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Elriel Month 2025 - Star-Crossed

@elriel-month

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The SJM fated mates trope is a direct descendant of the shitty Stephenie Meyer’s imprinting idea. I hated it then, and I hate it now.

The concept of mates takes away choice. It makes things that should be prospects into mandates.

In short, it’s lazy writing.

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3 brothers and 3 sisters will always be superior 💗

Art by Asayris on instagram.

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'Hewn City' - oneshot

Updated

Elriel prompt - 'Elriel prompt! In ACOSF, in the Hewn City, Azriel and Elain share a moment when all eyes are on Nesta and Eris. (If you write it, please tag me so I can read it!)'

(AN: This was wonderful to write - thank you for the delicious prompt @mrspettyferr! It's nice to write an Azriel POV. I listened to this while writing and I think it captures the scene well. I absolutely adore the DAI soundtrack).

Also on the archive

The most elite and obnoxious citizens of the Hewn City were gathered together in the towering throne room, awaiting the arrival of their illustrious High Lord and Lady. In this blackened corner of the Night Court, Rhysand and Feyre were as feared as much as they were hated. They were harsh, cold, dangerous. They were the Night Triumphant. The people (with their twisted smiles) tolerated the annual Solstice celebrations for the simple reason they would be turned to mist otherwise.

The throne room had been decorated for the season with black spiraling candelabras and evergreen wreaths made out of (poisonous) ivy but it was clearly just for show.

You would find more cheer in a mausoleum, Azriel thought darkly.

Mor was stood on the raised dais before Rhys' throne, looking every inch regal and beautiful in a clinging red dress. She peered around the room idly as Azriel and Cassian took their assigned places below like vigil guards. The three of them faced the crowds with carefully drawn expressions, as though they were bored to tears by the pageantry. Cassian made a decent show of yawning and running a hand through his tangled curls.

Azriel kept his arms crossed and let his blue siphons glimmer dangerously. Truth-Teller was strapped to his side as another visible warning.

He hated coming to the Hewn City. The Court of Nightmares was exactly that; a place filled with the sort of greed, treachery, and cruelty that inspired nightmares. A foulness festered here beneath the mountain like some rotting disease, itching to infect anyone it came into contact with. It was stifling too, especially to an Illyrian. It’s high cavernous walls ensured no sunlight at all could inadvertently squeeze in. As a result the citizens were like lifeless cold weeds. It was small wonder they were heartless and bitter. Candlelight was the only light to be had tonight and so shadows danced around the walls and ceiling like they were sentient. His own dark shadows curled around his shoulders protectively, on guard for any sign of trouble. He sent some of them forth through the crowds to spy, to seek, to listen. He didn’t trust anyone beneath this mountain; he certainly didn’t trust its piece of shit steward Keir to keep things calm either.

Yet he would endure this onslaught for his family, for Rhys and Feyre. It was a necessary visit, after all, and they knew their parts. If all went to plan, they would be back in Velaris before midnight where they could celebrate Solstice properly over a bottle (many bottles) of wine.

Even though he knew this, knew that Cassian was telling himself the very same thing, Azriel still couldn't shake the sinking feeling of discomfort that coursed through his body. He knew he was more on edge than usual and it wasn't just the effect of Hewn City. He was nervous. Partly because of Feyre’s new found pregnancy… and partly because her ravishing sisters were accompanying them.

A few hours. Just a few damn hours.

At last the towering doors of the throne room were thrown open dramatically and the High Lord’s family steadily made their entrance. They entered together with their heads held high to demonstrate to the citizens of the city that they were a united front. That the High Lord's family was strong, beautiful, deadly.

Rhys and Feyre led the way towards the dais, magnificent in their black silken attire. They were wearing matching masks carved from ice, looking every inch the cruel master and mistress. The rich scent of Feyre's pregnancy trailed behind her and the gathering masses watched their High Lady with fear in their eyes. Rhys guided Feyre to the throne like a polished courtier but the look he threw to the citizens was one of pure menace; it said very clearly that he would shatter anyone who caused his mate (his pregnant mate) any trouble. Feyre took a seat and Azriel let his gaze turn to the older Archeron sisters at last.

It was Nesta's night tonight and she was dressed to impress and entice. She suited the brutal fashion of the Court of Nightmares more so than even Feyre; the revealing black dress she wore was a creation of pure shadows and she wore it like armor. The silver tiara that sat on her plaited head looked just right. They were serving her up tonight like a diamond on a platter to Eris of all people but Nesta's usual scowl was no where to be seen. The Autumn Court lordling himself was standing tall and proud at the edge of the crowd besides Keir, dressed also in Night Court black. His beady eyes were already fixed on Nesta. Azriel made sure not to glance across at Cassian but could already feel waves of anger rolling off him. He was going to struggle enormously with tonight's schemes.

And last (though certainly not least, not ever) was Elain.

And Elain did not belong here.

How could she? Elain was a creature of light, of warmth. She represented everything good and beautiful in the world. She didn’t belong in such a dark gloomy place like this. A place where the darkness swallowed you whole and consumed you. Azriel didn’t want her to even lay her lovely doe-like eyes on the city. But she’d surprised them all and demanded to come along. She’d said she was a member of this court – of this family – and would do whatever was necessary to help. It was rare that the middle Archeron sister ever insisted on anything and he admired her courage, even though he sorely wished she was back in the safety of her garden in Velaris.

She looked as beautiful as ever – nothing could tarnish the fact that Elain had a face sculpted by the Mother herself, a face that could bring kings to their knees – but the black material of her dress seemed to drain the light from her warm brown eyes. Just like this place will, he thought. Thankfully, Elain's gown was cut modestly in a blatant opposite to Nesta’s and that was a mercy; the idea of these lecherous creeps admiring her like they were Nesta would be a real test to his nerves.

And her hair. Cauldron, she looked wonderful with it unbound. He felt an urge to ran his fingers through the lengths, to bunch it in his fist.

Then a shadow whispered in his ear… 'her fingers are trembling. She's nervous. There are some in the crowd who have noticed.'

Azriel tore his stare away reluctantly and scouted the crowds instead, searching for any hint of danger. His shadows told him that three of his best spies were scattered throughout the crowd. That was good, the more eyes the better. He kept his gaze empty as it brushed over the citizens. Some faces were staring at the High Lord's family with open hostility, some with awe. The ones that caught his eye quickly looked down with terror. He was the Shadowsinger, the spymaster of the Night Court. They knew exactly what horrifying deeds he did for his High Lord.

The Archeron sisters finally took their places beside Feyre like it was a choreographed dance. Rhys addressed Keir and the crowds with some empty words of thanks and permitted them to start the festivities. Azriel always admired how easily Rhys was able to slip into the role of High Lord. Rhys must have heard his thoughts because he heard his brother’s laughter in his head. Watch the sisters, he asked. Tonight's going to be difficult for Cass.

Music began to play and Eris was introduced formally. Azriel watched out of the corner of his eye as Feyre slyly suggested he dance with one of her sisters, seeing as she was in no condition to. This had all been planned beforehand. It was like a play and they all had their scripts and lines. Yet he still seethed when Eris looked Elain up and down. She managed to give a passable performance of looking interested when Feyre suggested he dance with Nesta instead.

He saw Elain’s breathe out in relief. As did he.

Nesta began to dance with Eris and she was just as wonderful as Elain promised. She was playing her part well – after one dance Eris already looked like he wanted to drag her away and bed her.

A part of him wanted Elain to dance, purely for his own benefit, though he would likely murder whoever asked her. He knew she liked music - had seen her play a similar tune on the piano at the townhouse when she thought no one was watching - and she would surely be as graceful at dancing as she was everything else. Besides, it would give him a legitimate reason to watch her for once. For a wild moment, he thought about leading Elain out onto the floor himself. There was no reason to prevent it; Rhys had asked him to watch the sisters, after all, and what better way then to have Elain in his arms? Dancing was innocent enough. His fingers flexed of their own accord as he thought about placing his hands around her slim waist. Of drawing her small body close to his own. Of gripping her hand with his scarred one.

They would look wonderful together; his dark shadows encircling her delicate beauty.

By the Cauldron, he wanted to dance with her. But deep down he knew he couldn’t. How was he supposed to remain this icy cold creature with her in his arms? If she smiled at him or laughed, he knew he would be utterly undone. He was already distracted by her mere presence when he knew he should be focusing on the crowd.

I won’t ask her to dance, he decided. Not before them.

He wanted her to dance for him alone.

“Move.”

He watched as Cassian jealously interrupted Nesta and Eris. He’d been so preoccupied by his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed his brother step down from his post and break up the couple. Luckily, Nesta quickly accepted him and Eris stomped away to talk with Rhys and Feyre. Would the lordling ask Elain to dance now? His gaze flicked, as always, back to Elain. She was standing a little away from Feyre now and a passing servant offered her a glass of what looked like wine. Without thinking Elain gave him a dazzling smile and missed the look of disbelief on the servant’s face.

Cassian's left his post, I may as well too.

Azriel stepped smoothly to her side. His shadows had been out in force ever since he arrived in the Court of Nightmares but as he approached Elain they seemed to subside a little as they always did. He lazily took a glass from the servant’s tray as well and waved him away.

She looked like she was about to smile again but Azriel gave a subtle shake of the head in warning. He spoke quietly so that nobody could overhear.

“No smiles. Remember we’re here to play a part,” he murmured. He took a long sip of his drink.

“Ah.” Elain tried to smooth out her face into what she thought was a cold look. She had none of Nesta’s ease with it, however. Elain was made for smiling, for laughing. That was part of her charm.

“Passable.”

They both kept their eyes on Nesta and Cassian as they spoke. Elain took a long sip of her drink and he wondered if it was her first. His shadows confirmed it was. “It's no wonder you all hate this place. It’s so different to Velaris. All the fake smiles…”

“We call it the ‘Night Triumphant’ look,” he explained. “Boredom and callousness all rolled into one. A face that promises death. It’s what the other courts expect from the Night Court inner circle.”

“It's awful.”

He realised that if she asked it of him, he would winnow her home right away. Damn the party.

“It’ll be over soon,” he replied, allowing a mere hint of softness in his tone.

“I can feel their eyes on me. It’s suffocating,” she ran her free hand down the line of her dress. “I can’t wait to get out of this too.”

Thoughts of Elain sliding out of that gown threatened to overwhelm him just then. He could make out little buttons running down the back – she would no doubt need help with them later on from Nuala or Cerridwen. For a second he allowed himself to imagine that he was that lucky person. He was torn between wanting to unbutton each one ever so slowly or simply rip it off. He thought about the soft pale skin that would be at last be revealed to him. He was sure that he’d had similar dreams in the past.

He realised his icy mask was no doubt slipping and quickly pulled himself together. He thought he caught a hint of a blush on her rosy cheeks.

“You are lovely.”

“You’re being kind. I look dreadful.”

“The amethyst gown suits you more than black silk,” Azriel replied honestly. “Nesta looks like she could rule this court but you are made for sunshine, for laughter, for life. For far more nobler things.”

“That’s very beautiful. If you think that way about me.”

They both still had their gazes on the dancing. If anyone were to observe them they would think they were casually discussing the wine or Nesta’s dancing.

Azriel allowed his free hand to drop down by his side and lightly – as lightly as a wisp of wind – he brushed the backs of his fingers against her own. He heard her quiet intake of breath, then felt her own shyly brush back.

“I’d ask you to dance, but I can’t think of anything less appealing than dancing in front of all these people,” she said quietly. Perhaps she too realised how dangerous their dancing together may be.

“Another time.” He would make sure that one day he would dance with Elain pressed into his arms and there would be no cause to hide his smiles or laughter.

His shadows alerted him to the fact that Rhys was looking over at them. He fixed his brother with an impassive smile as he discreetly drew back his hand. In that second he resented Rhys, resented the fact that he could sit beside his pregnant mate proudly for the world to see. Resented the fact he could not hold hands or dance with the woman he wanted. He knew that deep down it went beyond Rhys. Beyond their charade and the Court of Nightmares. The real reason he could not dance with her or be with her. He could barely bring himself to name the underlying reason that kept them apart. It was easier to ignore it.

Her mate. The brother of the lordling who was standing in the very same room.

“You should dance with Nesta,” Elain suddenly suggested. “Cassian looks like he needs a break but he won’t give her up to anyone else. Especially with Eris looking at her like that.”

He saw that she was right. It was probably for the best that he dance with Nesta and put some space in between them. He was glad that she was the one to suggest it; he certainly wouldn’t have been able to.

“You’ll be okay alone?”

“Feyre won’t let anyone bother me,” she said confidently. “Go…I’ll watch from the shadows.”

Azriel’s lips twitched before he could stop it.

He inclined his head to her in a courtly fashion and in return she dipped into a shallow curtsey. Their movements were courteous and polite but he caught a delicious glimmer of desire in her eyes before he turned to the dancefloor. He knew he would be thinking about that glimmer later on tonight when alone.

He approached Nesta and Cassian and Nesta allowed him to lead her into another waltz. He tried to focus on the eldest Archeron sister but all the while felt the gaze of another on his back. He felt himself burn beneath it.

[elrielslam]

What Bloomed in the Darkgarden by ehoney

My favourite Elriel fanfiction by far. It's got everything you could ever hope for - Elain using dark witchy powers, sweet slowburn angst with Azriel, women refusing to be put in a triangle, travel to other courts, a spectacular blazing row with Rhys where he's thoroughly told off, lore and mythology and darling shadows.

(seriously, i don't even need the new book anymore. this is perfection)

Link here

Summary: Elain Archeron is not the trembling fawn everyone believes her to be. Two years after the war, she feels an awakening- a power which calls her to grow untamed things under moonlight. She then receives an invitation to master her abilities as a Seer under the guidance of an Oracle of the Day Court. All the while fighting an inevitable war of passion for a holy mess of a shadow-wreathed male who looks at her with all the longing in the world. So perhaps a little more softly, a little more lethally, Elain begins her journey down the path unknown. For there’s something blooming within her. Something darker, softer, and wilder than she can name- reaching for the song of the Void. “Damn the Cauldron.” Azriel strode towards her. “Damn the Stars.” He closed the distance. “This-” those scarred hands softly gripped her face, bringing it within an inch of his own. “This-” he wrapped his scent around her and looked directly into her soul, making sure she could feel the charge, the need, the nameless want- “This could never be a mistake.”

[elrielslam]

Of Daggers and Moonlight - Part I - Ficlet.

Elriel prompt - Azriel teaches Elain how to use a dagger.

I've actually made a part II to this here.

Words: 2,342

No rating

“Here. Make sure you grip it firmly.”

Elain surveyed the silver dagger before her. She supposed it was beautiful in its own way. The handle and crossguards had also been wrought from silver and fashioned into elegant points. She looked closely at the shining blade and could see that delicate vines had been etched carefully across it. Even she, who had no knowledge of weaponry, could appreciate the craftsmanship, the skill, the hard work that had been used to forge it. It came with a brown leather sheaf that she knew could be tied to her thigh.

She didn’t want to learn how to fight.

She had said as much when Rhys first offered lessons with Cassian. She knew Cassian would be patient with her and she would find no finer teacher in all of Prythian. She also knew that war was on the horizon and that being stronger and having those skills would be useful. She wanted be valuable to her family, wanted to help them survive. The Night Court was beginning to feel like home now and the rag-tag members of the inner court her family.

She knew too how necessary it had been for Feyre and Nesta to learn and to build up their bodies. They had thrown themselves into training in order to take back control of their lives after the trauma of under the mountain and the Cauldron. It moved her to see them so strong and capable.

Yet she found herself shying away from it. All of her life she had been taught to be a lady, to be above such things. She found the idea of fighting – of hurting somebody else – abhorrent. She, who took such pains to plant and grow new life. She knew that even with all the lessons in the world, when the time came to it, she would not be able to go through with it. Was that weakness? She knew that’s what the others thought. She had seen it in Rhys’s eyes when she finished speaking.

But then Azriel had stepped forwards and offered an alternative. She didn’t have to learn how to fight, but she could learn how to defend herself.

He became her teacher of sorts. Every other evening he would speak to her about breathing patterns, about forms, about how to keep the panic from taking over. She listened and found herself practicing at odd moments around the house. She wasn’t sure how much stronger she was getting – but she certainly felt more grounded. She was able to finally conquer her nightmares and sleep through the night, at least.

He usually came to the townhouse and they would settle before the fireplace in the library in order to have some privacy. They were not really alone – Nuala and Cerridwen were there too and would listen in occasionally. They were, after all, former students of Azriel and still in his employment. One time, when she found herself practicing her stance in the kitchen, Nuala caught sight of her and she swore she saw a flash of pride on her face.

Azriel never demanded anything of her. He spoke easily, confidentially. She had to remind herself that even though he looked young and handsome, he was the feared and brutal spymaster to the Night Court. He was centuries older than her and had seen many battles. If anyone knew about the dangers they were about to face then he did. Perhaps that’s why she felt herself trusting him? Even after the misunderstanding at Solstice.

And so it was that two weeks later he offered her the blade.

She gripped hold and found that it was a perfect fit for her hand. “Like this?”

He reached out and expertly traced his hand over hers to examine her hold. She felt her skin burn beneath his touch but tried to ignore it. He had made his feelings towards that sort of thing very clear and she didn’t want to be seen as some swooning maid. She looked at her grip and tried to memorise it in case he tested her later.

“Perfect. Tonight we’re going to be trying something new. I want to show you how and where to use this knife the most effectively. Understand, this should be used as a last resort only. Only if you find yourself alone…without any of us to help.”

She felt herself tense. “You want to teach me… how to stab someone?”

He regarded her steadily. “If an attacker gets close to you, they are going to use their advantages. They will be stronger and much bigger in size. They will use that against you. In that case you won’t have much time to act, which is why a well-aimed strike with this may save you…or at least buy you some time.”

“Time to run away,” she finished.

She felt a weight in her stomach – Nesta would never run away. She would snarl and fight to the end. Azriel seemed to pick up on what she was feeling because he offered her a tight smile.

“There is no weakness in running away from a fight you have no chance in winning. Only a fool would take on those odds. Nobody will thank you for risking your life for nothing.”

She pictured it then. Some faceless man approaching her, huge and terrifying. He was holding a sword like the one Cassian trained with. He would overpower her just as easily as if she were a newborn fawn. He could kill her or hurt her and she wouldn’t be able to do anything but run...and if she could slow them down? Azriel was right.

“Will you let me show you?”

“I’ll try.”

Something hard crossed his face and he frowned. “No. I want you to do better than try. You will learn how to use this dagger, you will memorise the vulnerable spots, and if you have to you will use them. You will do your best to hold them off so you can run,” he added. “Or until help arrives.”

“If help arrives.”

“If I’m still standing,” he seemed to promise. “I will come to help you. Now, will you agree to learn these things?”

She swallowed, “I swear.”

“Fetch your cloak then. We need to go to the training yard for this and it’ll be cold.”

She swung her blue cloak around her shoulders as he asked and he took her hand again to winnow them. She watched as his dark shadows gathered around them, realising that they no longer worried her. She had become used to them, used to their constant presence. They curled around them and Azriel smoothly led them into it.

The training yard stretched out before her. During the daytime she knew that it was usually busy but in the moonlight it looked empty and dreary. She had never been here before. Azriel had been right; there was a chill in the air and it was windy because of being high in the air. Elain huddled into her cloak as she stepped forwards.

Azriel began to set up something – at first she thought it was a real body but when she looked closer she could see it was made from straw. She realised then, what he was trying to do. What he expected of her. She could see that some spots had already been clearly marked. It had obviously been well used during the Valkyrie training.

“The Illyrian armies use real bodies to practice on so that the fighters can get to know what it feels like. This will feel different to the real thing but it’s better than nothing…and tonight we will be focusing on you actually hitting it.”

A wave of nausea hit her but she tried to master it. She couldn’t help it; she thought about a real body and the metallic smell of its blood.

You can do this.

She breathed out, concentrating on the speed like he’d shown her.

Azriel finished setting it up and came to stand beside her. In the moonlight she struggled to see his expression. His cobalt siphons, however, swirled like normal.

He pointed at the painted circles on the target.

“Some of these you won’t have a shot of finding on a moving target and I doubt you’ll be able to stab hard enough anyway…so we’ll focus on the easier ones,” he caught her look and added. “Stabbing a person is difficult. Grown men who have trained for years can struggle to do it. It needs force and practice. Let me see you try now…”

She stepped up to the target uneasily, feeling very idiotic. The dagger didn’t feel right in her hand. She tried to imagine that it was a huge man running towards her, tried to imagine it raising its sword to cleave her in two.

She brought the dagger down quickly, nervously, and it is barely scraped the surface.

Flushing, she looked back at Azriel who was watching silently.

“Find your footing. Breathe. Focus on your target. Again.”

She did as he asked and tried again, this time aiming at a higher spot by the neck. This was an even worse idea because the angle meant she couldn’t use her (admittedly weak) strength to help.

“I feel foolish.”

“You aren’t taking it seriously,” he said coolly.

She spun around, surprised at his suddenly chilly tone. He’d never once used that tone with her – even when he refused her that Solstice night. She swallowed, feeling displeasure radiate off him in waves. His disproval seemed to cut at her as though she were the straw target.

He approached her and gripped her shoulders. He didn’t hurt her yet she felt herself suddenly on the brink of tears. Was she really this feeble? Did she really care so much for his good opinion?

“You stabbed the king of Hybern through the neck.”

She did. She used to dream about it, about the way she’d thrust Truth-Teller through his neck with every ounce of her strength. She could still remember how it sounded. Could remember how her hands shook as it went in. In that moment she hadn’t thought about anything except for Nesta.

Azriel had loaned her Truth-Teller, as though he knew somehow she would need it. He’d said it was enchanted and would always find its mark. It certainly had. Her hands had still been shaking when she’d returned it after.

“To protect my sister.”

“Can you not find the same courage to protect yourself? Do you not think you are worthy of protecting?”

He was right. His honesty twisted something inside her and she nodded.

She turned to face the target once more but before she could try again, he moved to stand behind her. He was a lot taller than her own small frame and her head barely reached his collarbones. She knew that if he wanted to, he could wrap his arms around her and cloak her in his shadows. She could feel the press of his brutal Illyrian armor even through her simple gown and cloak.

His hand traced down her arm until it came to her grip. “Firmly. Hold it like it’s an extension of your arm.”

She swallowed and tried to follow his instructions. His hand gripped hers, forcing her to hold onto the dagger’s handle tightly.

“Find your footing.” She could feel his warm breath against the shell of her ear as he gently stepped away. “Again.”

She thought about Nesta, about Feyre. She would protect them without even thinking about it. Could she not summon the same strength for herself? She thought about her life; her friendships with Nuala and Cerridwen, her gardens, little Nyx, the warm and funny family that she had been gifted through Feyre.

And she thought about all the rest of it; the life she may one day have. A future. She wanted to have her own adventures and own story. She wanted to see all of the different courts. She wanted a love that would spark a fire in her so fiercely, children that she would love passionately. She wanted to live for that. She wanted to survive.

She swung the knife up with more strength than she realised she owned. It punctured the side of the target and hit its mark.

She didn’t stop there.

Instantly, she stabbed again. And again. And again. Until little holes pierced its side and the straw stuffing began to fall out.

She was panting when she finished.

Her wrist ached and the silver dagger clattered to the ground.

“Better. Much better.”

She looked over her shoulder at him. The clouds had disappeared and in the moonlight she could now see his face properly. He was watching her very intently and his wings were rustling behind his back.

“I won’t go looking for a fight,” Elain said firmly. “But I will live. I want to live for a long time yet. I may not be as strong as Mor or Nesta but I promise I will do my best to stay alive.”

Pure pride blazed across his handsome face.

“There are different types of strength,” he said quietly. “I see yours, Elain. I always have.”

She wished that he would always look at her like this.

For a moment they simply stared at one another. The wind around them howled and clawed at her cloak, her hair. She should have been cold but instead she felt a scorching warmth. She wanted to ask him, then, about Solstice. About why he pulled away from her. Why he thought she was worth training, equipping. Why he wanted her to survive.

But Azriel shook his head as though clearing it and gestured for her to sit. He reached into his shadows to bring out a flask of water. He passed it over and then sat down beside her as she drank, careful to leave a minute gap in between their tense bodies. He stretched out his wings and used one to curl behind her to shield her from the wind.

“Rest your arm and then try again.”

AN: I really enjoyed writing this tbh. Any more prompts?

[elrielslam]

Feyre: Nesta, did you know Azriel and your friend Gwyn are a thing?

Nesta: What?? Since when?

Feyre: I don't know. But it seems like it's new

Nesta: Well, that's very odd 

Feyre: Why?

Nesta: Because Azriel has feelings for Elain, and Gwyn has never shown any attraction or interest in him. I spend a lot of time with her and she has never even asked about him. I immediately noticed that two of the priestesses, Roslin and Ilana, had a crush on him, so if Gwyn had shown any interest or attraction, I would know. I mean, one look at him and I immediately knew he had feelings for Elain.

Feyre: You're right. The whole thing is very odd. We know that Azriel doesn't move on that quickly when he has feelings for someone. Why would he move on from Elain so quickly? Why did he give up on her? It doesn't make any sense.

[elrielslam]

I am obsessed with this

New insanely beautiful elriel art by insta 🎨 Gdeliarte

Go like and follow

[elrielslam]

Hewn City - Ficlet

Elriel prompt - 'Elriel prompt! In ACOSF, in the Hewn City, Azriel and Elain share a moment when all eyes are on Nesta and Eris. (If you write it, please tag me so I can read it!)'

(AN: This was wonderful to write - thank you for the delicious prompt @mrspettyferr! It's nice to write an Az POV. I listened to this while writing and I think it captures the scene well. I absolutely adore the DA soundtrack).

No rating

Words: 2,866

The elite citizens of the Hewn City were gathered in the throne room awaiting the arrival of their High Lord and Lady for the annual Solstice celebrations. They’d tried decorating the large hall with black candles and evergreen wreaths but it was just for show.

You would find more cheer in a cemetery, Azriel thought.*

Mor, beautiful as ever in a clingy red dress, was stood idly on the raised dais before the thrones as though guarding them. Azriel and Cassian took their assigned places below like vigil guardsmen on either side. The three of them faced the crowds with carefully bored expressions on their faces like it would greatly amuse them to cut down anyone who tried approaching. Azriel kept his arms crossed while his blue siphons glowed dangerously. Truth-Teller was strapped to his side as another visible warning.

Azriel despised coming into the Hewn City. The Court of Nightmares was exactly that; a place filled with the sort of greed, treachery, and cruelty that inspired nightmares. A foulness festered there beneath the mountain like some rotting disease, itching to infect anyone it came into contact with. It was stifling; it’s high cavernous walls making sure that no sunlight at all could inadvertently squeeze in. As a result the citizens were like lifeless cold weeds. It was small wonder they grew heartless and bitter.

Candlelight was the only light to be had tonight and so shadows danced around the walls and ceiling as though they were sentient. His own dark shadows curled around him protectively, on guard for any sign of trouble. He sent some of them forth through the crowds to spy, to seek, to listen. He didn’t trust anyone beneath this mountain; he certainly didn’t trust its piece of shit steward Keir. The only reason he was tolerated was because they needed his Darkbringers and he kept himself mostly to himself in this realm.

Yet he knew his family would endure this onslaught for the night if Rhys wanted it. They had laughed in the face of worse danger. They knew that this visit was necessary and that they all had their parts to play. This was merely a pretend and then they could leave. Their real home Velaris was far away and safe and beautiful. These people could not touch that.

Even though he knew this, knew that beside him Cassian was telling himself the very same thing, he still could not shake the feeling of discomfort that coursed down his body tonight. It could be noticed in the clench of his jaw, the stiff line of his body. He knew he was more on edge than usual and it was partly down to Feyre’s pregnancy and partly because her sisters were accompanying them.

At last, the towering doors of the throne room opened dramatically and the High Lord’s family steadily made their entrance. They entered the court together as a show of strength. It was all part of the pretend; to show the citizens of the Hewn City that their ruling family was powerful and united. And dangerous.

His High Lord and Lady led the way, magnificent in their black attire and shining crowns. The rich scent of pregnancy trailed after Feyre and the gathering masses watched with fear in their eyes as they stepped onto the raised dais. They were both wearing masks of ice, looking every inch the cruel master and mistress. Rhys guided Feyre to her throne, as polished as any courtier, but the look he threw the citizens was one of pure menace; it said very clearly that he would shatter anyone who caused his mate any trouble.

Nesta and Elain walked behind Rhys and Feyre as members of the ruling family. It was Nesta’s night tonight and she was dressed to impress and entice. She suited the brutal fashion of the Court of Nightmares more so than even Feyre; the revealing black dress she wore was a creation of shadows. He thought she wore it like armor. The tiara that rested on her plaited head seemed to signify that she was royal in her own right.

He made sure not to glance at Cassian. His brother would struggle tonight; they were serving her up like a diamond on a platter to Eris of all people. A small part of him longed for a reason to paste Eris’s smug grin across the floor himself. Eris himself was standing tall and proud at the edge of the crowd with Keir, dressed also in Night Court black. His eyes were already fixed on Nesta.

And last, though certainly not least, there was Elain.

Azriel’s first reaction to Elain coming along had been no no no no. It just wasn’t right. She was a creature of the light, of warmth. To him, she represented everything good and beautiful in the world. She didn’t belong in such a dark gloomy place as this. A place where the darkness could swallow you whole and consume you. He didn’t want her to even lay her lovely doe-like eyes on it.

But she’d surprised them all and consented to come. She’d said she was a member of this court – of this family – and would do whatever was necessary to help. It was rare that the middle Archeron sister ever insisted on anything and he couldn’t help but admire her courage in that moment, even though he still wished she was safely at home where he wanted her.

She was trying her hardest to play the role now, walking with her head held high and her shoulders back. She was such a graceful person usually (she could make setting the dining table look elegant) that this seemed like something she would excel in. Glancing at her now you would think she was used to the Hewn City but her fingers trembled slightly at her side, betraying her nerves only to those who looked closely.

She was wearing a long black gown also but it was modestly cut in a blatant opposite to Nesta’s. For that he was appreciative; the idea of these lecherous creeps looking at her like they were with Nesta would be a real test to his nerve. Her long curly golden-brown hair was left down for a change though Nuala had skillfully used two shining combs of pearl to sweep it away from her face. She looked beautiful as always – nothing could ever really tarnish that – but the black colour of her dress seemed to drain the light and warmth out of her skin.

Just like this place will, he thought.

He tried to not glance at Elain too much as she walked and kept his gaze on the crowds. Although it was long, the gown fit her small body like a glove. It hugged her tiny waist before smoothing over her hips and thighs. Her ass looked incredible in it too.

He scouted the crowds around them instead, searching as always for any hint of danger. His shadows told him that three of his best spies were scattered amongst the crowd. That was good, the more sets of eyes the better. He kept his gaze cold as it brushed over the citizens. Some faces were staring at the Lord’s family with open hostility. The ones that caught his eye quickly looked down with terror.

He was the Shadowsinger, the spymaster of the Night Court. They knew exactly what he did for his High Lord. He was long used to the sight of blood on his scarred hands.

The Archeron sisters took their places beside the thrones like it was a choreographed dance. Rhys addressed Keir and the crowds and permitted them to start the feast. Azriel always admired how easily Rhys was able to slip into the role of High Lord.

Rhys must have heard his thoughts because he heard his brother’s laughter in his head. Watch the sisters, he then asked. Tonight is going to be difficult for Cass.

Music began to play and Eris was introduced formally. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Feyre artfully suggested he dance with one of her sisters seeing as she was in no condition to. This had all been planned beforehand, each one knew their parts. It was like a play and they all had their scripts and lines. Yet he still seethed when Eris looked consideringly at Elain. She managed to give a passable performance of looking interested when Feyre suggested he dance with Nesta.

He saw Elain’s breathe out in relief.

Nesta began to dance with Eris and she was just as wonderful as Elain promised. He could well believe she had secured a marriage proposal this way. She was playing her part well – after one dance Eris already looked like he wanted to drag her away and bed her.

A small part of him wanted Elain to dance, purely for his own benefit. He had no doubt that she would be as graceful at it as she was with most things. He knew she liked music; he had seen her playing a similar tune to this on Rhys’s piano when she thought no one was watching. Besides, it would give him a legitimate reason to watch her for once.

He thought about leading Elain out onto the floor himself. There was no reason to prevent it; Rhys had asked him to watch the sisters, after all, and what better way then to have Elain in his arms? Dancing was innocent enough.

His fingers flexed of their own accord as he thought about placing his hands around her waist. Of drawing her small body close to his own. Of gripping her hand with his scarred one.

They would look wonderful together; his dark shadows encircling her warm beauty.

By the Cauldron, he wanted to dance with her.

But deep down he knew he couldn’t.

How was he supposed to remain this icy cold creature with her in his arms? If she smiled at him or laughed, he knew he would be utterly undone. The feeling of her body against his would be far too much for him to handle. He was already distracted by her mere presence when he knew he should be focusing on the crowd.

I won’t ask her to dance here, he decided. Not before them.

He wanted her to dance for him alone.

“Move.”

He watched as Cassian jealously interrupted Nesta and Eris. He’d been so preoccupied by his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed his brother step down from his post and break up the couple. Luckily, Nesta smoothly accepted him and Eris stepped away to talk with Rhys and Feyre. Would he ask Elain to dance now?

His gaze flicked, as always, back to Elain. She was still standing behind Feyre’s throne and a passing servant of Keir’s was offering her a glass of what looked like wine. Without thinking she gave him a polite smile as she picked up the glass and missed the look of disbelief on the servant’s face.

Cassian has left his post, I may as well too.

Azriel stepped up smoothly to her side. His shadows had been out in force ever since he arrived here but as he approached Elain they seemed to subside a little as they always did. Only the bravest remained and they curled against her softly as though lending her some of their strength. He smoothly took a glass from the servant’s tray as well and waved him away.

She looked at him like she was about to smile again but he gave her a minute shake of the head.

He spoke quietly so that nobody could overhear though Feyre and Rhys was now deep in conversation with Eris.

“No smiles. Remember we’re here to play a part,” he said lowly. He took a sip of his drink.

“Ah.” Elain tried to smooth out her face into what she thought was a cold look. She had none of Nesta’s ease with it, however. Elain was made for smiling, for laughing. That was part of her charm.

“Better.” He was tempted to suggest she imagine Lucien was here as she never smiled for him but didn’t think she would appreciate the joke right now.

They both kept their gazes on Nesta and Cassian as they spoke. Elain took a long sip of her drink and he wondered if it was her first. His shadows confirmed that it was.

“No wonder you all hate this place. All the fakeness, the charade. It’s so different to home.”

“We call it the ‘Night Triumphant’ look,” he explained. “Boredom and callousness all rolled into one. A face that promises death. It’s what the other courts expect from us.”

“I hate it. I hate the way you all look and sound.”

“We’re still us underneath.”

“I know.”

He realised that if she asked it of him, he would winnow her home right away. Damn the party.

“It’ll be over soon,” he said, allowing a mere hint of softness in his tone.

“I can feel their eyes all over me. It’s like they’re expecting something of me. It’s honestly no wonder this place breeds cruelty. It’s suffocating,” she ran her free hand down her dress. “I can’t wait to get out of this too.”

Thoughts of Elain sliding out of that dress threatened to overwhelm him just then. He could make out little hooks running down the back – she would no doubt need help with them later on from Nuala or Cerridwen. For a second he allowed himself to imagine that he was that lucky person. He was torn between wanting to unhook each one ever so slowly or simply ripping it off. He thought about the smooth white skin that would be at last revealed to him. He was sure that he’d had similar dreams to this in the past.

He realised his icy mask was no doubt slipping. He quickly pulled himself together. He thought he saw a hint of a blush on her cheeks and realised he had yet to answer.

He swallowed. “You look lovely.”

“You’re being kind. I look dreadful.”

“I do prefer you in your other gowns. The amethyst one suits you more,” Azriel added honestly. “Nesta looks like she could rule this court but you are made for sunshine, for spring. For better things.”

“That’s very beautiful. If you think that way about me.”

They both still had their gazes on the dancing. If anyone were to observe them they would think they were casually discussing the wine or Nesta’s dancing.

Azriel allowed his free hand to drop down by his side and lightly – as lightly as a wisp of wind – he allowed the backs of his fingers to graze against her own.

He heard her intake of breath. He felt her own shyly brush back.

“I’d ask you to dance, but I can’t think of anything worse than dancing in front of all these people,” she said quietly. Perhaps she too realised how dangerous their dancing together may be.

“Another time. I promise.” He would make sure that one day he would dance with Elain pressed into his arms and there would be no cause to hide his smiles or laughter.

His shadows alerted him to the fact that Rhys was looking over at them. He fixed his brother with an impassive smile as he discreetly drew back his hand. In that second he resented Rhys, resented the fact that he could sit beside his mate Feyre proudly for the world to see. Resented the fact he could not hold hands or dance with the woman he wanted.

He knew that deep down it went beyond Rhys. Beyond their charade and the Court of Nightmares. The real reason he could not dance with her or be with her. He could barely bring himself to name the underlying reason that kept them apart. It was easier to ignore it.

“I think you should dance with Nesta,” Elain suddenly suggested. “Cassian looks like he needs a drink but he won’t give her up to anyone else. Especially with Eris looking at her like that.”

He saw that she was right. It was probably for the best that he dance with Nesta and put some space in between them. He was glad that she was the one to suggest it; he certainly wouldn’t have been able to.

“You’ll be okay here alone?”

“Feyre won’t let anyone bother me,” she said confidently. “Go…I’ll watch.”

Azriel’s lips twitched before he could stop it.

He inclined his head to her in a courtly fashion and in return she dipped into a shallow curtsey. Their movements were courteous and polite but he caught a delicious glimmer of desire in her eyes before he turned to the dancefloor. He knew he would be thinking about that glimmer when he was alone tonight.

He approached Nesta and Cassian and asked if he could cut in. Cassian gave her up to his brother without hesitation and Nesta allowed him to lead her into another waltz. He tried to focus on the eldest Archeron sister but all the while felt the gaze of another on his back. He felt himself burn beneath it.

(* - Apologies if this reminded anyone else of LOTR. I only realised afterwards. Out of interest has anyone else written something from the Hewn City chapter?)

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Elain and Azriel

Artist: Shayndl_art

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'Of the first blood' - Elriel Oneshot.

Elriel writing prompt - Elain gets her first Fae cycle and Ariel helps. (AN: Sorry about this - or maybe I'm not? I just love supportive Azriel) Words: 602 No rating

When her Fae blood first came, she was in agony. Feyre had warned her that her new cycles would be painful but this was ludicrous. It first started during the early hours of the night and her crying had woken (or summoned – did they sleep?) Nuala and Cerridwen who tried their best to help her. They helped her into a piping hot bath with lavender salts and gently washed her hair, her face, her back. They toweled her off and slipped her into a new night-gown before showing her where the pads were kept. They then sat patiently beside her on the bed, massaging her lower back and bringing her tea. Elain felt a surge of love to them both; they had become as friends to her. As sisters.

They did their best to distract her with tales from their home but none of the words could pierce through her pain. She used to have pains as a mortal (an Archeron curse) but this was intensified ten fold.

They must have sent word down to Feyre at her estate who came to the townhouse the next morning with Nyx to ‘cheer her up’ but the sight of his beloved aunt in tears upset the child so much Nuala took him down to the kitchen for a treat.

Elain was shivering, her hands clutching hold of the sheets, as she heaved into a well-placed bowl by the side of the bed. She felt like she was being torn in two.

Feyre muttered something about Lucien and asking him for help. She said that going through this alone was hell – she had depended entirely on Rhys to help her through it. A mate then was surely the answer? After all, he would be the best attuned to her needs and senses.

Elain fixed her with such a blazing look that she dropped the subject. The idea of Lucien here was mortifying and improper. She didn’t need a mate to tell her how much this hurt…certainly not one she didn’t even know.

Feyre had to leave to put Nyx down for a nap eventually and she left the bedroom door open so the twins could hear if she needed them. Elain tried to focus on something - anything - as another wave of nausea hit her.

Around lunchtime she heard a knock at the front door but she ignored it, assuming the twins would take care of it. She groaned and pushed her face back down against the pillow.

What she was not expecting, however, was for Azriel to appear at the top of the stairs. He caught sight of her and didn't for a moment look awkward or fazed. She on the other hand blushed so hard that she wished the ground would just swallow her up. This really was the last thing she wanted him to see.

Ever the polite host, she tried to flatten her hair and sit up - but to her surprise he stepped into her bedroom and gently and firmly pressed her back. His hand hovered over her untouched cup of tea on the bedside table and then he was lifting it to her lips…

“Drink it all,” he encouraged gently. “This will help.”

Elain did so and then fell back against her pillow. She felt him smooth the blankets around her shoulders. Her eyelids became very heavy until she could no longer focus on his beautiful gaze. She thought she felt him gently stroke a strand of her hair as she drifted off into a pleasant sleep…

This doesn't feel improper, she thought blurrily. Perhaps she even mumbled it?

When she woke up later on she was alone. She noticed a vial on the bedside table that was obviously filled with some sort of medicinal herbs. He’d scribbled ‘for the pain’ on the side. Beside that was a stack of trashy novels – the sort that Nesta was so fond of. The sort that would only take a few hours to flick through. There was a note on the top one as well – ‘take a bath and then curl up with one of these.’

She smiled. His kindness touched a part of her heart that she thought was damaged forever. She reached out to pick up the top novel…

…and next second she was heaving back into the bowl.

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Offer and permission

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Vassa x Lucien

(art of vassa by bookartby_amai on insta)

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Elriel Month // Hold Tight and Don’t Make a Sound

Over the years, we have enjoyed many Elriel fics where either Azriel or Elain play the piano, so we thought we would take that idea in a sexier direction for today’s prompt. Of course we know Az is a music fan, but we’re pretty sure (and we think SJM would agree!) that his very favorite song will be Elain’s moans of pleasure 🥵

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🎨 Art by @mahpiyaluta_

✨ Commissioned by @elainsweetcobalt and me for @elriel-month (find it on IG here)

💙 Please do not repost. Reblogs are welcome! 

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A quick sketch of Elain wearing Dove Cameron's dress at the Met Gala.

I'm currently drawing Nesta and Feyre but I can't decide which dress they should get

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How can you not love them?

Elain’s and Azriel’s quiet love. 💕

Art: aly4artsake