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blurbfics · 8 days ago

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There'd Better Be a Mirrorball | Azriel x OFC [part thirteen]

Summary: Azriel attends dinner. The skies provide a bit of comfort, if perhaps not clarity.

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: angst, yearning, betrayal, lying, slight deceit, Elain attempting to court Azriel, miscommunication, intentional miscommunication, conflicting emotions, Eowyn in a bad place and Azriel doesn't know what to do

a/n: its been a long minute and I sincerely apologize for that! i got busy around halloween and then with the election results I was just... too upset and disappointed to do anything. but fear not, i haven't completely lost my mojo! sorry for the delay and the slight heartbreak, i promise its gonna get better, it just needs to get a little worse (oops!), also a special shoutout to those that reached out to me to make sure I'm still alive and doing well, thank you guys so much it really means a lot to me <3

Minors, do not interact.

part twelve

masterlist

"She's been loop-the-looping around my mind

Her motorcycle boots give me this kind of

Acrobatic blood, concertina

Cheating heartbeat, rapid fire"

- Arctic Monkeys, She's Thunderstorms

He notes, if perhaps a bit absentmindedly— as he tries his very best to focus on anything but the growing nervousness in the pit of his stomach— that he’s never quite looked at himself in a mirror for this long.

His clothes weren’t too much to cry about, a simple buttoned up black shirt tailor made to accommodate not only his size but his wings as well, and his black pants were casual if perhaps a little more formal than his usual clothes. He couldn’t well go to dinner with Eowyn in his leathers.

He huffed as he adjusted the simple silver cufflinks on his sleeve, reminding himself once again that it was a casual dinner with friends in a group setting, it wasn’t a date, but the thought of sitting with her, sharing a meal with her— he wouldn’t allow himself to linger on the thought of fixing her plate for her unless he wanted his pants to tighten uncomfortably for the rest of the evening (considering he had no time to take care of the issue before dinner)— and what’s more, to possibly have the opportunity to see what she hides behind her veil made the tingles of nervousness to bite at him once again.

Fixing his hair, although he only pushed it from one side to the other and then pushed it back in frustration when it didn’t fall the way he wanted it, he pulled himself away from his reflection, figuring there was nothing more he could do and finally slipped out into the hall towards the dining area.

Before he could hear the people in the room, his shadows rushed back to him, reporting on Cassian, Nesta, and Gwyn’s attendance but not yet Eowyn’s. Figuring it was best if he came in before she did, lest she think he was late, he calmly strode in and nodded in greeting at his friends who cheered upon seeing him, already seeming a few glasses into the wine.

“Am I late?” He asked with a raised eyebrow, finding himself in a rather pleasant mood, if not to say excited.

“Just in time,” Cassian assured him good-naturedly but Azriel needed to only spare him a glance to notice there was something only slightly off about his brother. Unlike Nesta and Gwyn who seemed in rather bright spirits as they both went into the kitchen to bring more wine, Cassian didn’t seem to be drinking at all, his face a little more serene than usual.

“Surprised you agreed to this,” Cassian admitted to him when the girls were out of earshot.

“Why?” Azriel shook his head, as he took a seat, directly in front of his brother to leave them both room for their wings.

“I just.. didn’t think you were interested in her,” Cassian admitted, much to Azriel’s confusion. Hadn’t Cassian been the one pushing Eowyn and Azriel to train together, hadn’t he been the one to gossip to Rhys about his feelings, feelings he could barely even admit to himself, having been so hurt so often by his choices— and he was surprised?

But before Azriel could answer him, Gwyn and Nesta came back in, not yet tipsy but seeming just a little lighter than usual. Their light idle chatter filled the space as they set the items down, followed by the feast the house thoughtfully spawned out for them.

Nesta immediately took her seat at the head of the table to Cassian’s right, leaving her between Cassian and himself, while Gwyn sat on the one directly next to Azriel. He tried to not be bothered by it and the fact that it would leave Eowyn in the seat diagonal to him.

Gwyn grinned widely, if perhaps a bit abashedly at him as she placed the bottle down on the table.

With that action came the realization that the table only had four sets of silverware.

“Here, try this,” he looked up to find a blushing Gwyn gently stacking a small cracker with a creamy spread and thin cold cut of meat for him to try. He felt himself go pale at the forward act.

Food sharing was sacred among fae. No female shared food, especially directly feeding anyone that wasn’t already part of their families. This was solely an act of courtship, something he truly didn’t want to entertain, despite the way he’d seen Gwyn’s eyes following him wherever he went.

Azriel felt at a loss, not knowing how to proceed. What if in an attempt to spare Gwyn’s feelings, he accepted the food and gave her the wrong idea? What if Eowyn walked in and thought the same thing? But what if he disrespected Gwyn’s kind act by rejecting her and ruining the entire dinner?

Since when did he overthink things so much?

“I— thank you,” he tried to smile graciously, but both the words and his facial expression gave away his awkwardness.

His shadows flurried around him in offense at her forwardness.

He took the offered food from her, careful not to touch her as he did and took a small bite.

She watched him with wide expectant eyes. “What do you think?”

“It’s… good,” he cleared his throat to fill the silence.

“Thank you,” she blushed harder, either from his response or out of embarrassment, he wasn’t sure.

“You ladies cook all of this yourselves?” Cassian saved him, the mood lifting with his playful incredulity as he raised a suspicious eyebrow at his mate.

“We had help,” Nesta rolled her eyes.

“We?” He continued to tease, causing Gwyn to laugh lightly, eyes sparkling in glee despite the lingering awkwardness from her interaction with Azriel.

“Nesta made a beautiful layout,” Gwyn defended, waving a hand over the board containing a variety of cheeses, cold meats, and spreads. “Wynnie helped us with a few side dishes and I roasted the chicken and vegetables,” she grinned proudly.

Azriel felt his heart leap at the sound of her name. It offered him the perfect segue to ask about her.

“When is she coming? Is she alright?”

They all turned to look at him and several things happened all at once.

Azriel wondered for a brief second how anyone thought he could make a living out of noticing those kinds of things. He was supposed to be a Spymaster, for Cauldron’s sake! He was supposed to be aware of everything in every room all at once, and yet he hadn’t noticed— or perhaps, he’d willingly chosen to ignore— that which was so glaringly obvious the second he stepped into the dining room: Eowyn wasn’t here.

Still, all he could do was gather all at once every intake of breath, the barely noticeable gasp leaving Nesta’s lips, the twitch to Gwyn’s jaw and the way her gaze dropped— every minuscule movement everyone in the room made at any given point to give away something they were hiding. Seeking what they knew.

All at once he noticed the way Cassian’s head snapped up to look at his mate, his eyebrows furrowed in a way that spoke of both accusation and betrayal. Gwyn, who was filling a plate either for him or herself froze in place and focused on the plate for a second before looking up at him with something akin to betrayal in her gaze, while Nesta merely stopped chewing on her own bite of cheese and cracker for a second before continuing her slow mastication, gray eyes set firmly on the food she was piling on her plate.

“Eowyn isn’t joining us tonight,” she said simply, all wine playfulness gone.

“Why not?” he couldn’t help but snarl under his breath and this felt much too familiar, much like when he’d snapped at Gwyn the night before as she told him Eowyn’s decision to stop training with him.

“Well, she… said she didn’t want to intrude,” this time Gwyn spoke up, seeming recovered enough to speak although her tone was more questioning than telling. He turned to her and noticed the pink tinge to her cheeks and the glow in her eye was gone, replaced by a paleness to her skin and a distant countenance. “She helped with dinner, but said she didn’t want to be a fifth wheel on our double date.”

He remained silent at that, head blank despite his boiling blood.

“I see,” he spoke stiltedly after a minute of silence.

The tension in the room could be cut with even the dullest of blades and yet there was nothing anyone could do to bring back the lightness. Gwyn, seeming recovered enough, straightened her back and jutted out her chin. “You came because you thought she would be here?” She confirmed, although they all knew at that point it wasn’t necessary.

Azriel had made it clear to all at this point without needing to say a single word that he cared about Eowyn. Everyone knew. It wasn’t a secret he was trying to keep, he cared about her, that much they all knew. Just how much he cared, he was only starting to figure out himself.

“Yes,” he replied simply yet honestly, wanting nothing more than to get up and leave the room and possibly hunt Eowyn down and demand an explanation.

He thought back to the conversation they’d had that day, attempting to recall her wording.

She’d told him the girls were making dinner and asked if he wanted to join. He wanted to both kick himself for not confirming her presence and scold her for not correcting him when he said he’d see her at dinner. Wanted to rip his own heart out to justify the unrelenting pressure on his chest.

“You love her,” again, she stated rather than asked.

Azriel remained silent however, and that was all anyone needed to know.

—

He considered going straight to the library and storming into her office to demand an apology, but most importantly, an explanation for her clear deception.

After the disastrous dinner he’d been blindsided into joining (a rather brief encounter) he found himself taking to the skies instead, needing to clear his head.

He considered everything that had happened in the last few days, or rather, the last few months of his life.

He flew for hours, relishing in the exertion on his back, the soreness of his cold wings, but all he could think about, every possible thought he had, always led back to her and how she’d crept her way into his life

He’d found her…interesting at first, that he couldn’t deny.

He’d always noticed a quiet spark under those captivating black eyes, a certain knowing look that was both thrilling and challenging in a way few dared to look at him with. She was a breath of fresh air and she was a mystery to him, and the more time they spent together and the more he uncovered the layers that made her her, the more he grew immeasurable fond of her.

He’d sworn, after his brief disappointing fling with Elain, that he would not allow himself to fall in yet another pit of unrequited love.

He’d sworn off females for the sake of his growing desperation for belonging, for a mate, and he’d given up on seeking it and trying to force it to happen with females that were either uninterested in him entirely but were too kind to tell him straight off, or were barely interested in something short while and empty.

That had not been the same with Eowyn. Mostly because his interest in her wasn’t based off of his attraction to her (at least at first) but derived from a curiosity that might’ve remained friendly if not slightly distant had they not spent almost every day together, training in the morning and as of more recently, spending a few hours together in the few and far between occasions he wasn’t needed elsewhere.

He had subconsciously sought her out every instance he could, and while the itch to see her hadn’t come to him all at once, it was undeniable and ever present now.

While he was self-aware enough to admit that his attraction to her hadn’t spawned in a day, but through the small intimacies shared, the trust and friendship they’d built, as there wasn’t anything licentious rooted in their relationship. He hadn’t salivated after her like some kind of beast, hadn’t even considered crossing any lines with her that went beyond their respective roles as trainer and trainee, for despite the fact that priestesses in Prythian weren’t generally considered pious and virginal maidens, these priestesses were special.

This group of females resided there to stay away from males lusting after them.

Eowyn was never outwardly flirtatious and outspoken, but she was also not meek and docile.

She was like an impending storm, she was the anticipation between a bolt of lighting and its following thunder. And like a raging rainstorm that had begun in the furthest distance, raging closer with a speed that bade it impossible to escape yet took it’s righteous time to flank him entirely, the tempest was upon him now and despite his careful precautions, he was now caught amidst its chaos and found he never wanted to leave after witnessing its splendor.

He cared not about mates, not anymore.

He didn’t even care if she didn’t want him the way he wanted her, he simply found he couldn’t be without her. It was beyond the fact that no one truly understood him like she did, no, it wasn’t about him. It was about the privilege of knowing someone like her.

He’d had a taste of divinity every time he was near her, and he didn’t know how he would go on if he could no longer be by her side, in whatever way she wanted him.

He couldn’t be selfish, not when it came to her. He didn’t know what had been done to her, didn’t know if she was interested in males, interested in him, but he would never expect anything of her. Not when it came to that.

In his roiling thoughts, he wondered if he’d come off too intensely in their last few meetings. He wondered if he’d scared her off by hovering over as close as he could to hear about her well-being. He wondered if… wondered if his pathetic attempt to kiss her had made her think he was an animal of a male who sought nothing more than sex.

He wondered if she cared about him even half as much as he cared about her.

With his jumbled hurt and angry thoughts that merely circled and intertwined in his mind, he found no answers to his growing list of questions and doubts. He was, however, exhausted after flying for five hours straight, and found he couldn’t feel properly surprised when the shadows he’d left behind to guard the library entrance rushed to tell him Eowyn was waiting in the greenhouse.

She sat with her legs crossed on top of a sturdy windowsill at the furthest wall, looking outside with her back to the entrance.

He bit his tongue to hold back from scolding her for it, for her lack of precaution and safety.

“You’re angry,” she stated, rather than asked.

Not wanting to risk snapping at her and driving her further away, he remained silent.

She sighed at his lack of response and twisted around to face him, although it accomplished nothing as he noted that despite her loose hair, her face was still covered entirely so that he couldn’t even see her eyes.

“I would be too,” she continued.

“Would you,” he snarled through his teeth.

“Yes,” she replied immediately, latching onto his response, “I would. Because what I did was idiotic and insensitive—“

“Don’t do that,” he cut her off, “don’t try to empathize with me by putting yourself down.”

She stilled and her back straightened, suddenly looking away and he noticed for the first time that she sat next to Thelxie, and that the once bright and proud flora now dropped sadly at her side, wilting.

She turned to him fully then, legs hanging over the side, back straight and if he could see her eyes, he knew he would see them looking straight at him.

She only gave him a brief nod before speaking. “Ask your questions then.”

Again, he was faced with the closed off and cold Eowyn. He narrowed his eyes at her in disbelief, a pang of guilt and self-deprecation eating at him as he watched her put her true mask on and push him away. For a second, she’d acted like herself, if perhaps layering it on rather thick to get on his good side, but could he not even express justified anger at her clear betrayal without her slinking back into a shell of who she was?

The anger that had been directed at her suddenly turned inward and he chastised himself for it, for he knew better than to allow a blinding and useless emotion such as anger get in the way. He breathed deeply and tried to let the rise of emotions ease into a steady stream.

“Why did you lie to me?”

“I didn’t,” she replied, her voice cool and tempered and he realized that in the few seconds it had taken him to calm himself down, she had used that time to do the same and strengthen the walls she erected around herself. Dammit. “Everything I told you about my father— about myself, is true-“

“Not that,” the wave of anger tacked him yet he relented against it, for he’d had much time to think and he now came to realize that although she’d clearly made rather important omissions to her story, she had been truthful in everything she’d shared. Intimacy like that could not be fabricated. “You think you’re so clever, inviting me to dinner with Nesta and Gwyn and not correcting me when I said I’d see you there?”

She remained silent for a beat and he knew, without seeing her face, that she was gaping at him. “I- technically, that’s not a lie—“

“Eowyn,” he snapped.

She sighed, “I’ve no excuse for that,” she spoke quickly and sharply, “that was just me being a coward and not wanting to explain everything after training, and, well-“ she turned her head to look at her plant, gathered herself and spoke with the same speed, if perhaps a bit stiltedly, “Gwyn likes you. That’s all I would hear, every time I came back to myself from those horrible visions. She was by my side and she would tell me you were waiting outside the library walls, always so attentive and caring, and always so kind to her and anyone that would share a bit of news of your dear friend, and she asked me if I— if it would bother me if she asked you to dinner, and why would it? She’s the kindest fae I’ve ever met, she’s brilliant, she’s funny and sweet and beautiful and you deserve nothing less—“

“Eowyn—”

“-and I know I should’ve asked you first,” she nodded quickly, hands fidgeting in her lap, “I know I should’ve, but I was so weary… so tired, and I didn’t want to talk about what the herbalist said, and I just wanted you to give you both… an opportunity.”

If he thought his emotions were jumbled before, they were nothing but a mere puddle in the raging ocean within him now. “Eowyn, that wasn’t your decision to make,” he stated simply, unable to hold his words back, even as she nodded again and hung her head, “do you think I don’t know how she looks at me? You think my shadows don’t keep me aware of her reactions— of anyone’s reactions to me? I’ve been the target of people’s lust just as often as I’ve been the object of their hatred, their fear and disgust. I don’t mean to sound arrogant,” he frowned, feeling uncomfortable speaking in such a haughty way, “but if I wanted Gwyn, I would be with her. She is not the one I want.”

Eowyn gripped the windowsill tightly, her back ramrod straight. “You’re right,” she spoke after a moment of silence, “I’m sorry for deceiving you and for just— going about this all wrong. I should’ve asked you. She should’ve asked you without me being in the middle, but she thought she could trust me and I went and fucked it all up.”

“She should have asked me herself,” he found himself agreeing, listening to her breath as it halted for a beat longer, her only tell in an otherwise unmoved reaction. “That way, I would’ve been clear that I have no interest in her.”

“Right,” she murmured, sufficiently agreeably if perhaps dismissively, “are we not going to talk about the pegasus in the room?”

And while he wanted to push and prod at her to understand why she was actively trying to push him onto her friend after their own day together in the obsidian cave, he knew the subject could not be ignored for much longer.

“Are you a witch?”

She sighed. “It’s complicated,” she pushed herself off her seat and paced in front of him, one hand resting on her hip while they other pinched the bridge of her nose, “everything I told you about myself is true, I haven’t lied about that, but—“

“Are you a witch?” He repeated.

“Yes,” she snapped, and stopped pacing for a second before she continued, “or I was. I don’t have access to my power anymore.”

His eyebrows furrowed at that, “why not?” And while he was at it, “and why didn’t you tell me?”

“Out of safety,” she turned to him and he couldn’t see her face but he knew that if he could she would be looking at him with incredulity. “You’re telling me you wouldn’t have told your High Lord I’m a witch the second you knew? As a matter of fact, why haven’t I received a visit from the High Lord?” She crossed her arms and looked around as if Rhys would spawn out of thin air.

He frowned at her. “I haven’t told him, and I find it quite offensive you’d suggest otherwise.”

“Is it?” She tilted her head, “don’t you ‘live to serve’?”

His frown deepened, not liking her tone, “don’t use my own words against me.”

“Oh that’s right,” she continued, “you needed to confirm with me first, right? Well go ahead and tell him what you want, it’s not like I’d be of any use to him anyway. I have no way to access my powers even if I wanted to.”

“Stop that,” he scolded, “stop trying to antagonize me.”

“I’m not,” she snapped, suddenly standing before him with her arms crossed over her chest, chin tilted up and he knew that her obsidian eyes were looking straight at him, “I’m simply stating the truth, and if I’m being entirely honest, I don’t blame you: having a witch at your disposal would’ve been helpful during the fight with Hybern but unfortunately for you, there was nothing I could’ve done to help you.”

“I haven’t told Rhys,” he repeated, needing her to understand that. “I wouldn’t.”

“But you thought about it,” it wasn’t a reproach, it was a statement of fact. She knew him well enough to know his duty always came first to him. He was a soldier, he was a warrior and not only was he loyal to his High Lord based on his unfaltering belief in him, but he also held an innate sense of pride in his Court that was as deep-rooted as it was repressed, having been an outcast to his own homeland. Eowyn knew him well enough to know he would have at least briefly considered going to Rhysand.

“It’s fine,” she repeated, almost to herself as if it were a mantra, “Not many… know about that. Only Clotho and now you, but I’m-” she sighed and shook her head, “I’m not who you think I am.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” He took a step forward but stopped when she took a step back.

“I just told you,” she snapped again, but it no longer sounded as firm and decisive as before. “No one knows. No one is supposed to know, and if you knew even half of what I used to be… of what they all expect me to be, you wouldn’t be having this pleasant little conversation with me.”

“Then tell me,” and although his tone was firm, it was out of desperation and need more than anger and frustration. “Nothing you can tell me will change what I know-”

“You-”

“—because I know you and don’t you dare say I don’t. I know you, Eowyn-”

“No, you-“

“I do,” he insisted, refusing to let her cut him off, “I may not know all the details of what you’ve done or what you’ve been through,” and when he stepped towards her that time she didn’t pull away, so he gently took one of her hands and held it between them, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles in a soothing caress, “but I know who you are.”

She remained silent and said nothing more for a long moment before pulling her hand away from his.

“I’m sorry… for what happened today,” she began and the way she collected herself and shifted slightly, looking over his shoulder and towards the door told him she had not and would not budge on the subject, “it was a mistake.”

taglist: @lilah-asteria , @a-courtof-azriel , @honk4emoboyz , @feyretopia , @mrsjna , @buttermilktea11 , @bravo-delta-eccho , @kylieinwonderland , @adventure-awaits13 ,

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blurbfics · 1 month ago

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There'd Better Be a Mirrorball | Azriel x OFC [part eleven]

Summary: A shift in the wind and in her mind. He makes a vow.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: violence, heavy swearing, brief description of sex. drugging/poisoning, threats, skinning (brief), anger, angst

Minors, do not interact.

a/n: sometimes you just have to go out to a goth bar with your friend and make out with a random guy for research/inspiration purposes, you know? he actually gave me a great idea, right as i was leaving, i made eye contact with him and he rushed up to me, said "come here, dame un beso," and pulled my face to his for a goodbye kiss. he did the whole cupping-my-face-with-one-hand and slid the other one around my waist thing too, and then gave my bottom a quick smack when i pulled away. writing material indeed

part ten

masterlist

"A tear in the membrane

Allows the voices.

They wanna push you off the path

With their low frequency wiring."

Thom Yorke, Hearing Damage

The late afternoon air was brisk to all around her yet she barely noticed, skin flushed and damp with sweat as it was.

“-it was a matter of misinterpretation!-”

“-but the leader of the last clan of lightsingers grew ever more arrogant and unforgiving-”

She rushed through the throng of people in the main avenue, uncaring as her shoulder knocked into those around her, not hearing their insults and name calling as she pushed her way through the blurring masses, letting out a breath of relief as she broke through the crowd and into a grim alleyway, closed off by a single heavy chain crossing from one establishment to the other.

“Elain Archeron gives the Shadowsinger a powdered remedy meant to treat his headaches from-”

Eowyn easily stepped over the heavy chain, but stumbled slightly at that particular whisper. It wasn’t often they said anything of interest about anyone she cared about. Not having the right headspace nor the time to linger on it, however, she regained her balance and continued on, evading the occasional obstruction in her way as she walked further down the alley towards the other side of the street.

Halfway down she huffed to herself at the shift in wind that was now so familiar to her, the whooshing sound of flapping wings echoing from above before his voice did.

“A little late to be out here, isn’t it?” Azriel’s voice called out cooly, keeping a step behind her. Whether by his doing or by their own accord, she felt his shadows crawl up her skirts and under her veil, weaving affectionately through her hair.

Any other time she would’ve laughed at their gentle tickling, pleased to see Azriel again after a week long mission. Now all her mind could focus on was getting to where she needed to go before she lost it again.

“I don’t recall inviting you,” she shot back immediately, but she knew she lacked her usual teasing tone. She shook her head quickly, as if trying to shake the shadows out from her hair but regretted the movement immediately, both because of the piercing pain that stabbed through her skull and because of the incomprehensible droop of the one specific shadow that liked to ride along her wrist or cupped in her hand whenever they were around.

She didn’t have time for this.

“Must’ve slipped your mind,” he parried, either ignoring her unamused tone or not noticing. Likely the former.

“If you’re going to follow me, fine, but don’t get in my way,” she practically barked, and found herself rather surprised that he didn’t so much as flinch at her tone, as anyone else would do. He simply remained silent and unruffled, following close behind. She could feel his eyes on her, watching her curiously and attempting to decipher what had her in such a rotten mood, and although she regretted being so hostile to him, wishing she could simply greet him and converse with him as she did whenever he came back from missions, she simply couldn’t. Not now.

She huffed and rounded the corner into the less busy street.

Quick to surmise her intentions as she looked up at the sign outside the apothecary door, Azriel’s shadows rushed before her, opening and holding the door open for her to push her way through. Barely murmuring a short “thanks,” she stomped through the shop.

“Don’t believe a single thing this bitch says,” she hissed at the young fae male who flinched in place, head whipping to look at her in terror as the herbalist merely patted his hand assuringly. “She’s a fucking charlatan,” she continued, finding herself being held back by Azriel who immediately rushed in after her to stop her from launching herself at the herbalist.

The fraud in question didn’t seem the slightest bit alarmed, much to her chagrin, as she only handed the young male his coins back, placing a hand over the tonic in front of them. “You give this a try, free of charge, sweetheart, and you’ll notice the difference immediately, Mother give you strength.”

The fae male– shooting a nervous look at the entirely veiled enraged female and the huge winged male holding her back– could do nothing but snatch the tonic and his coins and bolt out of the shop.

“You fucking cunt,” Eowyn seethed at the herbalist. She had begun to make monthly trips out into Velaris– a great achievement for someone who was something of a recluse for such a long time– and found her usual herbalist, Madame Loerma, growing increasingly suspicious of her use of sleeping draughts. She had thus begun to circle around other apothecaries, dabbling in a few only to get the products for twice Mme. Loerma’s price and half of its quality. Eowyn had thought that this particular herbalist wasn’t as bad as the others, however Aniika had royally and truly fucked her over. “What was in the fucking dwale?”

“You already know what was in the dwale or you wouldn’t be here, lovely.”

“Answer her question,” Azriel growled lowly, clearly wanting an explanation himself.

Eowyn ignored him.

“How do I get rid of it?” She shrugged Azriel’s arms away from her, stepping around the counter to face the herbalist who mirrored her movements, circling away while eyeing her and Azriel.

“You already know,” the grin the female sent her was unsettling, her eyes glinting brightly, almost reflective. If Eowyn didn’t know any better, she would say the herbalist was under the influence of some mind-bending nostrum, but alas she did know better. She had seen those glassy crazed eyes before.

“Oh quit it with the cryptic talk,” she snarled, “there must be another way to stop my head from fucking pounding.”

“Eowyn,” the way Azriel said her name, softly and only to her, yet firm and commanding of attention brought her face up to look at him, although he couldn’t see her under her veil. “Explain.”

She took a deep breath and held it before exhaling, trying to calm herself down. “She poisoned me,” no sooner had she spoken the words than he had the herbalist pinned to the wall, his shadows restricting her movements.

“And why,” he held Truthteller to her throat, “would you do such a thing?”

“She’s a witch!” The fae screeched, “I only put a little black hemlock in the dwale. It’s inoffensive to most High a-and lesser fae,” she said the last part quickly as he pressed the blade harder into her, “but it causes mild symptoms in witches.”

“What symptoms?” He pushed.

“Fever, headaches, body aches, visions,” she looked over his shoulder at Eowyn, but he deftly raised a wing, covering her from sight.

“And why would you do that?”

“I felt her,” her horrid breath shuddered in ecstasy that made his nose wrinkle in disgust, “I knew she was a witch when she came in for her sleeping draught last month and decided to add the hemlock to the batch she picked up last week— tell me, my Lady, have your eyes turned to their natural state? Can you feel her power coursing through your veins?”

“Fuck you,” she hissed, then placed an arm on Azriel’s shoulder, “let’s go Az, she won’t tell me anything.”

“I’ll make her tell you,” he gritted, the dagger beginning to cut deeper but not into the thin flesh and muscle, but rather slicing parallel in the slow beginning of a skinning.

“No! No!,” she yelled out in fear and pain, “you can either access your full power-“

“No.”

“-or you can just ride it out! There’s no other way, I swear it!”

“How long?”

“Two o-or three days, give or take— oh no, please!”

“Anything else?” Azriel looked over his shoulder and when she shook her head, if perhaps trembling and feeling drained as she crashed down from her explosive rage, he only turned back to the herbalist and hissed with icy cold rage. “Explain to me why you care if she’s a witch, and why I should let you live another miserable day.”

“Th-the Daughter… carries the wisdom of the Mother,” she stammered, but she looked at him confusedly as if she only shared common knowledge, “she will bring us salvation from the clutches of twisted thinking and shield us from—“

“Don’t listen to this bullshit, she’s just a cultist, she’s been brainwashed,” Eowyn insisted, pulling on his arm.

Az frowned at her but let the fae go.

Eowyn made her way outside, but the wind carried his voice out with her. “Tell the others I want that poison out of this city by dusk tomorrow. If I find just the slightest indication it’s still in Velaris, or that you told anyone what happened here, I’ll come back and finish the job,” he snarled lowly.

It wasn’t a threat. It was an act of mercy.

—

Azriel remained silent by her side as she leaned heavily onto the brick wall on the side of the street, barely managing to round the corner into the same alleyway before taking a deep shuddering breath. Uncaring that the walls were slick with an unknown sticky substance, she leaned her head back to the wall, squeezing her temples with her trembling thumb and middle finger.

“Eowyn,” he breathed softly, lowly, and she almost kissed him for it, for her head felt like it would explode if he spoke any louder.

“Can you take me home?”she asked, equally as soft and while on any other occasion she would’ve felt profoundly ashamed and embarrassed to ask for help— wouldn’t have dared to ask for it in the first place, too proud to be seen as weak, to feel herself become weak— she found she just could not give a damn.

Azriel said nothing in reply, yet she flinched slightly when she felt him approach her. Her eyes, hidden behind the veil but still closed with heavy tiredness, were both burning and felt like they didn’t belong on her body and she knew, without looking at her reflection that they appeared all-white.

She was a monster. She was a burden. Why would he ever bother with someone like her?

She felt his large strong and oh-so-careful hand cradle the back of her neck at the base, his other powerful arm reaching under her knees to swoop her in his arms while not jostling her head.

In sync, as always, she moved of her own accord in response to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and even went so far as to lay her head on his sturdy collarbone as his arm slid around her back, holding her firmly and steadily to his chest.

“You okay?” He asked in a whisper, much too used to the way their bodies seemed to just instinctively move in response to one another. She told herself it was due to their frequent sparring and proximity.

He flew them home in silence for a while, not rushing her response until she breathed out an “I will be” into his neck, resting her face there and inhaling deeply. She breathed in his soothing scent of cedar and night-chilled mist. What mist smelled like, she had no clue, but it was the only way to describe that specific scent that was true only to him.

He smelled like the misty droplets of almost-nothing water suspended in the air just before becoming tainted with the smell of earth as it lands upon a leaf or strand of grass. He smelled like the anticipation of nature, of life.

She pushed her straying thoughts away, fearful of any resurfacing delusions after a long day of loud voices in her head—loud voices! So loud she could barely hear herself think!— and the haunting visions she’d been plagued with all day.

The visions that came to mind now were of a different nature, basing entirely on the feeling of him so close, so solid, so safe around her.

Finally, she breathed, settling into that cloud of him, her left hand grasping a fistful of his wavy hair behind his ear, the other arm pulling him close to her. She couldn’t help but bask in his warmth as he flew through the early night sky, allowing his scent to permeate her senses. She buried her nose into his neck and inhaled deeply once again, shuddering at his smell, at the sound of his solid heartbeat under his skin, his strong powerful body carrying her so easily. She couldn’t get enough of him, she needed to dig deeper, fill every millimeter of her lungs with his scent, needed to fill all of her with all of him.

“Eowyn?” his voice sounded like it was underwater and thus was easy to ignore; his voice only fuelled the rest of her senses; she saw him bare and hard and aching, begging for her to take him, to let him take her. Flashes of him pounding into her, of him pressing such a strong powerful body down onto hers— “Eowyn, you’re trembling, are you alright?” He sounded scared and concerned and so unlike her eternally unemotional Illyrian.

His evident fear was like a bucket of ice cold water being poured over her head, as she gasped and jolted in his arms, eyes snapping open and pulling away from the vision she’d gotten sucked into. Like all the other visions she’d been plagued with all day, it seemed so solid, so real.

While the majority of her visions often replayed memories deeply buried, often distorted and turned extreme to exploit and lay out her vulnerabilities, this vision was different, if only just as concrete. Familiar, although it had never happened, but with the certainty that it was somehow fact and inevitable.

“I’m sorry,” she moaned, squeezing her eyes shut once again as she hugged him tighter. Tears slipped from her eyes, thick and viscous and burning, as if small trails of acid poured down her face. She panted as she tried to regain her composure, feeling her fingertips begin to tingle again, a telltale sign of her incoming episode, a sign she’d dismissed after her confrontation as lingering adrenaline. “Azriel, I can’t con-I can’t control them. Take me straight to Clotho and don’t- don’t listen anything I say-“

His jaw tightened, eyebrows furrowing as he frowned down at her, “I think I should take you to the house and have Madja look you over-“

“No,” she ground out through gritted teeth, “no, Clotho will know what to do, I—“ she cut herself off with a choked gasp, nails digging into Azriel’e shoulders, “please.” Then her voice changed like the flip of a switch, body falling limp and curling into itself. She spoke in a language he didn’t recognize, the consonants smooth and fluent but breathy and frightened. Her voice was barely a whisper in his ear as she spoke to someone in the recesses of her mind.

Nuunta caëderete

The next few hours came in blurry images to her. All out of order.

She knew she screamed and yelled and cried, but she couldn’t focus on anything at once as one vision turned into the next and twisted into a delusion.

She came back to consciousness, if only briefly enough, to catch a brief glance at Azriel rushing her into the library, calling out for Clotho. She remembered seeing Gwyn standing over her, face contorted with concern as she reached over to remove the veil from her head. Eowyn was only conscious enough to place a hand over her mouth to try to quell the wave of nausea that hit her, trying to cover her burning eyes with the other hand only to be stilled in place by Azriel who held tightly onto her hand.

Movement and the soft press of a mattress confirmed she had been put down in bed, but barely noticed it with the flurry of robed figures around her shuffling the large and angry winged male out of the room who refused to leave her side.

Somehow still aware of him– always aware of him like some kind of echo-location– she only had the presence of mind to snarl an, “out!” before the visions and the darkness took over again.

–

She was not aware that the Shadowsinger paced outside of the healers quarters for half an hour until the High Lord himself came in to fetch him, finding his brother angry and concerned, his hair a mess from running his hands through it and eyes red-rimmed with unshed tears of worry.

She didn’t know that that was the moment when he decided he couldn’t live without her.

No one was any the wiser to know that at that moment, he swore an oath, if only to himself– if the bargain ink that appeared in the shape of an unfamiliar rune on the side of his hip, in the exact same spot where Eowyn had her scar, confirmed– that wherever Eowyn went, Azriel vowed now and forever, to follow.

part twelve

taglist: @lilah-asteria , @a-courtof-azriel, @honk4emoboyz , @feyretopia , @mrsjna , @buttermilktea11 , @bravo-delta-eccho , @kylieinwonderland, @adventure-awaits13

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