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donnadiddadog · 20 days ago

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the reaper pt 1

Summary: Y/N is a member of the Inner Circle, and there is a decision to have a suicide mission that would help win the war against Hybern - and Y/N has to take charge of it. Azriel cannot let Y/N go just like that.

Word Count: 1.9K ish

Warnings: Mentions of death and soldiers being harmed in war, slight cursing (if any tbh i don't think so). If anything is left out, let me know below!

a/n: First Person (but I use Y/N as a character, not an OC), I am going to convert this into a series cuz I have an idea (this is going to be slightly based on Nesta’s whole spiral in ACOSF in the next few parts). All credit for the prompt and the inspiration of the first half (loosely based on the story part 1) to “Farewell my love” (written by @allthehopesforlove) - you should check it out, too. It's pretty well written (sending you much love @allthehopesforlove<3). Also, the concept of the Eight is based on Manon from the TOG series! I' 'll upload the next few parts by Jan end (I have finals in two days what am I doing here????)

14th Jan 2025, Writing 3

There is no way that the war can be won without this move. That was the consensus as we stood around the replica of the battleground - Rhys was motionless as he assessed the situation and Cassian kept pacing around the tent that swayed with the wind. Mor was leaning against the chair, her injuries preventing her from standing up straight. I looked at Azriel as he stared at the map and tried to figure out.

The move was simple - a 300 soldiers in a formation that would cleave the Hybern army at the centre, at the weakest point. With the seperation of the army into fragments, the Spring, Autumn and Day Court Armies could take over the upper flank and the Winter and Dawn Court Armies taking over the lower flank; the Night Court attacks from the back to prevent anyone else from escaping. The Summer Court would join the 300 soldiers after they had seperated the army and prevent them from joining again which would turn the tide of the war against Prythian.

All 300 would most likely die. A 95% chance according to me, Cassian agreed with that figure, if not implying that the danger was higher. Feyre was watching her mate, I think she was just scared that he would choose to be the one to lead the soldiers now nicknamed the Regiment 300. The final stand.

There were arguments made in favour and against, Rhys and Cassian at each others throats, Azriel trying to calm the whole situation down. I stood there watching them all fight and try to figure it out while the clock ticked. Hybern would not stop their planning, their tactics just because we couldnt get our shit together. The other High Lords were aware of this plan, it was Beron who had assigned the final duty of choosing the Regiment 300 from the Night Court rather than any other Court. He deemed it fair - that it was us who had to shed the final blood. Meant it as an insult but it was right.

I dont remember much because it was a blur. I had slammed my fists into the table, looked them dead in the eye and explained why it couldnt be any of them. How if Morrigan rode out, she wouldnt make it ten steps before falling dead from her horse. How Feyre could not go to war because she was not trained enough yet. How Rhysand cannot go to war because he is the High Lord and his death would mean a constitutional crisis. How Cassian and Azriel cannot go to war because they had to lead the Night Courts attack with Feyre assisting. How Amren was not going to since she had to figure out the Cauldron’s final secrets. And that only left me.

I wasn't exactly a military person, like Cassian was. I was a strategist, I knew the military tactics but nothing more. I wasn't interested in the training part of it. But I was a damn good leader, people listened to me and I could hold my weight for a while in battle if it came down to it. I could do it, I had to do it. It was the only option left and I knew that I would have to do it. If only to see my family, the Inner Circle, see the sunrise day after tomorrow.

Azriel spoke almost as a whisper, “You cannot possible think that I would allow you to go and do that. To go and kill yourself.” Before Rhys could agree with him and argue with me, I looked Azriel dead in the eye and asked him to find another individual to sacrifice then. And he had stopped breathing, his mind turning. But he wouldnt accept it, his eyes betryaed that he would have rather tied me down than let me go. That is the male I know, the one who cannot bear to accept my demise. Oh Azriel, if only you knew how much I hate this decision of mine. Sweetheart, we were supposed to have a lifetime together.

Further arguments were made but I turned to Rhys and spoke to him mind to mind. He turned to me, face to face, man to man. And I reminded him of that phrase that all good monarchs were supposed to live by. I bent the knee, bowed my head and waited for him. He took a sharp breath in and spoke in his regal voice, “Y/N, you have been given command of the Regiment 300. Ride in the name of the High Lord of the Night Court and make your last stand. Defend Prythian and may the Mother be with you.” I rose and bowed to my High Lord as I turned.

I left the tent before Azriel could grab my hand, before he could see the tears drop. Cassian held him against his will and I could hear Azriel bellowing out my name, cursing the gods for letting this happen, attempting to hurt Cassian to reach me in any way, in any form. Feyre held Mor as she mumbled about this not being fair.

The decision was made, I would lead the Regiment 300 tomorrow at dawn. I had summoned the Eight - my military advisors but more than that my closest friends, we had grown up together, seen each other do things that we thought weren't possible, reaching positions and training to higher levels. My most trusted souls. Pieces of my heart each of them. They were going to join me in the suicide mission and I had to see them all one last time before dawn.

I went to my tent to prepare my armor and set my affairs in order. I told my sentry to prepare my horse and get the men together, I would address them as Commander about their suicide mission. That I would join them in their deaths would be my greatest honor. The last stand would be made. And we would win.

I remember the taste of blood in my mouth, the feeling of sweat dripping, the tightening of my hands on the spear. I remember the feeling of my horse running forward, looking to my right and my left to see my friends, my chosen few, surging forward through the mud. I remember it all.

And I remember waking up in that godforsaken tent with that male looking at me with hazel eyes full of concern and I knew what had happened. I had forsaken my soldiers, the regiment had been abandoned. I led them into war and I deserted them to die.

Slapping his arms away and throwing it off me, I ran out of the tent. Running to see that the sun was almost setting. We had set out at sunrise, it was now sunset. No, this cannot be true. Where are they? Please don't let it be true. I gasped at the sudden pain in my side, noticing that I had an injury to my left flank. The arrow hit me when we first made contact with the army.'

The battleground was barely half a kilometer away, clutching my side to prevent any bandages from falling, I ran the distance trying to see what had happened. I heard Azriel calling out to Rhys and the rest. They were alive but I didn't care about that right now, I had to check on the Eight, my regiment. It was mostly a downhill journey, with a few slips due to loose rocks. I kept my head down to not see what was ahead, I didn't want to lose hope, and I didn't want to accept what had surely happened.

I smelt it before I saw it. I didn't hear it because they were all dead with spears and arrows jutting out of their bodies. No, that is a lie - I did hear it. I listened to the vultures and crows in the sky and on the ground. Feasting. I reached the base of the slope and I looked up at the battleground. A crematorium. A graveyard. The site of my greatest failure.

And I tried catching my breath, looking at the bodies, at the mangled flesh and bone, at the blood that soaked the mud as my bare feet made contact with it, at the horses whose legs had been twisted and intestines hanging out, at the soldiers with cracked skulls, one with his leg blown off, and another completely impaled on a spear.

I couldn't feel anything, my face was numb, and my hands were numb. I was numb. I trudged along because I had found my entire regiment dead but I had to check on the Eight. I had to see their dead eyes so I could tell them that I would join them soon. That is my punishment, that is the price for this mistake. Blood will appease blood.

So I walked to the start of the bloodshed, the site where the regiment hit the Hybern army for the first time. Where I was supposed to lay dead and broken. I was the leader of that regiment, the commander who had told them that this was our last stand. Yet I was alive and they were dead. I stepped on something and I heard a crunching noise. I took a second, hyperventilating before I looked down and saw it. I saw her.

I had found what I was looking for - the Eight lay together in a small circle, almost as if they were trying to hold each other’s hands in their last moments. It seemed that they had tried to create a triangle to penetrate the defense. It had worked but it worked because they fought to the death. The rest of the regiment must have gone through breaking the army from the inside out and the move worked. The Summer Court must have shortly followed. And they didn't stop until they had won the war.

I fell onto my knees, into the mud, and I was shaking, with grief, loss, and despair. And I picked up her body to try to bring it close to mine, to try and hold her one last time. She was long gone but it seemed as if this would help, somehow reduce her pain and make it easier for her to go. I can only imagine what it was like when she had to go, how alone she felt, how betrayed and disgusted she felt that the Commander had been saved, not them.

If I could I would have saved you, I am sorry, it should have been me, I should have died. I don't deserve to live, I will join you.

I screamed those words into the air as I held her and crawled to the rest, begging for them to wake up, to not forgive me but to punish me, telling them that I would join them. That I was the betrayer, the reason for their deaths. That they should never forgive me.

I cried into the mud with their bodies next to me. My wound had already been bleeding profusely and I thought it to be poetic justice that I, too die next to them from a wound I received at the battle that they died in. Except they would die a warrior’s death and I would die a coward’s death. Right next to them.

This is what I deserve. And there was only one person to blame for this.

Azriel.

#acotar x reader #acotar fic #acotar world building #night court #politics #acotar politics #possible series #azriel x reader #war with hybern #Azriel angst #azriel blaming #spiral #mental health goes to shit

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