them off."

"It's alright," Eris kept on repeating, his tone straining with each time it fell from his lips as you continued to plead, your gut wrenching sobs infecting his bones. Eris took one look into your eyes, and tears that streaked down your cheeks, and curled his fingers around the cuffs, willing them into molten pools of metal atop the cobbles and running his thumbs along the rings around your skin left in their wake.

Eris watched your eyes dart about, as though you were trying to figure out if it was all a hallucination or some cruel nightmare, like you'd blink and you'd be chained back inside the Prison. Eris cupped your face in his hands, his fingers cringing under the roughness of it, and will you to look at him, "You're safe. You're home and you're safe. We all are."

"I'm home?" The voice that asked him was so quiet, so full of doubt and disbelief that it made his features crumble, his bottom lip wobbling.

"You're home, my sweet fawn."

Stones skidded to your side, and gentle fingers rested against your elbow. Nesta smiled sadly at you, equally as horrified as relieved; she shuffled closer, the black velvet of her skirt cushioning her knees, and her fingers grazed over your protruding cheekbones, and you could tell that she was trying not to cringe at the touch, that she was trying not to hurt you.

"Nes," you travelled from Eris' embrace into her arms, resting your head against her sternum and allowing your eyes to drift closed.

Nesta nuzzled her cheek atop your head and locked her arms around you, rubbing soft circles into your spine, "Let's get you inside. How does a bath sound?"

The sound of a lavender soak kissing your muscles and sores made you moan, you nodded gently against her chest and groaned as she moved, securing her hands under your shoulders and lifting you to your feet. Nesta waited there for a moment, head low and eyes pleading you to tell her to stop if it was too much, after a few moments you nodded and leaned into her warmth and strength to lead you back inside.

Eris watched Nesta handle you with care, he too had rose to his feet and trailed behind your form, counting each knot of your spine that peaked out from the ripped dress on your body; but he stopped at the steps, waiting until you had disappeared into the house before turning to Lucien and Elain.

"Elain, would you-" Eris' voice trailed off, his eyes drifting to the ajar door to the manor before moving back to her. Elain, not needing him to finish, squeezed his forearm and lifted the hem of her dress to follow after you, leaving Lucien and Eris in the moonlight.

The two brothers shared a look, one of concern. Helion was right, Rhys had diminished you to an entirely different being, starkly different to the female who had left the Autumn Court late in the night.

"All that matters is that she's back, and that Rhys is far away suffering the same torture he imposed onto her," Lucien was trying to be positive despite the doubt in his mind that you would never be the same, "She'll need time to adjust."

Eris turned to his brother, to the one who had brought some semblance of light to his days without you, "She can have whatever she needs," he told Lucien sternly, doing his best to keep himself from losing his mind and tearing the Night Court to shreds, from decimating the Prison that would haunt your life for eternity.

A faint smile worked its way onto Lucien's lips, and he rested a firm hand on Eris' shoulder, "She's home, Eris."

Humming, Eris exhaled, "Yeah, she is."

The two Vanserra's entered the manor, sealing it shut and working quickly to warm the room, lighting the fire and preparing an array of teas and warming delicacies for you to graze on if you could stomach it. Eris fluffed the pillows and gathered your favourite blankets that he had stuffed away into a cupboard, and he had propped a stack of books on the tabletop, each one whimpering for your touch.

Elsewhere in the manor, you sat in silence, curled with your knees to your chest in the deep set tub of your, or Eris', bedroom. A thick shirt covered your figure, you didn't want anyone to see the body beneath it, but the water and soaps still worked tirelessly to wash away the pain etched onto your skin. Nesta was perched behind you, gingerly conditioning your hair and brushing the concoction through, untangling every knot with her nimble fingers whilst Elain applied healing creams to the brutalised flesh left behind from the shackles that had limited your every movement and thought.

Once they were done and your skin was clear of dirt, ash, and blood, the two Archeron sisters lifted you from the tub and settled you on the edge, drying you off and wrapping bandages around the bridges of your feet, and making sure the most comfortable of Nesta's loungewear drowned your frame.

The soft fabric felt like a luxury as it coiled around you, it glided against your skin and the painless friction made you shudder, like you had just then realised that nothing could hurt you ever again as long as you were in Autumn surrounded by those who adored you.

Nesta fitted the robe around your body, making sure that it fell down your legs and was long enough for you to tuck your feet into once you were sat down.

Before she left, Elain pressed her lips to your cheek, smiling softly against your skin at the colour that had returned there. It was wonderous what a bath could do to a person. Blissfully promising to see you in a few minutes, she slipped from the room and didn't linger.

Moving your gaze from the door to Nesta who was rising from the ground after applying the last of the healing cream to your ankles, you spoke, "He's my mate. Isn't he?"

Nesta shot upright, the small jar of cream tumbling to the ground, "You know?"

"I felt it," your fingers drifted over the spot in your chest that you had forced yourself to ignore for so long, now knowing what it was, "The moment he started running," your brow furrowed and Nesta took a step closer, noticing the wandering thoughtful glint in your darkened eyes, "I think- I think I always knew. When I was there, I felt this tugging, and I tried my best to ignore it but it didn't want to leave," your gaze shifted to her, "It was him, wasn't it?"

Nesta thinned her lips to stop them from quaking and nodded, "Yes. It was," you trailed small swirls atop the fabric of the robe, a soft smile turning the corners of your lips upward, "I think you should speak to Cassian. I know that you left him, that you chose me, but," you picked at your fingernails but she gently took your hands in hers, halting the faint self mutilation in its tracks, "I just think that you should speak to him."

"Alright," a flash of knowing sparked in her eyes and it had you wondering what she had seen, what she knew, but that was a conversation for a different day. Nesta turned her head slightly, grinning at the conversation and warmth floating up through the manor, "Let's go. They're waiting for us."

The manor felt starkly different to how it had when you had first arrived back within it. Warmth coated the walls that were illuminated by golden faelight, soft chatter drifted up the stairs as well as the aroma of herbs and faintly-sweetened citrus, so delicate that it make your stomach grumble in desire. Though, the food wasn't what you were craving.

The weightless padding of your feet down the stairs drew the attention of the room, and Eris was relieved to see you clean and skin nearly glowing despite the rings of onyx that Nesta had done her best to mask, more for you than anyone else. He didn't know how he was going to rid you of them, but he was determined to find a way, so that you didn't have to live with them constantly reminding you of what you had endured. Gaze flickering across the room, you noted the spread of Autumn delicacies and pastries, and your focus faltered when you spied the lemon cake resting in the centre of the table surrounded by an array of steaming teapots.

A gentle brush against your calves pulled your eyes away, and you peered down to see Willow at your side, nose nudging you onward, and it would have been rude to deny her.

The space beside Eris was waiting for you, his arm was slung over the edge of the deep cushioned seat, blankets positioned in such a way that all you would need to do was grab an edge and pull it over your frame. Without thinking, you moved across the room and crawled along the cushions to nestle yourself under his arm, wrapping your arm over his torso and resting your head against his chest to feel his heartbeat against your skin.

Eris sank a little deeper into the cushions, pulling you closer to him and reaching over to drape a blanket over your legs, a thick red wine piece that you had often bundled yourself up in, and smirking when Willow hopped up onto the surface to prop her chin on your thigh.

Eyes drifting open, you caught Lucien in the chair opposite you, he offered you a small smile, one full of promise that everything was going to be alright.

And for the first time, you felt as though it would be.

You returned the sentiment, matching his smile in silent thanks for keeping Eris going for the duration you had been gone, and Lucien caught it, nodding in response.

The tugging in your chest had returned, a gentle knocking on your soul no doubt spurred on by Eris' nose in your hair, his lips pressing into the crown of your head. Closing your eyes, you opened the door and allowed the bond to complete itself and drown you in all of his love and pain and peace, and you caressed his emotions, balling them up in your essence and soothing them.

At the feeling, Eris gasped, his fingers clenching around your waist and the hand that had been resting on the arm moved to lay on the side of your face.

You know.

Eris' voice sauntered into your mind. The Carranam status of your bond ran deeper than the layers of the world, than the very foundations of life, and the mutter of his voice in your consciousness brought a level of serenity to your soul that you thought you'd never get to feel again.

I know.

To anyone else, the sight before them would be a tender moment between two lost souls, but to you, everything you had ever dreamed of was happening right before your very eyes and within your soul. A mate. A home. A family. A chance of life.

Not needing to say anything else, Eris pressed his lips to your forehead, his fingers caressing your skin and running through your still slightly damp hair, "Would you like some lemon cake? It's your favourite," he told you with a slight tone of teasing, eyes faintly mischievous.

Humming, you glanced to the side to see Elain already sliding a piece of it onto a small plate, the icing shining in the light, and she rose to place it within reach, "Do you even have to ask?"

Author's Note

FINALLY 🥺🥺

Hope this was worth the wait x

Taglist

@mybestfriendmademe @jesskidding3 @rosewood-cafe @fandomarchiveilyd @brujitafantomatico @crazylokonugget @mai-adaptive-dreams @magicstrengthandcourage @acourtofmoonlightandstars @ysmtttty @lilah-asteria @circe143 @xyzmeh @paleidiot @namelesssav @amberlynn98 @acourtofbatboydreams @azrielsmate3 @ivy-34 @mp-littlebit @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @ifonlyiwerefiction @pirana10 @donttellthecats @padbaeamidla @oucereeng @andreperez11 @demonicbusiness @megscabinetofcurios @superspideyparker @julesofvolterra @5onedirection5 @darling006 @coldmermaidhologram @herondale-lightworm @rcarbo1 @babypeapoddd

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cressidagrey · 9 months ago

Text

The Starlight Princess: Prologue

Summary:

There is a Pool of Starlight in the Spring Court. A piece of the Night Court that has no business being in the land of Eternal Spring. So how did it come to be?

Or: How the Spymaster of the Night Court starts hearing a voice, realises that no, he is not insane after all, frees a princess, kills a High Lord…and finds his mate all at the same time.

Warnings:

Discussion of a flirtation 300 years in the past, Discussion of the Death of Rhys' Mother and Sister, Feyre being nosy, Cassian serving all the gossip

(thanks to @tsunami-of-tears for the dividers!)

“Can I ask you a question?”

If Feyre could still ask him that question, Cassian was pretty sure that he was definitely not hard enough on his High Lady.

They were back to training, even hard-won peace was not a time where one could slack off…and Feyre had wanted to return to it after the pregnancy with Nyx and everything that had happened.

So…Cassian got to teach his High Lady.

And his curiosity was piqued now. “Yes, of course,” he responded carefully. What was this about now? What question did Feyre have for him?

“What was her name?” Feyre blurted out and he stared at her.

Of all the questions, she could have asked of him, that one was not one he had expected.

“Whose name?” Cassian asked. Who was she talking about? What name didn’t she know? What name…

“Rhys’ sister,” Feyre clarified. “What was her name?”

Oh.

That question…

Well, he understood why she had come to him with that question. Though it did surprise him that Rhys had never…never even mentioned her name to Feyre. That he had never…

Cassian remembered her. Of course, he did. Even centuries after her death, she wasn’t somebody Cassian would ever forget. Not just because of who her big brother was, but because…

He would never forget seeing her unattached head.

He would never forget Rhys’ screams of utter turmoil and terror. He would never…He would never…He would never forget that cold wrath on his face…Would never forget everything that happened afterwards…How Rhys had become High Lord, his ascension overshadowed by the death of his sister and mother…and his father…a whole family snuffed out.

And for what?

But even without all of that…Cassian would never forget her.

He would never forget the girl seemingly glowing with magic, the perfect princess, controlled within an inch of her life.

There had only been very few things that could crack that perfect facade…

His brother had been one of them.

“Seren. Her name was Seren,” Cassian answered the question finally, his voice hoarse. “Rhys never told you her name?”

It didn’t lay quite right with him. But then, if there was one thing that he had…realised centuries ago, then that everybody grieved differently.

Some took comfort in talking about the fallen…and then there were some who didn’t speak of it at all.

Cassian had seen both.

He could understand both in a sense.

And Rhys…in a lot of ways, he fit the second.

“No. He has talked about her…sometimes…but…” Feyre shook her head.

“Her name was Seren,” he repeated again, for one moment fondly remembering her as a child. She had been…She had been beautiful. A spitting image of Rhys in a sense, the same dark hair, the same startling violet eyes…her magic dancing on her skin, and her innate abilities on display. The older she had grown, the more she had reigned all of it in. He still didn’t know if it had been her father’s fault or if she herself had realised that she was putting herself at risk, by showing her abilities that obviously.

“She was also called the Princess of Starlight by the people of Velaris…When she was a kid, she used to glow with magic,” he continued with a soft smile.

She had been stunning.

Still half a girl, not yet a female grown the last time he had seen her, over a year before her death…

She hadn’t deserved her death. But then who did?

Nesta had reminded him of her often…The similarities were definitely there. Both had been more blunt than anything, though that habit had been beaten out of Seren by her father until she acted like the princess she was supposed to be. But he had never managed to break her will. Iron-willed and with a spine made out of fucking adamantium…Seren had been a sight to behold.

“Did you know her well?” Feyre asked him curiously, but he shook his head

“I did know her, but I wasn’t…I was never that close to her…by the time she was…by the time she was born, we were all adults. She was just 17 when she died. Rhys was in Illyria...I was a grunt in the army…The one that was closest to her was Azriel,” he recounted.

A noise of surprise escaped Feyre.

“Azriel?” she repeated, surprise colouring her tone.

Cassian nodded, swallowing. It was something that was unspoken, never voiced aloud.

But Azriel had taken her death the hardest, giving himself the fault for something that wasn’t his fault.

Then, Azriel had already been Spymaster. And Cassian knew…Cassian knew that Azriel still thought that his shadows should have been accompanying Seren and her mother when Tamlin and his brothers had ambushed them.

Azriel still thought that he should have known that this was a possibility…should have been aware of the risk. Should have prevented it from ever happening.

“He used to work for Rhys’ father,” Cassian said quietly. He didn’t want to even imagine the horror of these years for Azriel. He knew that this was still something, centuries later, that Azriel muddled through. “And I always…” Cassian broke off, not daring to voice it aloud.

“What?” Feyre asked curiously.

“They were close,” he finally said quietly. “Seren was three weeks shy of her 18th Birthday when she died. I always wondered if…if she had made it…if three weeks later, the mating bond wouldn’t have snapped for them.” He had had that thought so often over the centuries.

Wondered if Seren’s death hadn’t taken away every chance of a mating bond his brother had…a chance at happiness.

Feyre stared at him, blue eyes wide.

“Was Azriel in love with her? What about Mor?” she asked, quietly, and Cassian shrugged.

“I don’t think he ever would have allowed himself to act on it,” Cassian said carefully. “She was a princess and he was just an Illyrian bastard. But he would have given his life for her. Do not doubt that for a second, Feyre. She was so young when she died. Too young. And Azriel would have never allowed himself to act on whatever he was feeling…And even if…Mor and him…He knew that that would have never worked out. He knew that then. And I think that after Seren died, he just clung even tighter to Mor.”

Mor was still alive. Mor was the only one that Azriel could still protect because in his mind he had failed horribly with Seren.

“Seren was…she was pure political capital,” he said darkly. “Her father was very much aware of that. He would have married her off to any other court in this land…and a mating bond with Azriel wouldn’t have stopped him. He was already planning on it…The perfect princess with starlight dancing at her fingertips…and daemati abilities that make you and Rhys look like a bad magic trick humans conjured up,” he recounted with a snort.

Nobody had ever stood up to Seren’s mental abilities. None.

“She was better at it than Rhys?” Feyre asked, a small smile on her face and Cassian couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“Even Rhys was powerless against her. He may had more magic…but Seren wasn’t to be underestimated. She plucked thoughts out of your head without anybody noticing. It was…startling. And even her own father knew…”

“Knew what?” Feyre asked as he hesitated.

“He knew that one day there was going to come a time where his children would topple his throne…a day where Seren and Rhys would join forces…and not even the cauldron could have helped him then.”

#The Starlight Princess #The Starlight Princess Story #Azriel x Rhys' sister #acotar fanfiction #my writing

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azrielslightintheshadows · 1 year ago

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Princess

Azriel x Reader

One of the series I'm currently working on, hope you enjoy it.

You can find the prologue in the Princess masterlist.

General masterlist

Summary; Reader is Mor’s new friend that she found in the winter court while she was away for business. Y/n has been raised as a princess since her parents wanted to wed her to a noble fae in order to climb the social ranks. When her parents are brutally murdered y/n is left alone without a clue about the harsh reality or the brutality of the world. Mor finds her and takes her back to Velaris afraid of what might happen to her if she was left to live on her own. Will y/n survive the hate she will receive from certain members of the inner circle -including her mate- regarding the way she grew up?

Warnings; angst, mentions of abuse and death

Chapter 1

Feyre showed you the first guest room and started walking toward the second one, but your voice stopped her “This one is fine”.

She looked at you with kindness, her features soft and a small smile decorating her face. “You know… the first time I visited the night court I was wearing a similar dress”.

“Your wedding dress… yes we all heard” you smiled.

She chuckled and continued “I was scared, I had only heard awful rumours about the night court and Rhysand so trust me when I say that it’s all bullshit. Rhysand is kind and thoughtful, the same goes for everyone in this house… maybe not for Nesta but she loves us in her own twisted way” You kept staring at her not quite understanding why she was telling you all of this. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that we will protect you and be by your side for as long as you need, even forever, but if you try to harm any of us the consequences will be like the rumours of this court.” You gulped and took a step back, your eyes quickly scanned the room for possible hiding places, Feyre noticed and lifted her hands up “Hey calm down, I didn’t mean to scare you, but you are a stranger that Mor brought here and as the High Lady of this court it is my duty to inform you. I must make sure that my people are safe. I know that Mor wouldn’t bring someone dangerous here, but females forced to wed is a soft spot for her and it might cloud her vision.”

You stared at her, guilt building in you. Ladies should please others. “High Lady Feyre I’m so sorry if I offended you. You are right you should protect your people” you replied, a polite smile appearing on your face. She frowned but said nothing more, with a nod she disappeared down the hall, probably back in the dinning room.

You entered the room, it was twice the size of the main room in your cottage, you stared at the huge bed in the middle, the windows that looked like paintings because of the view outside. Soft fae lights decorated the room creating a gentle atmosphere. A sigh left your lips and you walked to the closet, curious if you would find anything inside, you really needed to get rid of this dress. To your surprise the closet was filled with every kind of clothes but none like your usual attire. Everything here was so revealing, you remembered one time that you saw a dress like those back in the winter court, you quickly tried it on but immediately regretted it when you saw your mother’s face filled with disgust. Ladies keep their bodies for their husbands. Only the females working in the brothels wear things like that.

You opened the drawers to find something less revealing and you were met with multiple pairs of pants and shirts. You almost gasped. There must have been some mistake maybe a male was staying in this room before me. You thought. A female can’t wear those, right? You grabbed a long-sleeved nightgown and entered the bathroom. You were met with a deep bathtub. Your brows furrowed in confusion, and you jumped back when water started to pour in it. You scanned the bathroom, but no one was there. Maybe some kind of spell? You stripped your clothes and entered the bathtub hissing when your leg touched the water. So hot you thought and closed your eyes as you laid inside, every muscle relaxed, your body going numb but not in a bad way. When you boiled water, you always thought how it would be like if for once you bathed in hot water. Turns out it is better than you could ever imagine. You thought about what Azriel said “raised like a princess”, everyone seemed to believe that, you did too. You saw the females in your village working and you always thought that you were getting special treatment because you didn’t work. But raised like a princess? You doubted that. You didn’t even know the feeling of hot water around your body until now. You stayed in the bathtub until you were sleepy enough. You dried yourself with the soft towel and tried the nightgown, you frowned when you saw the length… mid-thigh. You pulled it until it reached beneath your knees and slipped into bed. You stared at the ceiling; you were exhausted but the feeling that anyone could walk in at any time kept you awake.

Sleep finally came and your body relaxed -still facing the door.

You woke up just when the sun appeared in the sky, the city even brighter. You watched the river, so calm yet wild. You tried to find a dress decent enough for your taste -or your mother’s taste, finally you saw one, midnight blue with long sleeves and it reached your knees. This will do. You thought. You usually wore light colours since your mother believed that a proper lady should look gentle and sweet, but this colour looked good on you too, it made you look powerful.

You walked around the house enjoying the silence and trying to find the kitchen. After countless guest rooms and bathrooms, you finally found it.

You searched the cabinets and after collecting all the ingredients you needed you started cooking. You hummed a song your mother had taught you and twirled around to pick the spatula almost smacking on a hard chest. You gasped and took a step back, hazel eyes were staring down at you, a musky scent of cedar and smoke filling your senses. Azriel’s face was cold, even colder that the ice in your court, the thought made you shiver.

“What are you doing?” he questioned, his deep voice was raspy probably because he just woke up.

“Breakfast” you stuttered. You wanted to disappear.

“The house can do that” he rolled his eyes and left.

You frowned and continued cooking, feeling stupid for even trying but you wanted to thank them for taking you in and cooking was one of the few things you could do.

You finished the food and placed it on the dining table, footsteps echoed through the house and a few minutes later everyone was in the dining room. “Smells so good” Cassian breathed and started filling his plate. “You made that?” Feyre asked.

“Yes, as a thank you for accepting me in your court” you replied with a small smile.

Azriel stared at his plate, it was still empty. Suddenly a platter with several kinds of food appeared next to him and he started to eat. You frowned but didn’t dare to say anything.

“Y/n, would you like to go shopping with me today?” Mor asked you.

You glanced at Rhysand and Feyre.

“You don’t have to wait for our approval” Feyre’s voice was soft.

“But before you leave, I need to see you in my office” Rhysand added.

You gulped but nodded anyway.

Your attention moved to Azriel who dropped his fork and stared at Rhysand, their eyes unfocused. “They are having a mental conversation” Cassian told you as he noticed your curious look.

“You can talk in each other’s minds?” you gaped. “Rhysand is daemati” Nesta spoke with a bored look.

You didn’t know what else to say, your questions seemed to annoy her, so you kept your mouth shut. A few moments later Azriel stormed out and Rhysand pinched his nose.

“Let’s go to my office” he told you and got up, you followed him and almost flinched when you saw Azriel already in there. Rhysand took a seat behind his desk and cleared his throat. “I asked Azriel to go back to your court and find out everything he could about you and your family. Turns out that everything you told Mor was true, so it is my pleasure to welcome you in my court.” “Thank you” you bowed your head. “Please don’t do that, I want you to consider me your friend. I want to help you find your own personality, you need to find your own strength. Your goal should be to become powerful and confident not someone’s wife.” He continued. You could only stare, no one ever spoke to you like that, no one offered to help you become something else.

“I know that you and Azriel don’t get along, that’s why he is assigned to show you the city and help you with everything you need. I hope this will be enough for you to toughen up”

Silence.

Your jaw almost touched the ground. Azriel was fuming, he opened his mouth to protest but Rhysand lifted a finger and dismissed you both with a “That’ll be all” and a smile.

You exited the office and were pushed against the wall, scarred hands grabbed your arms and kept them above your head, a hot breath against your cheek.

“You won’t speak without my permission, you won’t follow me around like a toddler and you won’t seek me out. I will come find you when I want to.” He growled. “Is that understood?”

You stared at him, your eyes filling with tears and your body shaking. You frantically nodded your head wanting to get as far away from him as you could.

“Words princess” “Y-yes” you stuttered.

And with that he was gone, only a few shadows stayed who approached you and caressed your cheeks, drying the tears you weren’t able to hold back.

You couldn’t go to Rhys you knew he would tell Azriel, and you didn’t want to find out what the consequences would be for you. You went back to your room.

You dreaded the moment he would find you again.

What do you think?

@cleverzonkwombatsludge

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highbabyofthenightcourt · 2 months ago

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Hear me out. I remembered the book of breathings, and i went back to see something.

I was always a little curious about the greeting it gives once the second half is found.

“Life and death and rebirth

Sun and moon and dark

Rot and bloom and bones

Hello, sweet thing. Hello, lady of night, princess of decay. Hello, fanged beast and trembling fawn. Love me, touch me, sing me.”

I have a theory that it only greeted the Archeron sisters, even though Rhysand and Amren were also in the room. Firstly addressing Feyre as “sweet thing” (maybe in mockery, maybe acknowledging her compassion), secondly addressing Nesta as “lady of night, princess of decay” since Nesta has powers connected to death, and lastly addressing Elain as both “fanged beast and trembling fawn” since she is often seen as meek and soft but does have a quiet strength which we see when she kills the king.

When I first read it, i did not know how to interpret the greeting. Who it was addressing. But i realized another thing.

There are three phrases that potentially connect to each of the sisters. Love me (Feyre), Touch me (Nesta), Sing me (Elain).

It makes sense.

Feyre’s journey is one of rediscovering love. Not only towards Rhys, but towards life, towards herself.

Nesta’s line could be indicative of the way she reclaims her body through connection.

Elain’s comment could be connected to the shadowsinger, but it has to have more depth than that. I cannot fully understand it yet. I believe it will probably be explained in the next book.

Life and death and rebirth - Feyre (human, death, fae)

Sun and moon and dark - Nesta (sun could be rage, moon could be pain, dark could be ataraxia)

Rot and bloom and bones - Elain (rot of her old self, bloom into something anew, bones…will probably be in the next book)

With all this said, if you have any different interpretations of these, please let me know.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk :)

#acotar #feyre archeron #pro feyre #feyre cursebreaker #elain acotar #feyre acotar #acotar feyre #pro elain #elain archeron #elain x azriel #nesta archeron #nesta acotar #archeron sisters #acomaf #pro azriel #pro elriel

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lady-of-tearshed · 7 months ago

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Scarred

Nessian & OC!Nessian daughter Briana

Cassian Week 2024

@cassianappreciationweek

Day 5: Scars

Summary: Cassian's traumas comes back to haunt him when their daughter naively wishes for a real war, like the ones in her books.

Warnings: Angst, Pregnancy, PTSD/Panic attack description, Cassian raising his voice, flinching, mention of an explosion, mention of death, mention of war.

Word count: 1,687k words

A/N: Good luck with the angst. The lady of tearshed has striked again, hope your heart can bear this one! 💕 Love y'all! Xx

The pretty dividers are made by the very talented @tsunami-of-tears ❤️

The sun was starting to set, but the laughter and excited shrieks of children were still roaring at the River House. They were all playing with the wooden swords Rhysand had gifted Nyx for his tenth birthday.

Briana, despite being the youngest one of her cousins, was ferociously defending herself. But Cassian knew her bed time was coming, and that if he didn't put a stop to their game real soon, his little princess would be in a piss poor mood all day tomorrow morning. And with Nesta carrying their second child, he didn't want her to deal with Bri's grumpiness tomorrow. His pregnant mate didn't need that additional stress.

He whistled, loudly, and Briana's eyes immediately shot to his direction, a broad smile spread across her face as she ran into his direction. Cassian opened his arms for her and she jumped into them, nuzzling her little nose against his.

“Did my little princess have fun today?” Cassian said, kissing her forehead.

“Yeah! I want the same gift as Nyx's for my birthday!”

Cassian laughed. Typical Briana's answer, always wanting to be the same as her older cousin. “Your birthday is still ten months away, Bri. Don’t grow up too fast.” He chuckled.

Nesta approached them, and Cassian slid a protective hand around her hip. His fingers stroked the side of Nesta’s still small baby bump, and bent down. “Hi you two…” He whispered in Nesta’s ear, before kissing her cheek. “Ready to go?”

“Yes.”

“No!”

Nesta gave the pair of eyes that meant “Don't you dare throw a tantrum just now, please.” to her daughter, then sighed. “Princess… Baby and mommy are very tired. How about we invite Nyx at home tomorrow?”

Briana huffed, looked at Nesta’s belly, hesitated. “Okay… I'll go say bye to Nyxie, Bastian, Emett and Poppy…” She mumbled, then hopped off Cassian's arms to run to her cousins, aunts, and uncles to tell them goodbye. Lingering and taking her time, obviously.

Cassian held Nesta against her, watching their beautiful daughter chattering with their family, before turning his gaze to Nesta's. “How are you feeling?” He frowned, his Fae male instincts kicking in, telling him to check up on his pregnant mate.

Nesta rolled her eyes, a playful glint shining in her eyes. “Pregnant, sweaty, and full with your child… Not much different than six years ago.”

Nesta winked at him, and Cassian's hrin grew even wider. Before he could get another taste of his mate's delicious lips, Briana ran in their direction, wiggling in their embrace.

“I'm ready!” Briana proudly announced.

Cassian was drained, exhausted. The three of them were tightly squeezed into Briana's “big girl bed”. Nesta was reading out loud a bedtime story about princesses, princes and soldiers fighting against cruel Nagas.

His calloused fingers were brushing through his daughter's dark curls, careful not to get tangled in any knots. He was starting to wonder which one of them would fall asleep first.

Nesta closed the book shut when the story ended, and Cassian's eyes shot open. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and yawned. “Alright… It's time to sleep now princess…” He mumbled into Briana's hair, pampering her cheek with kisses.

Cassian helped Nesta roll out of the bed, then softly tucked in Briana, just how she liked it, he even placed her favorite plushies to watch over her.

“I wish there would be a real war going on…” Briana mumbled sleepily.

Cassian froze, he kneeled beside Briana's bed, and his jaw clenched. “We don't wish for things like that. Ever.” He growled.

Briana’s brown eyes fluttered open, and silver lined them when she took in Cassian’s furious expression. “B-But–”

“There are no buts,” He raised his voice slightly, panic surged through him, his stomach was churning.

“Cassian…” Nesta warned from the door frame.

“There are no buts!” He repeated, whirling his head to Nesta. “There are real people dying in wars. Faes, humans, male and females. Even innocent children suffer from the consequences of wars–”

Cassian snapped back to reality when he heard a muffled sob. He looked over his daughter, he stared into those tiny eyes that looked just like his. His heart broke.

“Princess… I'm sorry for raising my voice,” He reached out to stroke Briana's wet cheek, “I'm so–”

Briana flinched under Cassian's touch. His wings dropped to the ground, and tears rolled down his own cheeks. He rose to his feet, stumbling back from the bed. He brushed past Nesta, and stormed out of the room.

He headed to the bathroom, his breathing ragged. He closed the door, leaned over the sink and turned on the faucet with trembling hands. The walls felt like they were moving towards him, trapping him. The air became hard to breathe, Cassian felt surrounded by darkness.

He had scared Briana, his princess, his daughter.

“I wish there would be a real war going on…”

No, of course Briana didn't mean what she said. She probably didn't have a clue of what a war would occur, what ravages it would make. Cassian had overreacted, he had crossed the line by raising his voice at her.

The way his touch had made his little girl flinch… Cassian would never forgive himself for that.

“I wish there would be a real war going on…”

A war… Cassian had fought countless wars before Briana’s birth. He had devoted his whole life to assure the protection of the Court he was born in. He had served and led Rhysand’s armies for centuries before partially retiring once he became a dad.

Cassian’s wings shivered at the thought of what would happen if another war would rise. He had too much to lose now to even think about it, he would do anything in his power for this to never happen.

This stupid wish was the only thing he would ever deny his daughter. Anything but this. No one wants to live with the visible and invisible scars that a war can cause.

“Cassian?”

“Cassian!”

Cassian had almost collapsed to the ground when he had heard Nesta's desperate cries as if she was standing right beside him. His face had snapped to her direction instinctively, and for the first time in his life, he had dropped the plan and shot through her direction.

Cassian still vividly remembered the death-white light hurled towards him and his soldiers. How the earth shatyered from ghe explosion. Some of the most skilled Illyrian warriors had been turned to ash within a matter of seconds. The memory still haunted him. Cassian would've stood in the middle of the explosion with the rest of his soldiers if Nesta's desperate calls hadn't pulled him away.

“Cassian, open your damn eyes,” Cassian eyes shot open at the urgency in Nesta's voice. The intrusive memory switched to the familiar decor of their bathroom. He hadn't realized how he had stumbled down the floor and crawled until his back had bumped against the side of the large tub.

Nesta's hands were gripping his cheeks tightly, forcing his head to stop moving so his eyes could concentrate on hers. “Look at me,” She growled. Her eyes chased his and when they locked, she grinned softly. “Hi, Cas,”

Cassian was breathless, his chest heaving rapidly. His lungs burned as they struggled to fill themselves with oxygen. He pressed his sweaty brows to Nesta's, putting his hands over hers.

“Hello, Nes,” He whispered, swallowing the tight knot in his throat.

He closed his eyes, and when Nesta cradled his head to her chest, he wept. His wings drooped and his whole body shook as tears escaped his eyes.

Cassian hadn't lost control like that for decades now. He had naively thought that maybe this was it, that he was cured. That the invisible damages that his years as the Lord of Bloodshed had left were now healed. That the nightmares, the flashbacks, the anxiety had disappeared forever.

Cassian clenched his teeth, overwhelmed by the guilt of letting himself get into this state by a simple mention of war.

“Hey… it's okay to be scared,” Nesta gently ran her fingers through Cassian's hair. His hands were still tightly wrapped around her wrists, holding onto her as if she would slip away if he let go. “I'm right here,” She slowly removed one of Cassian’s hands from her wrist, and lowered it to her stomach. “We’re right here,”

Cassian grip instantly eased away from her wrists. He slid his hands underneath the fabric of Nesta’s dress, resting his hands flat against her warm skin.

He moved his head from her breast, rubbing his nose against the column of her neck. He inhaled deeply, taking in Nesta’s sweet scent. She was here, pregnant with their second babe, both alive and incredibly strong.

“I thought I was getting better,” Cassian mumbled against the skin of her neck, his hands rubbing circles atop her stomach.

“You are, Cas. Everyday you're getting better. But these wounds…” She placed a kiss on his forehead. “These kinds of wounds… they stay. Like scars, they'll become paler with time, but they'll never completely go away,”

Cassian hummed, knowing she was right. But accepting this reality was hard, that he'll have to live with these mental scars forever were a massive blow to his male pride. He frowned. “I scared Briana…”

“She would never be scared of you, my mate. I explained it to her,” Cassian lifted his face to meet hers. “She understands now,”

“I still feel bad… I need to apologize-”

Nesta held him down firmly, keeping him from standing up. “She's asleep. Appologize to her tomorrow. For now, rest. You need it,”

Cassian nodded, and pulled Nesta up onto his lap. “Thank you…” He whispered against the shell of her beautiful pointy ear.

“What for?” She laughed silently.

Cassian looked down at her, at their babe growing beneath her skin. He had not enough words to describe everything he was grateful for. He didn't have a fancy way to declare his deep gratitude for how Nesta's presence in his life made it extremely better.

“Everything,” He whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Acotar taglist: @mybestfriendmademe @lilah-asteria

Cassian taglist: @ladybookstan @acotar-lover

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elrielffs · 7 months ago

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This is just a loose theorizing by me about Gwyn's role in the future books and how this ties to Azriel and an Elriel story.

It's not meant to be anti-Gwyn. I actually really like Gwyn as a character but it does incorporate Lightsinger Gwyn and for some, this is anti-rhetoric.

This is just me kicking things around in my noggin' and nothing concrete but just loose attachments.

Under the cut cause it's kinda long.

I was thinking about some of the details we've been given in story and some meta things from SJM's pinterest. I don't really subscribe to the pinterest as end all be all but I do think some things are very interesting on it.

I do think SJM is pulling from various fairytales and myths, particularly Blodeuwedd, Koschei the Deathless and other Russian folktales, and The Little Mermaid. We know SJM takes inspiration from fairy tales.

First we have Blodeuwedd which SJM saved titling Elain. The story of Blodeuwedd is that she was made to be the perfect wife of Lleu Llaw Gyffes but rejects him and falls in love with another, Gronw Pebr.

In the Koschei and the Deathless, we have Ivan Tsarevich who has 3 sisters that marry 3 winged wizards. Ivan saves Marya Morevna, a warrior princess, from Koschei and marries her.

I think the first two speaks for themselves on how they relate to ACOTAR so I won't delve to much into it but you can see how it relates to the story that is playing out.

Last is The Little Mermaid. We all know this story because of Disney and also it's probably one of the more well known fairy tales' but the broad strokes of the ORIGINAL telling is: The Little Mermaid falls in love with the human prince, makes a deal with the Sea Witch for her fins to be turned into legs to be with him on land, the prince falls in love with someone else, and the Mermaid is tasked by the Sea Witch with killing the prince to get her fins back but she can't do it because she loves the prince too much and instead turns into bubbles/foam/becomes an air spirit.

How does this relate to Gwyn?

Gwyn has been described many a time with ocean/water like imagery and has been stated to have nymph heritage. Her eyes are constantly described as the sunlit sea and she even says the quote," I am the rock on which the surf crashes."

We are also told about Lightsingers in the same book that Gwyn is introduced: They are ethereal beings who will lure their prey to them, appearing as friendly faces. Only when their prey were in their arms would their true faces emerge.

This shares many similarities to Sirens: creatures that live in or by the ocean, that lure victims to them with an alluring voice. Sirens have also become synonymous with mermaids, merging into one creature with siren and mermaid being used interchangeably to describe the one being.

Gwyn has show these same characteristics in story. Gwyn is shown to be a singer and have a beautiful voice and to also glow when she sings.

When Nesta hears Gwyn sing she describes it thus:

Drawing any listener in.

Nesta also says this about Gwyn upon first meeting her:

Gwyn also tells Nesta at one point that Nesta wouldn't like the "real" her.

I won't go too in depth to the Lightsinger theory because there are plenty of other posts floating around breaking it down better than me but suffice to say that there is a correlation between Gwyn's voice/singing=some type of power. This easily translates into Lightsinger/mermaid/siren imagery and theory.

Now this next part is just me spit balling and is more fast and loose and how this could tie into an Elriel story:

We don't know too much about Koschei in story except that he's a Death God and older brother to Stryga and the Bone Carver, beings who traveled from another world to Prythian (Daglan/Asteri?) and a powerful wizard that cursed Vassa.

At one point he tells Azriel he has "been preparing for you". What could this mean? Why has he been preparing for Azriel?

Why would Koschei, who is a powerful wizard, bargain with the Acheron's father, a human nobody? Is it because he is Elain's father?

Rhysand speculates that there's a possibility that the priestess have been infiltrated. We saw with Ianthe that not all priestess's harbor good intentions and in ACOWAR that the library can be broken into.

It has been highly speculated that Merrill, a priestess in the Library, is up to something. Is she in line with Koschei?

Who works under Merrill? Gwyn.

We know from HOFAS that the cauldron is corrupted by the Asteri/Daglan, a fact speculated by Azriel himself in the bonus chapter.

Is possible that Koschei as a Daglan/Asteri had a hand in corrupting the cauldron to mix up Elain's mates? Is that how Koschei "prepared" for Azriel?

And what about Gwyn working under Merrill? Gwyn could be manipulated and unknowingly assisting Koschei/Merrill or she could be working for them for some kind of favor--returning her sister Catrin to life?

Also, the fact that Gwyn and Catrin are twins can be used for shenanigan's. What if Gwyn is actually Catrin? (This is purely speculative on my part by the fact that they were made twins rather than just sisters.)

It's also mentioned that Catrin had webbed fingers. I love this little detail and wish Gwyn had them too but is there a reason she doesn't? Could this be to distinguish Catrin and Gwyn at a later date besides hair color?

Could Merrill/Koschei know about Gwyn's Lightsinger heritage and be using her as way to lure Azriel away from Elain?

What is one of the gifts Elain gets Azriel? Ear plugs.

We know it as a gag gift but we also know that Elain has visions--we don't know how fragmented or how fully she receives them but is is possible that she saw something that inspired her to give Azriel the ear plugs?

Is this to upset the balance of the 6 pointed star mentioned in HOFAS?

Could Gwyn, unknowingly or knowingly be working for Koschei to infiltrate the IC via Nesta and the training, lure Azriel away from Elain? Could Gwyn fall in love (this part is not needed, it can be just business on Gwyn's end) with Azriel but realize thru her connections with the Valkyries and training and Azriel that she can't go thru with it?

Let me reiterate, I don't think Gwyn is evil. I think she could be manipulated, coerced, or promised something she can't refuse to help or go along with Koschei/Merrill. She might not even know it's Koschei she is helping or that she is even in fact assisting. She could be manipulated into using her unknown Lightersinger powers.

Gwyn (the Mermaid) is promised/manipulated into using her Lightsinger powers by Koschei/Merrill (Sea Witch) to lure Azriel (the prince) away from Elain (the woman the prince loves) but the end she can't go thru with it either because she realizes it's wrong, realizes she's being manipulated or because she can't do that to Azriel.

I know there is more that can be conjected but this is already quite long and I didn't even delve into the Swan Lake and Sleeping Beauty parallels.

I realize this could have been posted before and nothing new but I just wanted to put my thoughts out there and hear some more of my fellow Elriels!

#elriel #babys first theory post #only tagging elriel cause i dont want it to leave our bubble #not arguing with antis lol

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feyres-divorce-lawyer · 1 year ago

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sjm really named feyre, princess of carrion, cassian, lord of bloodshed, nesta, lady death, and rhysand, death incarnate, then said yeah let me pair feysand and nessian…..

#miss janet failing to to understand her own characters -_-#common sjm L #feyre and cassian who are fighters at their core #nesta and rhys who are scholars at their core #look me in the eye and tell me they’re not perfect matches #feyssian #rhysta #anti feysand #anti nessian

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nikethestatue · 10 months ago

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A Ballad of Sorrow and Love

End of Elriel Month 2024 and end of the story.

TW: death, I guess.

Part III

Lovely Fawn

Despite Rhysand’s not so subtle objections, Azriel decided to attend the reception with the Vallahan dignitaries. Elain didn’t protest either, so he concluded that it would be appropriate for him to make an appearance. Not that he necessarily wanted to, however, he was the Prince of Hewn City, and his title obligated him to do things which he didn’t always enjoy–like attending boring parties. At least in Hewn City, he could fuck Elain in front of the Court, if he so desired. She wouldn’t say no, and it certainly made receptions a lot more interesting and enjoyable. No such pleasure in Night Court.

Today, Elain dressed in a black dress that was little more than gossamer, which wrapped around her voluptuous body like second skin. It glittered with sequins and strategically placed black flowers, which covered her breasts and her bottom. A smattering of extra sparkles was all that concealed her front. A long train slithered on the floor with every step that she took. Elain liked pearls–a stone of mourning and innocence, of fertility and purity, of perfection and romance–and wrapped many strands around her neck and her wrists.

“A crown for my Princess,” Azriel announced, opening up a heavy wooden box.

Elain smiled and peered inside. It was the Black Peregrine Crown tonight then. One of her favourites. A heavy, imposing crown made of black and white diamonds, studded with black and white pearls, tourmalines and opals. Azriel lifted the crown from its velvet nest and then gently placed it on Elain’s golden head.

“Perfect,” he whispered when she straightened and he could observe her in all her glory. “You are so fucking beautiful, Elain. So beautiful.”

They stepped out on the terrace and Azriel opened his arms, allowing Elain to slip into his embrace. He lifted her easily off the ground and as she wrapped her arms around his neck, he spread his wings and shot up into the air. She threw a shield over them, so that the wind didn’t mess up her hair and once they crossed the enchanted barrier that surrounded the palace, the weather became less than pleasant, with heavy rain pelting the ground and bouncing off the air shield. “Thanks, smart girl!” Azriel chuckled, grateful for the shield and then kissed her.

Rhysand, the High Lord of Night Court sat in his chair, which wasn’t quite a throne, but also wasn’t just a simple chair. It was long, made for two, for him and for Feyre, his High Lady, to sit beside him. He didn’t feel the need to greet his guests on a throne–this wasn’t going to be a show of power and his High Lord’s might. The relationship between his Court and Vallahan was friendly enough. Although now, after what Azriel had uncovered about Eris and Lucien, Rhysand didn’t know who to trust. And whether he could ever let his guard down the way he did with the Vanserra brothers. This thing pressed on him and he wasn’t at his best. Feyre flitted around the reception room, greeting and welcoming the guests, and even Nesta helped out, doing a passable impression of being interested.

“Are you alright?” Feyre whispered, when she finally extricated herself for a moment and approached him. She looked lovely, dressed in a pale pearl gown with a halter top, which was tied in the back into a large bow and then flowed into a fluttering train of silk.

“All good, Feyre darling,” he smiled at her and kissed her hand.

Then, his eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips. Seeing the change in his expression, Feyre turned her head and before she could say anything, Rhys hissed, “what is he doing here? I requested that he not come!”

Her arms crossed on her chest, Nesta Archeron, stately and cool, stepped behind him and said, “He has just as much right to be here as you do. You are a High Lord of your Court and he is a Prince of his.”

“This is my Court,” Rhys cut her off, “and my request.”

Nesta shrugged in her usual nonchalant way, not giving him any leeway.

“She is right, you know,” Feyre agreed, eyeing her mate with displeasure.

“Don’t gang up on me,” he ordered. “Because you both know that I am right. He makes things uncomfortable. He is barely lucid as it is…”

“Lucid enough to have uncovered a massive conspiracy that spans the continent,” Nesta noted meaningfully.

Rhys shook his head and insisted, “these types of events are inadvisable for him.”

“Elain is with him,” Nesta said calmly. “She will keep him in line.”

“Az!” she then called, waving her arm at him. “How are you? It’s nice to see you. We weren’t sure you’d come tonight.”

She walked to him and then embraced him, before saying, “good evening Ellie-girl!”

Feyre joined them soon after and greeted Azriel with a wide smile.

“Are you treating my sister well?” she joked.

Azriel pulled Elain to his side and draped his arm over her shoulders, before pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Always,” he said. Elain nodded.

“What are you wearing today?” Feyre whispered and then said, “The Black Peregrine!”

Azriel’s eyes wandered to his High Lord and he saw that Rhys was scowling in his direction–not that it was a very unusual reaction. The brothers didn’t see eye to eye most of the time.

Rhys would’ve wanted to pull the Court of Nightmares back under his control, but the divine Power wouldn’t allow him too, refusing to budge away from Azriel.

“Uncle Az!” He heard a lovely familiar voice and turned around, smiling.

His beautiful niece Elena hurried toward him, a pretty pink gown with black flowers accentuating her incredible loveliness. It always amused him how Cassian’s and Nesta’s daughter looked so much like Elain. Same golden brown curls, same big dark round eyes, same shy smile.

“My pretty girl, I am so happy to see you here tonight!” he exclaimed, taking her into his arms and embracing her tightly.

“Uncle Rhys wanted me to be here,” she explained, “though he told me that you wouldn’t be coming,” she frowned at that.

Azriel shrugged, “He never wants me to come,”

“Ahhh,” she sighed sadly. “I so wish you’d patch things up with him! He is not being very fair to you.”

“It’s been like that for years,” Azriel said, “I suppose I am used to it by now,”

She stomped her little foot and said, “Well, it isn’t fair! And you shouldn’t accept it.”

He smiled at her, again, reminded of Elain –even that little pout was all Elain.

He flicked the top of her arched ear and said, “You look like your aunt!”

“Pfff, everyone says that!” then she glanced at the clock and said, “oh, I have to run, Uncle,”

“Where are you going?”

She rolled her eyes, “Nyx and myself and Kira and Zoya (Nesta and Cassain’s other daughters) are expected to go and entertain the ambassadors’ children. At least they are our age!”

Azriel smiled and kissed her forehead. “You better join us for dinner then.”

“We will!” she blew him a kiss and hurried away.

Before the ambassadors entered the reception hall, Rhys released a bit of his power, so it thrummed in the air, filling the space and making all who were present pay attention. Feyre took her seat at his side. Then it was Azriel, who held the highest rank behind the High Lord and Lady. He sat in a chair, with Elain beside him, and wrapped his arm around her. He was glad of it too, because he was too fucking old to be standing around, greeting ambassadors and emissaries. That was a job for the kids like Elena and Nyx. They had the energy. And Cassian too, apparently, because he stood behind Nesta’s seat, legs apart, hand on his sword. Hopefully, there wasn’t going to be a need for all that tonight.

The six ambassadors and their entourage arrived soon after and Rhysand rose from his chair in a gesture of good will, greeting them.

“Welcome,” he said, his voice loud and melodious, created to put visitors at ease.

The males and two females bowed, and Rhys began the introductions.

“My mate, the High Lady of Night Court, Feyre Archeron.”

Feyre smiled and inclined her head at the guests.

Rhys continued, bypassing Azriel, though he was supposed to have been next,

“General Nesta Archeron, Cauldron Made, leader of the Valkyrie armies.”

Nesta greeted them politely, her back straight, her face placid.

“Cassian, Commander General of the Night Court.”

Then he paused, and everyone’s gazes inevitably fell on Azriel.

“His Highness, Prince Azriel of Hewn City,” Rhys finally said with a sigh. “Commanding General of the Darkbringers, Lord of the Court of Nightmares.”

Azriel glared at Rhysand and while the others bowed and curtsied, he barked loudly,

“AND?”

At that, Feyre got up and walked to him, saying calmly,

“And Lady Elain Archeron of the Court of Nightmares, Princess of Hewn City, Cauldron Made.”

Everything stopped, the very air silent and tense.

The ambassadors stared at the High Lady, then at Azriel. And then at Nesta, who stood up and walked over as well, saying loudly ‘my sister’.

Only there was no one next to Prince Azriel.

He sat alone in his chair.

Because, as everyone knew, Princess Elain had died in childbirth 184 years ago.

His mind had fractured that day.

They didn’t know that Elain was carrying twins until it was too late. The girl, who was small, hid behind the boy for too long in their mother’s womb. Their heartbeats beat in unison, and even the most experienced healers didn’t notice a second baby. A wingless baby. A baby who survived, while her mother and brother died. A baby who was picked up by her uncle Cassian, while his wife and mate Nesta was mute and dumb from grief and his brother Azriel flew out of the birthing room, only to return forever changed. Cassian took the baby with him and named her Elena.

Whether Azriel knew that Elain was dead and had been dead for almost two centuries, Feyre did not know. He never indicated that he was aware. He never called Elain a ‘ghost’ or made it known that he knew that she was dead, but it was easier to pretend like she was alive.

No.

The three of them–Feyre, Rhys and Cassian–were quite sure that Azriel had lost his mind that day and consequently, Elain’s death simply never registered with him. When he’d returned from his flight that day, he seemed the same as he always was. No shadows whispering in his ears, no sadness in his eyes. He did seem to be conscious of the fact that the children weren’t born, but he and ‘Ellie’ sat down with Temal, his adopted son, and explained it to him. Temal wasn’t exactly a child by then, but a grown man and he understood that something had happened to his father when Elain had died. Ever since then, Temal has played along. Almost two hundred years later, it became…normal to him. That his father and the illusion of his mother lived together and ruled together. It somehow became ‘normal’ to all of them, except for Rhys. But Feyre and Cassian, and especially Nesta protected Azriel from Rhys.

Nesta wasn’t entirely lucid either. Feyre was sure that Nesta knew that Elain was dead, but she’d come to believe that Elain was always next to them–just like Azriel claimed.

Whether it was a hallucination or an illusion that Azriel’s traumatised mind had conjured, Feyre couldn’t know. But Azriel had lived with this version of Elain ever since that day, and never looked unhappy. He was never confused. He was never doubtful. The only time he displayed any agitation is when Rhys ‘forgot’ about Elain and acted like she wasn’t at Azriel’s side. In his mind, Azriel convinced himself that it was because Rhys didn’t want Elain to marry him, and therefore ignored her because of that. Otherwise, Azriel went about his life married to Elain.

In fact, Feyre believed that perhaps, Azriel and his Elain, were the happiest couple among all of them.

Nesta and Azriel talked to ‘Elain’, laughed with her, walked with her, and in Azriel’s case, lived with her. He lived with her as a man would with his wife–sleeping and eating with her, bathing and cooking, dancing and drinking, making love with her and going on missions together. He did everything with Elain. He was Elain’s husband for eternity, just like he promised her at their wedding. And she was with him, walking hand in hand, living into the promise that she’d made to him.

From what Feyre could gather, the only difference between how Nesta was with their sister, and how it was different from Azriel, was that Nesta couldn’t see Elain. But she always insisted that Elain spoke to her, and as unnerving as it was to hear, Feyre got used to Nesta saying ‘Elain told me…” or “Elain and I were talking and she said…” or “El and I were laughing the other day…” Nesta confided to Elain, cried to her, argued with her, got angry with her. She ‘invited’ Elain to her training, and even discussed military plans with her. Apparently Elain ‘played’ with Nesta’s girls, sang to them, and knew that Nesta was raising Elena.

At least Nesta seemed to have been aware that Elena was not her daughter, but Elain’s. Though they’d all agreed that it would be best for Azriel not to know about Elena and to preserve his fragile mind, they always treated Elena as Nesta and Cassian’s daughter and Azriel’s niece. It was, therefore, especially amusing, but also heartbreaking that Azriel and the girl were so close and that he loved her far more than any other of his nieces and nephews.

When Elain had passed on, they did not know what to do with the body. The little boy was lovely as well, handsome and strong–his father’s son. They could not very well bury her without Azriel’s consent. They certainly couldn’t cremate her either. The mere mention of Elain’s death had Nesta’s eyes glowing with silver flames, and when she unequivocally announced that Elain was not dead, they dared not argue with her.

So Elain and her son were laid in a glass coffin, both perfect and unblemished even in death, sealed within it, Elain’s immense power still seeping out of her and then brought to rest under the Prison. Beneath the roots of the mountain. Under Dusk Court.

“Princess Elain is happy to meet you,” Azriel said simply to the ambassadors.

Sometimes, Elain didn’t want to talk, and he didn’t pressure her.

Sometimes, she talked a lot and he loved listening to her. But there were days when she preferred to be quiet and it didn’t bother him at all. The two of them always understood each other perfectly well, even in silence. Before they became lovers, before they were married, Elain could always read him and his moods, she always knew what he was thinking and was aware of his reasons for his actions. Words were always somewhat superfluous to them.

Their Court knew that the Princess sometimes communicated through him, and they’d come to accept that. But Elain was usually especially quiet around Rhys. It was as if she knew that he didn’t approve of her and did not like her.

The Court. The Court of Nightmares had a mad ruler, who ruled them alongside his dead wife. A ruler who was fully convinced that she sat on the throne with him, that she attended balls with him, that she weighed on topics and disagreements that arose during open sessions, that she opined on judicial decisions. But because he was a good ruler despite his madness, the Court…accepted it. So what if the Princess wasn’t there in the flesh. Perhaps, she truly spoke through him and who were they to question whether their Prince actually saw her and communicated with her if she were alive.

“No sweetness, he is not angry that you came,” Azriel assured her, peering angrily at Rhysand. “Rhys is just stressed. Soon we’ll go to dinner and then I will dance with you.”

Elain smiled at him. And then she found her voice and asked, “you promise?”

“I promise. You are my princess. And I am your prince. And soon, we’ll go back to our dark kingdom and we’ll be home, amongst our people.”

“You promise?” she repeated.

“I do. I promise.”

“Forever.”

Epilogue

Seventeen years later

It took years to find him, but at last, he did.

Azriel looked down at the male cowering in the pews of the temple.

It was an oddly cathartic moment, he couldn’t deny it.

Azriel and Lucien, forever locked in a silent battle, all because the Cauldron gave Elain to the wrong man. A lifetime of animosity, and the desire to correct a divine mistake.

“Azriel,” Lucien straightened and looked at his nemesis with his one eye.

“Lucien,” Azriel offered a curt nod.

“How did you find me?”

Azriel smirked.

“Well, if not me, then who?”

“I guess that’s true.”

Sighing heavily, Lucien looked down at the stone floor and wondered,

“So, now what? You finally get to kill me. And you’ll bring the traitor’s head to Rhysand as a trophy?”

Azriel seemed to consider it, cocking his head to the side.

Could he? Should he?

“You deserve it,” he told Lucien simply.

“Perhaps. But I didn’t do it just for myself. I did it for the Fae kind as well.”

“Sure. Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better.”

Lucien unsheathed his sword and asked coldly, “so, what happens now? How do you want to do this?”

Azriel turned his head and seemed to listen to something.

Lucien was well aware of the male’s madness–knew that Azriel thought that Elain was standing beside him that very moment, speaking to him.

“Elain says ‘hello’,” Azriel said.

It cost him nothing, and Lucien answered, “Hello Elain.”

Azriel stiffened and glanced at the other male with mild surprise. Like he wasn’t expecting Lucien to greet Elain.

After a long pause, Azriel scrubbed his chin and muttered, “she says not to kill you”.

Lucien almost dropped his sword, glaring at the Prince, mistrust in his eye.

“Stop fucking around, Shadowsinger. If you are here to kill me, then just do it.”

Azriel smiled at his old title. Shadowsinger. Yes, that power remained with him, but also disappeared some time ago. It was odd to hear the title spoken out loud.

“She asks for you to kill me,” he stated simply. “But only on this specific spot.”

“What are you on about?” Lucien groaned. “I am not killing you! If we fight, then we fight like real Fae!”

“I don’t need to fight like real Fae,” Azriel snapped. “I’ve fought for something for almost 800 years and what did it give me? Nothing. What I want is a life that was taken from me. What I want, is to live a life with my fucking wife. What I want is to escape this world, the judgement in everyone’s eyes, and to no longer be called a ‘madman’. I want to live a life with Elain Archeron. I want to be with her. I want…” he stopped, his voice trailing off. Then he raised his eyes and looked at Lucien, almost pleading with him, “I want release, Lucien. That’s what I want. I want to be with Elain. In this world. In another. I don’t care. I just want that…I just want to feel…Feel what I felt with her and have it be real.”

Lucien listened, unsure if Azriel was being truthful, but also saw the desperation in the male’s eyes. Was Azriel, in fact, not as mad as he let everyone believe?

Or was this just a moment of rare mental clarity?

“So I am to kill you?” he then confirmed.

“That’s what Elain says,” Azriel nodded.

“And then what?”

“And then you go on your merry way, scheming or doing whatever it is that you do.”

“And Rhysand?”

“I am a burden, not a cause celebre to him,” Azriel shrugged indifferently. “And if it took me that long to find you, I think you are quite safe. He won’t find you.”

“What will happen when I kill you?”

“I don’t know,” Azriel confessed. “But Elain insists on it.”

“You do know that this is…” Lucien’s voice was quiet. “I am not used to murdering unarmed men…and you are my mate’s husband…”

“It’s all right,” Azriel shrugged. “I forgive you. Just do it already. Stop talking. I am at peace. My daughter will take over Hewn City. She is a marvellous, brilliant, smart woman–I know the Power will choose her.”

“You have a daughter?” Lucien exclaimed, absolutely puzzled by this new revelation.

“Yeah. I suspected that she was–for a long time–and I finally got proof a few years ago. And I am so proud of her. I’ve got two amazing children–Temal and my Elena. And my grandchildren. Believe me, I am at peace. I am content. And whatever is going to happen, is going to happen.”

He stepped aside and walked to a specific spot, stopping abruptly.

“Elain says it has to be done here.”

“Why?”

“The Cauldron stood here for a while, in this specific spot. The Cauldron loves her and always helps her with odds and ends.”

“Killing you is helping her?”

“I don’t know. We are about to find out. Also, do it cleanly, Vanserra. One through the heart. Got it?”

“I suppose.”

Azriel pulled Truth-Teller out of its sheath and clutched it in his hand. “Don’t want to lose it.”

Lucien approached him cautiously, still unsure of what was happening, but Azriel seemed at ease and determined.

“I guess I am coming home, treasure,” Azriel murmured.

Light flooded the space around him. Azriel stood in front of a door, in a place that was not familiar to him. He was still clutching his dagger in his hand. Gingerly, he pushed the door and it opened and he stepped inside.

“Hi, love, are you home?” Elain called out from inside the house.

“I am,” Azriel murmured.

Suddenly, Elain, lovely as a morning sunrise, ducked her head from behind a wall and smiled at him.

“You are late,” she said.

“It took me a long time to find the way here.”

He looked around.

Nothing seemed familiar, and yet it was. It was a house filled with things that were unknown to him, and of a different origin.

“Is this the Land of Milk and Honey?” he wondered.

“No. It’s Lunathion.”

This was…unexpected.

She came to him, looking just like he remembered her, only glowing with life and health. Her outfit was unusual and unfamiliar to him–a plain sleeveless shirt that was quite tight and a pair of short pants, which looked more like underwear than something one would wear outside. Her long braid hung carelessly over her shoulder. On her finger, she wore the ring that he’d given her when they married. The same simple silver band.

“I’ve been waiting,” Elain said, putting his hand to her lips.

“What was the price?” he wondered, looking down at her and still unsure if this was another illusion, if this was death, or if this was real.

She worried her lower lip between her teeth and then admitted,

“There is no going back. This was the Cauldron's final gift. Its parting gift. We died, only to live again, but here. We’ll never see any of them again. Not our children, not our family. We can never jump through a Rift to go back. We died.”

He nodded.

A price he was willing to pay.

“Ready for a new chapter?” she said.

“With you?” he asked hopefully.

She reached for him and took his scarred hand in hers.

“With me. Forever.”

“Forever.”

#elriel #pro elriel #elain archeron #azriel and elain #elain x azriel #elain #elriel fanfic #my fanfiction #my writing #a ballad of sorrow and love #Azriel x Elain #elain and azriel #elriel month #Elrielmonth

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gingersnaptaff · 3 months ago

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Nest of Deheubarth and Gwenllian ferch Gruffudd ap Cynan

Lemme talk about two fabulous Welsh women who deserve to be yelled about more because they occupy fascinating roles in Welsh history and also they were SISTERS-IN-LAW. If they'd met I do think they would have a very Morgan Le Fay and Guinevere relationship (without the casual murder? Hmm.)

Anyways, Nest of Deheubarth (Also known as Nesta, or Annest, was the 'Helen of Wales,' which, seriously, we gotta stop appellating Helen of Troy to women whose beauty starts wars. It is a handy metric, but, like, neither were THEIR FAULT.) daughter of Rhys ap Tewdwr - yes, as in the Tudors. They have links to them through Rhys' son, Gruffudd - and Gwladys ferch Rhiwallon ap Cynfyn of Powys. (Said it before will say it again intermarriage between Gwynedd, Deheubarth, and Powys is super common.)

(This is Nest with Henry II. Note how they both have crowns on in bed. Like, I know it's to telegraph they're royal but like imagine them kissing. *clang* sorry, my crown keeps slipping off my head *clang* sŵs.)

Anyways, born in about 1085 (give or take) Nest was Princess of Deheubarth. Normally, this would entail being married to another Welsh royal family - and possibly your cousin, yeesh - but, sadly (or happily depending on your view) this was not to be the case for Nest.

Her father, Rhys, was King of Deheubarth until 1093. Deheubarth had largely been left untouched by the Normans thanks to a peacy treaty brokered by Rhys and thr King of England William Rufus but, sadly, Henry I soon put a stop to that after his brother, William Rufus' death. (For those wondering he got shot in an arrow in the New Forest. Some say Henry did it so he could assume the throne)

Rhys perished in battle at Breacon against Bernard de Neufmarche's forces, with him being beheaded at Penrhys in Rhondda Cynon Taf (Penrhys literally means Rhys' head.) Brut Y Tywysogion records: 'Rhys ap Tewdwr, king of Deheubarth, was slain by the Frenchmen who were inhabiting Brycheiniog, and with him fell the kingdom of the Britons' His death allowed the Normans to take Deheubarth unopposed and they wouldn't even begin to break their yoke until Gwenllian.

Anyways, Nest, her mother, her half-brothers, and her sisters were captured by the Normans once they'd murdered Rhys and were sent to either prison or the Anglo-Norman court to live as hostages to prevent any further rebellions. Meanwhile, Nest's younger brother, Gruffydd, was spirited away to Ireland (more about him later!).

But even there Nest wouldn't exactly be allowed to fly under the radar. She grew into a beauty - don't all captured foreign historical women, honestly? Like, grim - and caught the eye of Henry I, becoming his mistress, bearing him a son -- also called Henry* as it goes. See, having the same name as your dad is just a Welsh trait, ngl.

Soon after, in around about 1102 but possibly later, and once Henry I had dealt with some rebellions from his subjects (namely Robert de Bellême) he married Nest off to Gerald FitzWalter who was the constable of Pembroke Castle, purely cuz he sided with him. Nest's feelings are not recorded in history, but I'd imagine she was both delighted to be going home to Wales and distraught that she was married to a Norman lord who'd had a hand in subjugating her country.

Either way, with her marriage to Gerald she was both seen as a Norman - as were her sons, collectively known as the Geraldines, famous for subjugating Ireland, and nephew, Gerald of Wales - and as a figurehead for Welsh resistance.

And it's this that gives her the claim for being the Helen of Wales. Now, various reports of how shit went down are given but the facts are thus: in either 1106 or 1109 her cousin, Owain ap Cadwgan, Prince of Powys, kidnapped Nest and her sons. Gerald escaped either by escaping down the latrine (smelly toilet pit) or fighting his way out. Some say this was during an Eisteddfod given by Owain's dad, some say this was at Cilgerran Castle, a Norman castle that Gerald had built. Idk. Either way, she was once again, a hostage. Kari L. Maude says Owain was 'overcome by her [Nest's] charm,' but, equally, he could've been making a point of raiding the castle to spite a Norman and carrying off his cousin to try and force the Welsh to rebel. 'What is clear,' Maund further writes, 'Is that Owain was engaged on a consistent campaign against the Norman colonies in Wales.'

(OR, Nest had engineered the whole affair deliberately cuz she and Owain were lovers. There is talk that Owain was gonna be betrothed to Nest before everything that occurred but that is spurious speculation so idk. Whatever floats your boat, I guess.)

ANYWAYS. The earliest account of this shenaniganery we have is by Caradoc of Llancarfan which relates that: 'At the instigation of the Devil, he [Owain] was moved by passion and love for the woman, and with a small company with him...he made for the castle by night.' Once he'd done this he took Nest and her kids to a hunting lodge by the Eglwyseg Rocks north of Llangollen, presumably to live in what he thought was relative peace.

Hoo boi, he was WRONG. The abduction of Nest, done with her consent or not, aroused the wrath of both the Normans (for obvious reasons those HEIRS ARE NORMAN-BLOODED GIVE THE SONS BACK) and the Welsh (I guess because this was seen as a Welshman abducting a Princess of Deheubarth? Unsure.) Either way, the Normans bribed Owain's Welsh enemies to attack him which they did. (Pls remember that the Powysians hated Deheubarthians and Gwyddelians hated them both ect, etc.)

Owain's dad throughout all of this desperately tried to persuade his son to give Nest back ('Pls, pls, pls, Owain, your himbo arse has gotten us into SO MUCH SHIT!' I can imagine him saying. This does, however, ignore the fact that Cadwgan himself was sanctioning his son's raids.) With Owain just brushing him off. Nest, once again, saves a man's life and entreats Owain: 'If you would have me stay with you and be faithful to you, then send my children home to their father.'

Owain did so, but before long, both he and his dad were then obliged to seek safety in Ireland lest further attacks were made on them. Nest was also returned to her husband. Whether willingly or not idk but yeah.

Now, by this time (1112), her brother Gruffudd had returned from his sojourn in Ireland and was trying to drum up support to get Deheubarth back under his rule, particularly with the aid of the King of Gwynedd, Gruffudd ap Cynan, who would ultimately become Gruffydd's father-in-law when Gruffydd married his daughter, Gwenllian 🥳🥳🥳. It's interesting to imagine that Nest was giving her brother a hand in this but we have no textual support to say so. Tbf, perhaps she did and she was just so good at doing it that it's just remained undetected for hundreds of years. 🤷🏻‍♀️

War broke out between Gruffydd and the Normans. Gruffydd, expecting to have his inheritance given to him and no liking to hear the word 'NO' yelled at him Henry I with a fuckin megaphone, fuckin burned Carmarthen and then destroyed Arberth in 1115, alongside 'members of the younger nobility'. (As he should, in all honesty.)

Owain ap Cadwgan who had, by this time, tootled back from Ireland, been PARDONED BY THE KING (Henry I, that is.), and became prince of Powys after his dad was ASSASSINATED (Assassin's Creed: Powys edition when?) Obliged by Henry I to rendezvous with a Norman force to proceed against Gruffydd, Owain found himself meeting up with Nest's husband, Gerald.

( Sjdjxjxjddkxj Could not make that up. Sounds like a Hollyoaks episode.)

Gerald, wanting to fuckin Murk Owain for what he did to his kids and wife, proceeded to Murk Owain. I do honestly feel like Gerald also thought 'If he kills my bro-in-law my wife will fuckin KILL ME.' so I respect this for being In Fear of his wife.

Gerald himself died in 1135, yet Nest delightfully, was still going. She married Robert FitzStephen, having another kid to the five she'd already had with Gerald, including the mother of my arch-nemesis Gerald of Wales, Angharad.

It isn't known when she died but it's estimated that it was about 1135/1136, thus allowing her to see the start of her brother and sister-in-law's rebellion that would eventually put the land that the Normans had so cruelly taken from the back into the hands of their family.

A note:

*Henry would later be killed in Ynys Môn during a battle against Nest's brother-in-law Owain Gwynedd, coincidently led by Owain's son - and my fuckin pookie - Hywel ab Owain Gwynedd. Apparently, again according to the Brut, Henry died 'by a shower of lances.'

Up next: Gwenllian!!!!!!!

Sadly we have no drawings of Gwenllian, but that's okay cuz artists are more than up to the challenge. Also, idk why but the fact that she has red hair is generally accepted even though we don't know how she looked. I guess it's because bravery is telegraphed as red, or at least fieryness which, ngl, she defo was.

Born in about 1097, Gwenllian was the daughter of the King of Gwynedd, Gruffudd ap Cynan, and his wife, Angharad ferch Owain.

Gwynedd, at this time, was perhaps the most stable of the Welsh kingdoms, although Gruffudd ap Cynan HAD had to battle like fuck to free Gwynedd from the Normans before he could even sit on the throne. (He got thrown in Chester for a time and had to be rescued by a very tall man called Cynwrig. Will do a post on him because he's FUN) so rebellion is very much in Gwenllian's blood. We don't know much about her childhood although we can assume it was happy and filled with the various activities of a Welsh Princess.

Still, that would soon shift.

Gwenllian, at around about thirteen /fourteen or so (remember girls became women when they reached 14 under Welsh law), soon became involved with Gruffydd ap Rhys after her father hosted him when Gruffydd was hoping to summon up aid for his Getting Rid of the Normans scheme.

Unfortunately for Gruffydd - who I will now call Griff so as not to confuse with Gruffudd ap Cynan - this place at the Gwyddelian court became tenuous. Gruffudd ap Cynan, unwilling to further inflame tensions with the Normans after he'd just recovered Ynys Môn (Anglesey) from them and now ruled kinda peacefully, elected to hand Griff over to them. Somehow - probably through Gruffudd ap Cynan's nobles - news of this rescued Griff and he once again left for Deheubarth.

Only he wouldn't travel alone.

Gwenllian, unwilling to let the man she loved slip away, eloped with him and became his wife. They soon became 'the Robin Hood's of Wales' as Philip Warner writes and set about killing the Normans. Griff, emboldened by his and his wife's success hastened to meet with his father-in-law, Gruffudd ap Cynan, in an effort to get troops.

So, Gwenllian was left to helm her husband's forces by herself. To be fair to her SHE DID. AND honestly, this is why she's compared to 'Buddug' or Bouddica. Normans led raids a just as she and Griff had done against them- and she was compelled to rise an army for Deheubarth's defense.

The Great Revolt of 1136, as it was known, was to be Gwenllian's last conflict for she and two of her sons, Maredudd and Maelwgyn were beheaded by the Normans after their forces were routed at Cydweli Castle. Yet Gwenllian would not be forgotten. Her youngest son, the Lord Rhys, would become Prince of Deheubarth and recover much of the territory that had once been their family's. And Nest? Well, Griff had sent time in her and Gerald's castles as he went about letting how to get Dejeubarth back. It's tempting to think that she and Gwenllian met.

Also, Dr Andrew Breeze HAS argued that Gwenllian is the author of the Mabinogi because much of the action takes place in Gwynedd and Deheubarth where Gwenllian was based. Might it have been a tract to inspire people to rebellion? Or for women to know their worth? It's tempting but we'll never know. We can only guess. All we can say is 'Dial Achos Gwenllian!'

(That's Revenge for Gwenllian btw. Long may she reign, as it were.)

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bloomingdarkgarden · 1 year ago

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ok but the way i do NOT want the starborn shit in ACOTAR.

like I have no desire to see the Archerons be revealed as, surprise, extra special starborn princesses or whatever. Two of them are Made and one has been granted exceptionally rare political power. That's plenty of special already in the slow cooker. If sjm is gonna overload them with power just to convince herself they are ultimate badasses™ like she always does i just. it is so cheap.

i still don't even care about starborn power. what even is it? Bright light of death? Ok.

Nesta has silver death light.

The Illyrians have {insert siphon color} death light.

How are any of these different? They aren't.

maybe sjm should actually flesh out power itself so that we know its value instead of piling it on her favs like an ice cream sundae free of charge with extra special sprinkles.

im tired.

#sjm critical #acotar #cc3 #acotar 5

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oristian · 6 months ago

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A little think-piece. I consistently see the line, “Elain shall wed for love and beauty,” used as a means of canon confirmation. Reading the paragraph as a whole, it continues on by saying, “[…] You shall wed for conquest.” I wonder, then, having fully read the series thus far, if Nesta’s prediction was null, would Elain’s also follow suit?

Elain was reduced to her beauty by their mother, and has been regarded and disregarded as such ever since—her beauty is always the first descriptor. “The pretty one.” I would be curious to see Elain’s inner monologue and how she detests such association to her character. Elain will wed for love, that is most certain, but I believe that she has more depth to her than to marry a male for a pretty face alone.

I have also been consumed with this snippet from ACOMAF. I have always associated it with the three Archeron sisters.

FEYRE — Rebirth / Moon / Rot / Lady of Night, Princess of Decay / Carrion

NESTA — Death / Dark / Bones / Fanged Beast

ELAIN — Life / Sun / Bloom / Trembling Fawn

Just a thought and a little theory. “Hello, sweet thing,” could be anyone else in the room, but I have always seen the three sisters after that line. I would be interested in knowing what others may think! It very well could be nothing, as this was around the time SJM started retconning characters and storylines to make future connections, but it is interesting to see the connection.

#elain archeron #pro elain #nesta archeron #pro nesta #feyre archeron #acomaf #acosf #acotar #sarah j maas

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moonlightazriel · 1 year ago

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Son of the Darkness XX /// Azriel X F!Reader

Summary: Hidden for so long The court of shadows thrived, and things were great until the high lord's death, now the next in line should assume the crown of high lord of shadows, will he accept his duties?

Warnings: What can I say at this point? It’s all out war….

Word Count: 1,8K

Notes: Yep, Y/N’s speech was taken from Theseus speech from the movie Immortals, sue me

Son of the Darkness Masterlist

Main Masterlist

The extent of Hybern’s army was terrifying, thousands of men gathered to kill whoever dared to stand in their way. But as Y/N watched their troops, blue, golden, orange, black and yellow, all the armies from seven High Lords, she knew they had a chance.

Vivianne, the soon to be High Lady of Winter, held the human girl, Briar, in her arms. Evanore was around them, petting and talking to the white bears the army had. The atmosphere felt almost peaceful as they got ready for the battle.

It took two days to transport the whole army, going directly against Hybern. They had moved again, and they all came to the conclusion that Hybern was clearly postponing the battle, after all, he couldn’t get what Nesta took from the cauldron back, and now that she had more control over her power, he was probably scared of what she could do.

And now, they were ready to face that army, a few kilometres from where they originally planned to meet them. The witches have been draining power from the earth for a few hours, and the army was resting until it was time to face each other.

This time, Rune and the others would join, healing would have to wait, as all the force was necessary in that battlefield. They had also transported any human near the battle to Adriata where princess Cresseida was taking care of them.

Feyre and Amren had a plan to stop the cauldron and the army, needing to get close enough to touch it. And they’re also getting ready to release Bryaxis on that army. She hasn’t seen Feyre in a while. But she had checked on Elain, she was still afraid but wasn’t hurt.

The inner circle reunited, exchanging their comforting words to each other, some prayed to the mother, the witches kept to themselves but Y/N held her sword, in front of the NightFall.

“I am one of you, I share your blood and I share your fear.” The female yelled, her voice reaching the quiet soldiers. “But to run now, we offer our souls and the souls of the innocent to a terrible darkness.” One by one, the soldiers from her army started to hit their shields with their swords, the music echoing through the camp. Until every one who held a shield joined.

“We must stand and fight, their numbers count for nothing in that battlefield.” More chanting. “They are cowards, they hide behind their masks, they bleed like you and I.” She yelled even louder. Azriel watched with pride filling his senses as his mate encouraged the whole army. “Listen to me! Stand your ground! Fight for your honour!” The swords slammed against the shield. “Fight for the man beside you! Fight for those who bore you! Fight for your children! Fight for your future! Fight for your name! Survive!”

With her sword pointed to the army who gathered near the beach, waiting for the bloodbath, she yelled one more time.

“Let us write history with Hybern’s blood.” The soldiers behind her roared their fury, and they marched to the war.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Battle happened everywhere, metal clashing against metal, the sounds of man dying filled her senses, so overwhelming and bone chilling, but she swallowed any trace of fear, going on her killing spree.

Bryaxis had just joined, the endless shadow passed by her, hummed in greetings to her. She could see Azriel in the skies, Rhysand’s power in huge waves, everyone who had magic in their blood used how they could.

The witches formed a unity, walking together, using both magic and their weapons to kill. Eris was behind Evanore, his eyes tracking her every move, Y/N felt her heart swell with happiness, she didn’t have to worry about her.

Her magic flared in strikes, men falling to the ground whenever they touched it. The necklace kept shining between her breasts, indicating that Azriel was alright. And when she couldn’t reach with magic, her sword was finding its target.

Everything was happening so fast, the three figures, The Bone Craver, Bryaxis and The Weaver killed hundreds in their path, the soldiers from Hybern were slowly being erased from the earth.

Trumpets sounded somewhere to the north, and Y/N watched from in between the commotion, three more armies joined, a green one from Spring Court, another orange one, Beron walked with more soldiers, Eris’s brothers mounting horses from in between the army, fire blazed and something exploded. The third army was made from humans.

The ash poison was burning in blue flames, giving them an advantage since now they didn’t have more poison to use, Y/N roared in excitement as she beheaded a male in front of her.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Too tired, she felt too tired, her muscles burned, she wanted to stop, but she couldn’t. Blood soaked her hair and clothes.

She heard someone screaming for Cassian, she saw him flying to where Nesta stood at the top of the hill. And where he was mere seconds ago, the soldiers that stayed, were erased from the skies, as the King used the cauldron. The next shot was closer to his army than hers, and she concluded that he didn’t care about his soldiers, sacrificing them to get what he needed.

It was then that another trumpet sounded, and this time she was sure it didn’t belong to them. Azriel landed by her side, her shadows protecting them from anyone who tried to get close.

“They have a fucking armada. I saw Tarquin going there but there’s no way he can get rid of them alone.” He warned.

“Fuck!” Y/N cursed, and he felt someone approaching them. His eyes landed on the blonde male from the Bloody Moon ritual, the one who had upset her.

“Look at what we have here, the bastard and his bitch.” Luther spat. “I was looking for you.” He pointed at her.

“This is going to be good.” Azriel smilled.

Y/N stepped out of the shadows removing her helmet and retrieving them, she wanted to kill him with her pure force, not with her magic. She assumed a fighting instance, discarding her sword and going for a dagger instead.

“Hopefully your uncle is waiting for you in hell.” The male lunged for her, she spun to the side, getting out of the way, the sword cut the air, and she kicked him. His swords clashed against her dagger, and he punched her nose, blood pouring out of it.

“How does it feel?” She asked. “To always be beneath me? Never being able to be better than me, even if you tried so fucking hard.” He aimed for her once more, and she dodged, sweat ran down her forehead as she kept dodging and punching him sometimes.

They were both bloodied and panting. “Having to see everyone choose me, over and over again? Knowing you would never be good enough and that your name didn’t matter.” Luther screamed in fury. “That I earned my position and that a simple female will always be better than you.”

Luther descended his sword upon her, she rolled on the ground, quickly getting to her feet and impaling him with her dagger. Blood poured from his mouth. She held his shoulder, her eyes boring into his as life slowly faded from his body.

“It’s a shame that you chose this, we would be really good friends.” The male groaned and she let him fall. Turning to Azriel, he pulled her close to him.

“It’s okay now.” He reassured her, handing her the helmet and saying his goodbye, flying back to the battle.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“The people from our court can see better in the dark, one of the perks of being born in the shadows.” Azriel thought, finding her again after twenty minutes apart. Her words ringed in his head, clear as the bright sky above his head. The plan formed in his mind and something in his chest told him that she would understand without the need of communications. So he did.

His wings flapped faster, making him go higher in the sky, so high that he could almost touch the sun, his syphons glowed, a bright cobalt light coming from them as his shadows moved in awe, waiting for what he was about to do. He knew where she was, and with all his power singing in his veins, his shadows descending upon the earth, engulfing her and at least 20 soldiers from Hybern that were surrounding her. The last thing he saw was the smirk on her face as the shadows covered their bodies until they disappeared in the black mist.

She felt them before she saw them, her sword hitting another one, as she defended herself, from the corner of her eyes, she saw the black shadows behind her, eager to get to her, brushing her face in between her helmet as they formed a dome around her and the enemy’s soldiers. She blinked, her eyes easily adjusting to the dark, she was quick to end with the man she was already in a fight with, while the others walked around in the dark, trying to see something.

They stumbled around blindly wandering, not being able to leave the mist wall that surrounded them. She smirked, walking around, her feet silent as she walked on the soft grass, the first, she cut his abdomen open with her sword, the armour they were using not that effective against the weapon that the witches had blessed, her blade screeched as she dragged it against the metal, cutting through it like butter, the man screamed in agony, the blood splashing on her own armour, the others assumed a defensive stance, not knowing where to aim or what to expect.

She ran, silent as a ghost, all the soldier could feel was the slightly change in the wind and the whistle of her sword, the weapon sharp, cutting through the air and the flesh of one of the soldiers, his head flying away as she already got ready to defend the blind blows they tried to land, their bodies bumped into each other, the metal cackling as they did so. She pierced the skull of one of them, with her dagger while her sword pierced the chest of another.

One by one, they fell, their blood running down her armour was the only resemblance of that they were even alive someday, she walked out of the shadows, the mist dissipating behind her, the blood pooled around the bodies, their horrid expressions marred their faces forever as she walked away. Azriel knew she could do it, but he couldn’t help the pride that filled his chest as he saw her walking out, blood covering her from head to toe, she looked in his direction. And that was when she felt it.

The bond snapping into place.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Tagging: @allison-rosewood-maximoff @devilsfoodcake22 @fieldofdaisiies @valeridarkness @brekkershadowsinger @margssstuff @patdsinner33 @justdreamstars

#acotar #azriel shadowsinger #sarahjmaas #moonlightazriel #azriel #shadowsinger #azriel x reader #night court #azriel x y/n #velaris #son of the darkness #azriel x you #azriel x oc #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar

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cressidagrey · 9 months ago

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The Starlight Princess - Chapter 6

Summary:

There is a Pool of Starlight in the Spring Court. A piece of the Night Court that has no business being in the land of Eternal Spring. So how did it come to be?

Or: How the Spymaster of the Night Court starts hearing a voice, realises that no, he is not insane after all, frees a princess, kills a High Lord…and finds his mate all at the same time.

Warnings:

Discussion of the Death of Rhys’ Mother and Sister, Tamlin ends up being unalived, Discussion of Magic being turned against the other person, Rhys has a mental breakdown, Cassian is a clairvoyant

(dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

Azriel was nowhere to be seen.

Rhys pressed his lips together in displeasure.

Busy, Nesta had said with a shrug. He said he had plans.

Azriel seemingly always had plans these days.

Rhys was quite sure that said plans were to mope around the house he had bought. Silently.

Because that’s all Azriel was these days.

Azriel used to regularly question his orders, suggesting another way or an addition to Rhys‘ plans…he had stopped doing that. Azriel did what Rhys told him to. No more. No less.

And anything else…he wasn’t interested in that.

Last solstice, Azriel had even willingly thrown away his own snowball fight victory for Cassian‘s. He had ensured that Rhys would lose and then hadn’t bothered to protect himself from Cass. He pulled back from them all, and Rhys wasn’t sure what to do against it.

Not when it was his own decision that had resulted in it after all.

A decision that Azriel wasn’t interested in talking about either: that wedding a few days ago had made that just abundantly clear.

But at least Rhys had stopped him from getting utterly drunk. Azriel had been definitely had no hangover the day after. Oh no. All he had gotten from Azriel was hell-bent determination.

For what…he had no clue.

Still, as he watched his family have dinner that evening, something tugged deep in his gut, worrying about his brother.

Worrying about him eschewing his family in favour of being alone.

Amren wasn’t there either, visiting Varian in Adriata.

Their usual tight-knit group lacking two members.

He was turning it over in his head, when he felt it.

It started as nothing more than a rumble. But it grew. And it grew.

The very foundation of Prythian was shaking.

“Oh no,” Mor breathed.

He could just agree.

Spring’s Wards were failing.

“Cassian. Mor,” he said sharply as he moved to stand. He would ask Azriel to come also g if he was there, but he wasn’t.

This wasn’t good. He didn’t even want to imagine what he would find in the Spring Court if…

“I’d rather stay here and help Feyre. Take Nesta,” Mor told him quietly and for a moment he looked over to his sister in law that was mustering him with her grey eyes.

He turned away. “Feyre Darling. Hold Velaris,” he told his wife and High Lady, their son on her lap, Nyx staring at him with wide blue eyes, so similar to his mother. She just gave him a sharp nod.

There had never been two people that he had loved more than them.

“Azriel?” Cassian asked, fighting leathers already spreading over his form, offering a set of knives to Nesta, who strapped them to her own form. Rhys held out his hand, Ataraxia slapping down into his palm as he held it out for Nesta to take.

He called onto his own weapons, his own fighting leathers, just as he grasped both Cassian and Nesta…winnowing them straight into Spring Court.

It looked as horrible as it had been for months. Utterly desolate. Just that now… he could see the dome of the wards falling to the floor in little flecks of magic…utterly destroyed by…Tamlin’s inaction.

But that wasn’t the only TV in. He could nearly taste the metallic, heady sense of blood magic in the back of his throat. Seemingly the whole place was permeated by it.

“Don’t you think he’s already all over this?” Rhys gave back in response to Cassian, even just hating having to ask that question.

He was sure of it. Azriel was in the midst of this, pulling information out of thin air.

He reached out for his brother, only to come up against a wall of adamant. Something was going on. Normally he would be able to place where Azriel was but not right now.

Not…

“You think he knew it was coming?” Cassian asked him incredulously, sword drawn, following behind as Rhys crossed the courtyard of that manor towards the forest…towards where that blood magic was coming from.

And then Nesta’s quiet voice: “He had two swords with him this evening that I have never seen before,” she said. “They matched, but they didn’t…They looked like they belonged to a female. The hilts were encrusted with purple stones.”

That…That didn’t sound like any of the brutally practical weapons Az preferred.

But he could feel Cassian’s shock pour from his mind…just as Rhys stopped as suddenly there was a snap, another person winnowing in…he blinked twice to see that it was Helion.

“It seemed that I wasn’t the only one disturbed this evening,” Helion said after a blink and Rhys could just shake his head, just as the snapping sound of another burst of winnowing sounded. Kallias.

“How long do you think until it’s all of us?” Helion drawled and Rhys shrugged wordlessly…wondering when not if Autumn was going to show up…or Summer…or even Thesan.

Still, he needed…something pulled him further into the forest. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, couldn’t quite put his finger on it…And then he found that clearing.

And Tamlin.

In his beast form, keeled over into the mud…He was dead. Rhys didn’t even need to check that. It was obvious.

Cassian’s breath caught in his throat.

Tamlin’s prone form, laying in a puddle of his own blood in a muddy sinking into the ground.

But the most shocking thing was the blood magic that was permeating the space. Magic that was so dark that it made Rhys shudder.

He could feel it…could feel how strong it must have been to force another’s faes magic to submit this completely…to enslave them like Tamlin clearly had done…his magical signature was all over the place.

Rhys wanted to throw up.

It turned his stomach.

He had seen many horrible things throughout his long, long life, but this…this was on a level with Amarantha. This wasn’t…

“What happened here?” Kallias asked tonelessly. Rhys clearly wasn’t the only one who had felt this magic. Dark ancient magic… So dark…it was unspeakable. He could feel it in his bones.

But it was Helion who climbed down next to Tamlin, casting something that resulted in a golden glow surrounding Tamlin’s prone form.

Rhys reached out with his own magic, poking around the remnants of that dark, dark magic…so unlike his own…And then suddenly, he felt it.

A magic that he would remember for the rest of his life. A perfect mirror of his own. Since she had been born.

Seren’s magic. Pure Starlight…traces of it still left even if they started to pull back so quickly that he was sure nobody else would see them.

Seren.

No. No, it couldn’t…it couldn’t be…This couldn’t….

*Rhys, what’s wrong?* His mate demanded sharply, and he realised that he must have bled his surprise and devastation and everything else he had been feeling all over their bond. He pulled back sharply, shaking himself out of it, even when…Even when he knew that this was impossible.

Seren had been dead for centuries. She was nowhere…She was…

*Nothing, Feyre Darling,* he forced out.

*Do not lie to me. Mor just disappeared too. Went chalk white, like she sensed something and went off.* Clearly something more was going on.

*Tamlin is death,* he told her quietly. *Helion is checking how it happened.*

Surprise from Feyre…a wave of sadness.

“Tamlin used his…blood to tie another fae to his…life force in some form. The moment he died, the wards fell…and with them the curse put upon her,” Helion said at that moment as he straightened up. He spat out the words, seemingly disgusted by it.

So was Rhys.

“Her?” he asked, idly. This was…A female?

“If you figure out who this female was, let me know. She must be a sigh to behold,” Helion said deceptively light and Rhys swallowed. Had Helion…Had he…sensed the same thing as him? Had he…

“Who killed him? What killed him?” Kallias demanded.

“Drowning,” Helion said easily, pushing over Tamlin in his beast form. Rhys could see two stab wounds lining his throat.

“He has two stab wounds in his neck,” he pointed out. Helion shrugged.

“And still he drowned,” Helion answered. “Just not in water.”

Before he could ask in what exactly Tamlin had drowned then, another harsh pop of winnowing.

“Tarquin,” he greeted the High Lord of Summer.

“I apologise for my tardiness,” Tarquin said carefully. “We had…some unexpected developments.” He gestured to a male at his side who looked like he would prefer to be anywhere else, wide-eyed and terrified.

“Oleander. The New High Lord of Spring,” Tarquin said with a wave. Unexpected though not completely. The magic would find somebody else to settle on. “A far-fetched cousin from Tamlin,” Tarquin explained. “The magic settled on him minutes ago.”

“Let me extend my sincere condolences,” Kallias said, his voice flat, making it very obvious that he didn’t actually think that Tamlin’s death was a great loss.

Not after the magic that was still in the air all around them.

“After what I am getting from him, I don’t think he deserves that,” Oleander blurted out at that moment. He still looked young, like he hadn’t expected the magic to land in his lap. Rhys supposed that it must be shocking.

“That blood magic…it’s all over him,” Oleander breathed. “It’s…so dark.”

Really young, Rhys clarified mentally. He must have never seen a battlefield in his life.

“Tamlin used his blood to tie another fae to his life force. The moment he died, the wards fell and with them the curse put upon her,” Helion repeated calmly. “It’s a magical enslavement. Pure and simple.”

It was. The worst kind.

“Will you search for his killer?” Rhys asked lightly and Oleander stared at him, green eyes wide, the colour of foliage as he blinked.

“Wasn’t it the fae he kept imprisoned?” Oleander asked. “If it was, they had every right to kill him to escape…This is dark magic sullying Spring’s ground…all of that is on my cousin. I am not going to hunt down somebody for defending themselves in a horrible situation. What kind of example would that set?”

It seemed like the new High Lord of Spring promised to be both a bleeding heart and just as liberal as the High Lord of which court he had just come from.

Still…the feel of his sister’s magic…it kept him off-kilter, not understanding what else Tamlin had done when he had killed her…cut off her wings and her head…

Killed Seren and her power and her sweetness…the ferocity of her love.

*Rhys, you need to come home,* Feyre suddenly said into his mind, sounding…not worried but…something he couldn’t quite place.

*What happened?* He demanded, trying to push deeper into his mate’s mind but she kept him out.

*Just come home,* Feyre requested. *Whenever you can.*

There wasn’t much more for them to do in the desolate court of Spring. Not when its new High Lord was already trying…clearly chafing under what had been unexpectedly dropped into his lap but clearly trying.

Oleander would rebuild the wards, and do his best to make Spring less desolate…maybe even some of Spring’s people would be willing to come back now…now that they had a new High Lord… they would make sure that the land would be blooming and brimming with life again. But there was nothing else that Rhys could do.

Nothing else he could do but to return to the Night Court.

Where his cousin was waiting for him, Nyx was asleep in Feyre’s arms.

“And?” Mor demanded immediately.

“Tamlin is dead…a cousin of his has taken over…Oleander. Must be from one of the side lines of the family,” Rhys recounted with a sigh.

“He seems like a good fellow,” Cassian agreed with a shrug. “Stout. Clearly very displeased with the blood magic Tamlin used.”

“Blood Magic?” Feyre asked curiously.

“He tied the life force of another Fae to him,” Rhys explained, quietly.

“Like a bargain?” Feyre asked him and he swallowed as he remembered the death bargain the two of them had. He wished it was something like that.

“No. Much worse than that. He enslaved another fae’s magic to do his bidding. It’s old magic. Ancient. And dark as fuck,” Mor said darkly, her brown eyes lined with unshed tears. “And Rhys…I….I figured out it was. And you aren’t going to like this.”

“Figured out who who was?” Cassian wondered.

“The Fae bound in the blood magic?” Rhys asked and Mor just nodded, swallowing.

“Can’t you feel her?” She asked, looking at him softly.

No.

No, this couldn’t…this couldn’t be.

This was a fever dream.

Something he had hoped for and prayed for and knew was never going to happen, because it was impossible…because he had seen her unattached head in that basket…he had…

No.

And still, he reached out with his mind, rushing over the city like he always did, catching all the snapshots of the faes of Velaris and…

And then he felt it.

He felt her.

It nearly brought him to his knees.

He knew her mind’s rhythm as well as he knew his brothers’. He knew how it felt, the slick adamant walls that were down now, all her feeling broadcasting to everybody around her.

Sweet Love…Everlasting Devotion. All there…Need…So much need there, devastation and adoration and…

“I am feeling…kinda mellow,” Cassian realised aloud. “What is that?”

“It’s Seren,” Mor said quietly. Cassian sharply pulled in a breath.

“Who’s Seren?” Nesta asked aloud.

“Rhys’ Sister,” Feyre answered, and he could feel his hands shaking, still reaching out for his sister’s mind, being batted away, as her attention was turned to…turned to somebody else…something else.

He could feel it…it was… “Who’s with her?” He bit out. Who…

“Azriel,” Mor answered quietly. “They are in the midst of their Mating Frenzy. And I wouldn’t suggest interrupting them unless you want to be killed by a pissed of Seren.”

“Did you interrupt them?” Cassian asked with a shit-eating grin. “I am surprised that Azriel didn’t kill you.”

“He was too busy holding her back. She took a bite out of him in response. To show me that he is definitely hers,” Mor said with a wet laugh, shaking her head.

His little sister in the middle of her mating frenzy with Azriel of all people.

“I am going to kill him,” Rhys hissed. Azriel’s plans that evening: Oh, it probably had been to kill Tamlin!

“You are not going to kill your brother,” Feyre said calmly.

“Yes, I am! He’s…He’s defiling my little sister!” he said hotly.

Defiling her.

Seren was too fucking young to mate to anybody! She hadn’t been 18 when she had died! She had still been…She had still been…

“Don’t worry, I think she’s defiling him just as thoroughly,” Cassian said with a snort. Could be weeks until you see them. Azriel always had the greatest endurance….and they have three centuries to catch up on.

“Cassian, I’ll kill you too,” Rhys hissed, but Cassian only grinned.

“After or Before you kill Azriel for defiling your little sister?” he teased him.

Rhys just growled at Cassian.

“Just be happy that she’s very much alive,” Cassian told him softly, clapping on his shoulder. “You got her back, Rhys. Who can be upset about a miracle like that.”

Not him. Not ever him.

He would thank the mother on his knees for the rest of his life for this miracle if he…

He went back to brushing over her mind, feeling more love…more adoration…so much happiness. She was so happy.

“There’ll probably be more than one very mellow Fae around Velaris tonight. Maybe a few orgies,” Mor said drily. “I’ll suggest you wait until tomorrow morning.”

“Did she always use to project her feelings like that?” Nesta wondered and he shook his head. No, she hadn’t. Normally, Seren had been very calm…very collected. Nobody had been able to look underneath the masks she wore…the perfect princess.

“Only when her emotions were very…strong,” Mor answered quietly. Only very rarely. Then yes…then her emotions bleed all over everybody in her near vicinity.

“It does seem like you were right,” Feyre teased Cassian, who just grinned at her.

“Right about what?” Rhys demanded. What had Cassian suspected?

“That Azriel and Seren are mates,” Cassian answered calmly.

What? How in the world had Cassian figured that out before…

“Why did you think that?” he asked weakly. Cassian just looked at him.

“Because they were very much in love, Rhys. And he would have laid waste to the entirety of Prythian to make sure that she was safe. And so would she for him.”

#acotar fanfiction #my writing #azriel x oc #the starlight princess #the starlight princess story #azriel x rhys!sister

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