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onlybeeewrites · 3 days ago

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A Dance of Ash and Steel

Requested: No <3

Pairing: Oc!FemElara x ????, platonic!Azriel x oc!Elara

Warnings: blood, gore, violence, cursing, characters being assholes

A/N: Omg??? Bee’s posting again??? Yeah I read the entire ACOTAR series and have been itching to write so I hope you all enjoy! This is my first time writing for and original character so I really hope you all enjoy and please let me know what you think!

A Dance of Ash and Steel: Part 2

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Breathe.

Breath.

The pain was hard to breathe through. More so than usual. That was saying a lot too considering she liked to believe she had a high pain tolerance.

But the pain seeped into her bones like rain into the dirt. Soaking into her being and clinging to her bones with every movement. Every breath. Every heartbeat.

Yes. She had trained for this. Prepared herself mentally for years. Trained to withhold her tongue. Trained to learn to just take it. To be the warrior that she was born for. To follow the instincts and unrest that flowed in her very veins. She was trained to take the pain and power through it before one of three options occurred.

Number one, she somehow finds a way out of there.

Number two, someone somehow realizes she’s been taken and somehow knows where she is to come get her out.

Or number three, death.

The third wasn’t particularly her favorite option, but between the three choices? It seemed to be one the Cauldron was favoring.

How long had it been? Weeks? It had to have been that at least. But she couldn’t tell. There was nothing in that Cauldron damned cell that would help her tell, or even hint. The only thing that allowed her to have an idea of time was when the autumn court soldier would come by with her food. Never anything substantial. Just enough food and water to keep her alive.

She could feel the weakness of it effecting her. She could only a few days in after her first interrogation. It was the classic beating. The threats. Urging her to share what her High Lord has been up to. What her brother had been up to.

But she didn’t utter a word. She hadn’t spoken a word, not to them. Unlike her smartass brother, Elara always knew when to keep her mouth shut. Though that always seemed to piss them off more.

But it told her one thing.

Beron was paranoid.

Why? She was still trying to figure that out. The concussion didn’t help either but that wasn’t the point. It didn’t matter what she knew if she couldn’t get out.

But that was the hard part wasn’t it? Her eyes could barely stay open those days. Exhaustion settling deep into her bones. Her wings, though cut up, they were still in tact, sagging behind her. Her dark hair matted, sticking to her forehead, covered in dirt and grime.

Cauldron she really needed a bath. And Madja. And Rhys. Mor. Az. Cassian.

It wasn’t unusual for them all to be away for weeks at a time. Whether it be Cassian to the camps or Azriel when he would be away on a spying mission for Rhys.

A pained breath left her cracked lips, her head rolling forward, her chin resting against her sternum. It had been hours since she had been fed. Almost a day. Maybe a day?

Her mind was growing more and more cloudy each day. Weaker. None of it was good. The longer she waited. The longer she was held there the more difficult it would be to escape.

Her hands flexed slightly against the chains that bound them at her sides. The same ones where her emerald green siphons would be. But those were taken too. Everything was taken. Her blades. Her two Illyrian daggers that were always at her waist; gifts from Azriel. And her Illyrian sword, Avisra; her gift from Cassian.

She wasn’t sure where they were, but she wanted—needed—to get them back before she even thought about escaping.

It was times like this where she really wished she had some of Rhy’s fancy powers. And it was times like this where she hated it, but she felt completely helpless. Weak. And for once in a very long time….hopeless.

“For an Illyrian warrior…” a voice crooned, breaking the silence of the damp cell, and clearing the running ongoing thoughts that ran through Elara’s head, “I’m surprised it only took a few weeks to get you all broken and quiet like this,”

Her hazel eyes dragged their way up. Looking from the floor under her, all the way up to spot Eris. Heirs to the Autumn Court. And she wanted nothing more than to smack that stupid fucking grin on his stupid face.

“C’mon, little bird. Don’t you want to go home? I doubt you want to stay here with me for longer than you need to,” he taunted, walking across the cell to where she was bound to the stone wall. His hands were comfortably tucked in his pockets, his boots echoing off the floor.

Elara just glared at him. Hating him, first of all because she fucking despised the guy. And she didn’t forget what he had done to Mor; who had grown to be like her own sister. And just like Cassian, Elara became incredibly protective. So she gathered up whatever moisture was left in her dry mouth and *spat* at Eris and staring him down.

Eris’ amusement flickered away, like snuffing out a light. Quick and instant. He wiped away the spit before reaching up and grabbing her cheeks with his hand, causing her lips to pucker.

“I’m trying to help you get out of here. If you stopped being a stubborn brat you’d see that.” He growled before gripping her face tighter and letting go with such force, her hair jerked sideways.

“So I’m going to give you this one chance. I’m going to leave the door unlocked. And you’re going to have about….ten minutes before the next guards come for your interrogation. Good luck, little bird,”

Eris turned on his heel stalking away from the Illyrian female. His expression blank, though Elara couldn’t see it. Though the last thing she saw was a wave of his hand, leaving the door open.

And the next thing she knew she fell to her knees. Her torn leathers scraping against the cold and dirt stained ground.

Her eyes widened in disbelief as she pulled her sore arms close to her. Her wrists red and raw. But free.She didn’t think twice after that, stumbling to her feet, she let out a groan as her body screamed in protest. Cuts, bruises, burns littered her skin along with grime and dirt and sweat.

She sure was a sight to behold.

She stretched out her wings, thanking the Mother that they were unharmed. A few cuts here, but nothing that would hinder her ability to fly. Her wings weren’t the biggest. And she may not have been the strongest. But by the Cauldron, she was fast. Faster than her brothers. And being fast was all that she needed.

Tucking her wings then tightly to her back, she waited for her vision to stop swimming before she moved through the dim corridors of the Autumn Court dungeons. Or at least what she assumed it was.

Though before she could find a way out, she needed a few things.

She needed her weapons. Her daggers, sword, and siphons.

Barefoot, clad in torn leathers, she pressed herself against the cold stone walls, her every sense on high alert. The air was thick with smoke and the scent of blood—not hers, not this time. The guards would notice her absence soon when they came around and she needed to be long gone before then.

The hallway opened into a larger chamber, the dim torchlight barely cutting through the darkness. And there, at the far end of the room, she saw them.

Her daggers. Her sword.

Relief and adrenaline surged through her veins as she staggered toward them, ignoring the way her vision swam.

Almost there.

But then, she stopped.

Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

The metallic scent of blood was stronger here, more pungent. It wasn’t just the lingering stench of violence. But was fresh.

Elara’s hand reached for the hilt of her sword, but she hesitated as her eyes darted around the room. And then she saw them.

The autumn court guards.

All three of them lay sprawled across the floor, their bodies still warm, throats slit cleanly—too cleanly. There was no sign of a struggle. No sound of a fight.

Just silence.

And then—movement.

The shadows stirred before she could react, curling at the edges of the room, slithering toward her like living things. Her body tensed, instinct screaming at her to *run*, but a familiar presence swept over her, dark and comforting all at once.

Elara turned sharply, her heart still hammering from the adrenaline.

Azriel stood at the other end of the room, his siphons glowing faintly, shadows swirling around his boots like a second skin. His scarred hands were relaxed at his sides, but there was a sharpness in his hazel eyes—a fury barely contained.

She exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“Az.” Her voice was hoarse, relief thick in the single syllable.

His gaze swept over her, assessing, calculating. He didn’t miss the bruises and raw red skin on her wrists, the cut above her brow, the way she swayed slightly as if her body was on the verge of giving out. Her usual tawny skin was now a concerning paler shade.

Then, with a single, slow blink, he said, “Took you long enough.”

Elara huffed a tired laugh, though the sound was laced with exhaustion. Her body now relaxing as she felt the security of her brother, “You could have gotten here sooner.”

Azriel stepped forward, his movements fluid, silent—always so damn silent. “You seemed to have things under control.”

She rolled her eyes, but when she went to grab her daggers, her hands trembled. Azriel saw it, of course he did, but he said nothing. Instead, he reached out, gently pressing one of the blades into her palm. The weight of it was grounding.

Elara tightened her grip around the hilt, her fingers flexing as she forced her breathing to steady. Now wasn’t the time to break. She could do that in the privacy of her own room. Maybe while in the bath. After her report to Rhys. Swallowing she then fastened the siphons to the back of her gloves.

“Cassian?” she asked after a moment, her voice quiet. Trying to remain steady. Trying to remain the warrior she was trained to be.

“He’s waiting.” Azriel’s expression didn’t change, but there was something softer in the way he spoke, in the way his shadows curled toward her as if offering comfort. “Rhys sent me ahead.”

Elara nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat.

Azriel reached for her sword, fastening it to her back with swift, efficient movements, as if sensing she didn’t have the strength to do it herself.

She should have said thank you. Should have let herself lean into the comfort of his presence. But she only nodded again, steeling herself.

Azriel watched her carefully, then, in that quiet, steady voice of his, he said, “Let’s go home.”

And this time, Elara let out a breath of relief, because home had never sounded so good.

It wasn’t long before she bathed, changing into some comfortable clothes. But her mind kept wonder back to how she got home in the first place. It was almost infuriating that she didn’t escape on her own. No. She wouldn’t have been able to break out of that cell by herself. Not without his help.

Him. Eris. The heir to the autumn court. Went and helped her. Why? She had no idea. And she went over it hundreds of times in her head, almost as if she missed something. Anything, really. Though what stuck out was his last words to her before he left.

“Good luck, little bird,”

~~~~

The night air was cold as Azriel pulled them through the shadows, the tendrils of darkness wrapping around them like a second skin. Elara clenched her jaw, forcing herself to stay upright, but the exhaustion was creeping in, threatening to drag her under. Her body ached, bruises deepening with every breath, but she refused to let it slow her down.

She had fought her way out of that cell. She had survived. She could make it home.

Azriel’s grip on her arm was firm, steady—grounding. The first tingling of comfort she’d felt in weeks. Three weeks maybe? It seemed to have been that long according to what Eris hinted at.

“Almost there,” Azriel murmured, his voice cutting through the stillness between them. But his grip tightened slightly on her, urgent, eager to get her back home.

She swallowed hard, nodding even though her legs trembled beneath her. Shadow traveling had always left her disoriented. She didn’t do it often, always opting for flying. But after everything she had been through, it felt like her bones were being pulled in a hundred directions at once.

The wind shifted, and then, in an instant, Velaris came into view. The soft glow of the Sidra, the twinkling lights of the city—home.

Elara barely had time to process it before they landed just outside the townhouse. Her knees buckled, her balance slipping, but before she could hit the ground, Azriel’s arms were around her.

“Steady,” he murmured, holding her against him.

She gritted her teeth, frustrated by the weakness in her limbs. “I’m fine.”

Azriel huffed quietly, unimpressed. “You’re barely standing.”

She wanted to argue, but before she could, the door to the townhouse was wrenched open.

Cassian.

His face was a storm of emotion—anger, worry, relief all crashing together as his gaze landed on her.

“Elara.”

She barely had time to brace herself before he was there, his arms wrapping around her tightly. The impact sent a fresh wave of pain through her ribs, but she didn’t care.

She let herself sink into the warmth of her brother’s embrace, let herself breathe for the first time since she had been taken.

“I’m fine,” she murmured against his shoulder.

Cassian pulled back just enough to cup her face, his eyes scanning every bruise, every cut, his jaw tightening. “You are *not* fine.”

Before she could snap back, more figures appeared in the doorway.

Rhys. Mor. Amren. Her family.

Their eyes were sharp, their worry evident, but Elara could barely focus on them before Cassian was turning on Azriel.

“What happened?” His voice was low, dangerous.

Azriel didn’t flinch. “Autumn Court ambush. She escaped on her own. I tracked her before they could find her again.”

Cassian’s fists clenched at his sides, fury simmering in his hazel eyes. “They’re dead?”

Azriel gave a slow, cold nod. “Every single one. That I saw at least.”

Elara swallowed, watching as Cassian’s shoulders tensed, his breathing heavy. But then he looked back at her, and all the fight drained from his face.

“I should have been there.” His voice was barely more than a whisper.

Elara shook her head. “You were. I just had to find my way back.”

Cassian exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before pulling her in again, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

Then, Mor was there, stepping forward with soft but determined eyes. “Let’s get you inside.”

Elara wanted to protest—wanted to tell them she was fine—but her body betrayed her, her exhaustion catching up all at once.

Azriel’s hand brushed against her back, a silent reassurance, before Cassian lifted her effortlessly into his arms.

She didn’t fight him. Didn’t argue.

Because for the first time in weeks, she was safe.

She was home.

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silverfairywings · 4 months ago

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— IN THE WAKE OF FLAMES. PT I

eris vanserra x archeron!reader

summary: even before you became fae, your favourite season was autumn. it’s a little hard to hide this when your least favourite newly appointed high lord has made it his life’s mission to be the most annoying male in your life.

a/n: not sure what this is but let me know if u want more lol

You’d think that hiding behind the Spymaster of the Night Court, a literal Shadowsinger, would allow you to blend in well enough to go unnoticed.

The auburn silk of your dress is a near perfect match to the grandeur of the Autumn Court ballroom you’re unfortunate enough to have to be in, and you tell yourself that the attempt at camouflage is the reason you were so drawn to the colour.

When Rhysand approached you and the rest of the Inner Circle with the invitation of a ball thrown by Eris to celebrate his newly inherited title of High Lord, your sister Nesta had dragged you out to shop for new dresses. You were adamant to wear an old gown until the dress caught your eye, the gold beads glinting in the light, almost mimicking a gently burning fire. The deep orange hue of the silk slip was muted ever so slightly by the sheer overlay, cinching at the waist before cascading to the ground and the wisps of fabric around your legs gave the illusion of sparks every time you moved.

Nesta had made a comment about the dress being perfect for Autumn Court and you had to physically restrain yourself from grimacing. You just liked the colour. It didn’t mean a thing.

Nesta and Feyre looked like perfect representatives of the Night Court and even Elain was donning soft shades of purple and blue tonight, a perfect embodiment of twilight. You loved your sisters, but you felt like you never quite fit in to the Night Court the way they had grown to. And you certainly felt like you stuck out like a sore thumb tonight.

Eris was definitely going to comment on the dress and you curse yourself internally, not having thought it through. He was jarring at the best of times, let alone a night that was solely dedicated to him. And you were dressed in the colours of his court.

You were extremely glad when Eris’ mother was the one to greet you all when you first entered the Autumn Court and not him. It allowed you to fully appreciate the beauty of his lands with unrestrained awe. Your sisters knew that Autumn had always been your favourite season, so the way you were so happy catching each falling leaf out of the sky was even more amusing to them considering they also knew how little patience you had for Eris.

That’s why you find yourself hiding behind Azriel’s wings tonight. As soon as you spot Eris making his way to greet Rhysand and Feyre, you sneak behind the Shadowsinger in an attempt to make yourself invisible.

“Seriously?” mutters the Illyrian, but he stays still for you all the same.

“Keep quiet,” you hiss, prodding him in the back. “You know very well how much he targets me. Gods, I thought he hated Cassian, but I seriously give him a run for his money.”

Mor, overhearing you, snorts into her cup. She creeps up next to you, lowering her voice to match yours. “You are so oblivious. He doesn’t hate you. He wants-”

“Might I interrupt the riveting conversation that I’m sure is going on behind the Shadowsinger’s wings?” you hear a voice drawl from in front. Your blood runs hot at being caught and you nearly burst into flames when Azriel starts to lower his wings, revealing you and Mor. She rolls her eyes at Eris’ attitude and walks away to talk to the pretty faerie in the green dress.

The years have softened the strained relationship between the Circle and Eris and none of them view him as a threat any longer. That doesn’t mean they find him any less irritating though.

Eris smiles at you when you cross your arms and clench your jaw, already feeling impatience with him bubbling up inside of you. He glances down at your dress and his lips quirk up a little higher. “Looking stunning as ever, Y/N.”

The others have already dispersed, and even Rhysand and Feyre have started to garner the attention of other important people they need to talk to. As they start to leave however, Rhysand speaks to in your head. Let me know if he’s bothering you too much. Just… try not to throw a plate at his face this time, please.

You glare at the back of Rhysand’s head. That was one time.

He doesn’t respond but you see his shoulders shaking with laughter for a millisecond before Feyre nudges him to behave in front of an Autumn Court official.

“Talking about me?” Eris asks, amused. You open your mouth to snap back at him, but notice the growing number of guests that are around the two of you now that the others have moved away. You bite your tongue for once. He is the High Lord now after all.

You plaster on a sweet smile. “Only good things… High Lord.”

Eris raises his brows at that, but chooses not to comment. He holds out his hand instead. “Dance with me.”

You’re about to laugh in his face and tell him absolutely not, but his request has caught the attention of a couple guests and they nosily look over in what you’re sure they think is a subtle way. “I’m a little tired. Sorry,” you say through gritted teeth, still smiling.

“Surely you’re not going to deny me such a small request on tonight of all nights?” he says softly, part mocking and part pleading.

You know for a fact he won’t force you to dance, but if you deny him in front of the other guests, it’ll undermine him and while you dislike him, you’re not that cruel. Plus, Feyre would probably have your head if you were to insult a High Lord in public. In private, she only ever laughs when you disparage him, but appearances are everything.

“Of course not,” you deadpan, reaching for his outstretched hand and trying not to react to the way the warmth radiating through his palm is warming your previously cold fingers.

He leads you into the crowd of dancing guests, placing his free hand on your waist as you rest yours on his shoulder, keeping a respectable distance. He rolls his eyes and tugs you forward so your chest is nearly flush against his own. When you glare at him, he merely smirks. “It’s a little hard for two people to dance when one of them is halfway across the room from the other.”

You hear a giggle from one of the guests near you and nearly whip around to glare at them. Eris catches the expression on his face and it’s as though he can read your mind with the way he’s holding back a grin. “My apologies,” you mumble, before lowering your voice to a whisper that only he can hear. “Smartass.”

“I do so enjoy your pet names for me,” Eris teases, utterly unbothered. Every time you interact with him, you swear to yourself you’ll keep a cool head. And every time, you fail. “I like your dress.”

You narrow your eyes at the compliment, but since he hasn’t actually said anything insulting or with a double meaning like he usually does, you don’t have anything to be annoyed about and begrudgingly accept the nice words. “Thank you.”

“You look ravishing in the colours of my court.”

You step on his foot.

He hisses in pain, but the grin doesn’t leave his face when he sees that he’s succeeded in irritating you.

“I didn’t choose the colours on purpose,” you say, defensively. “I just happened to like the dress.”

“You know, you often happen to like Autumn colours,” he muses, expression turning thoughtful and not in a sarcastic way this time. “Or any colour that isn’t of the Night Court’s fashion. Tell me, do your sisters know how you long to find someplace you actually belong?”

Your stomach drops and you feel like you’ve been doused in freezing cold water.

“I wasn’t aware you were a Daemati, High Lord,” you say, scowling. Eris furrows his brows at the title and spins you out before bringing you back in, this time a little closer than before. “You’re wrong.”

“Stop calling me that,” he mutters, a hint of impertinence in his voice. It takes you by surprise since you assumed he’d be revelling in all the glory, the power of High Lord coursing through his veins. Instead, he sounds like a boy being denied his favourite sweets. “Call me Eris again.”

“No.” You frown at him, pulling back slightly to meet his stubborn gaze. “We’re not friends. You’re the High Lord of Autumn now and I’ll be addressing you as such.”

“What, I’m High Lord now, so you have to respect me all of a sudden?” he asks, tilting his head.

“Yes,” you sigh, already anticipating this conversation taking a turn you don’t want it to.

“You have to be pleasant with me?”

“Yes.”

“Listen to my commands?”

“Yes.”

His smile turns wolfish. “Then I command you to call me Eris.”

“I can think of a few other things to call you, if not High Lord,” you mutter, careful not to allow any eavesdroppers to hear.

“And while I’d love to hear them, I doubt they’d be suitable for the delicate ears of court officials.”

While he’s exactly right, the way his eyes twinkle with mischief tells you that he’s insinuating a completely different type of unsuitable and your cheeks burn.

“Don’t you ever tire of being so wearisome?” you say, drily. His eyes soften ever so slightly as they scan over your face.

“Don’t you ever tire of pretending?” he asks quietly, meeting your eyes determinedly. You don’t bother asking him to clarify.

“Why can’t you just mind your own business?” You try to snap at him, but the way his words hit you deep have all the bite leaving your voice and instead you sound imploring.

Eris doesn’t answer your question and just keeps going as the two of you dance. “My mother wants me to tell you that you’re welcome to visit any time, by the way.”

“I’ll let Rhysand know.”

“She didn’t say Rhysand, she said you.”

”What?” You look up at him, shocked. That was probably the last thing you expected him to say, “Why in the world would your mother want me to visit? She saw me hurl that plate at your head last month.”

“Yes, and she told me I probably said something to deserve it,” he grumbles, but without any real malice when talking about his mother. It’s clear as day that he has nothing but love for the sweet woman.

“She’s a smart one, your mother,” you say, grinning at the thought of Eris being reprimanded. You catch him watching you without speaking and immediately frown, not wanting him to think you’re actually smiling at him. Which you definitely aren't. “I still don’t understand why she wants me to visit.”

Eris shrugs, although his eyes stray from yours, and he’s seemingly bored with the conversation as he looks down to the floor as your feet move gracefully across it. “She likes your attitude.”

“My bad attitude?” you ask, wrinkling your nose in genuine confusion.

“Passionate,” he corrects you, meeting your eyes again, and you find no traces of humour in them. “And ‘fiery’ as she called it. Don’t feel bad for not being able to always control your emotions in front of others like the rest of them. You’re allowed to feel.”

Any response you might have had is lost to nothing and the silence stretches as your heart feels like it’s slamming against your chest. It’s a mix of fear and something else with the way he’s looking at you and you suddenly need to be anywhere else.

Clearing your throat, you step back in the middle of dancing and lower your hand from his shoulder to smooth down your dress. Your other hand is still ensnared in his and it lingers there while he speaks.

“If you do accept my mother’s invitation, you don’t have to see me if you don’t want to,” Eris adds and you try and listen out for any veiled mocking.

“Why do you even care?”

At this, his lips quirk up almost involuntarily. Slowly, his fingers start to loosen up around your hand and he begins to let go, faintly trailing his hand down your own as he does so. Instead of stepping away, he walks closer, stepping to the side slightly to lean down so his lips brush against your ear in a way that makes your breathing erratic.

“My mother was telling me that she saw you practically light up like a forest fire surrounded by the trees. She feels as though you should be able to stay longer next time,” he says in a normal voice before lowering it to a whisper. “She also overheard one of your sisters call Autumn your favourite season.”

Before you can protest and, let’s face it, lie to him, Eris calmly walks away and you know for a fact that the smug bastard is smirking at the way he’s succeeded in getting under your skin.

There’s no way you’re accepting his mother’s invitation, as sweet a woman as she is. You think about all the possible ramifications and decide to push the thought in its entirety out of your mind.

Nothing good ever comes from agreeing to dance with Eris. It’s extremely similar to playing with fire, you think.

#eris vanserra x reader #eris x reader #eris x you #Eris vanserra fanfiction #eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris fanfic #Eris vanserra imagines #eris x oc

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