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IT'S FINE. I AM TOTALLY FINE.

I FUCKING HATE THIS SHOW.

[pascalmode]

In The Stars (8 - The Light and The Shadows)

Hiiii!! This chapter is my way of apologizing for the lack of Azriel in the last one. I hope you enjoy!!! (From this point forward things are going to move along veeeery quickly (i hope)). Please let me know what you think! (Also, if anyone wants to draw any scenes from this chapter or any other, i would nooooot be opposed;))

Az x TOG!OC

Words: 6.1K

Warnings; None, I think. Just Asteria being obsessed with Az. Elain is there at some point. idk

Despite taking three baths, each filled with luxuriously scented oils and soaps, Asteria can’t seem to shake the bitter, coppery scent of blood that clings to her. 

She’d scrubbed harshly at her skin, only to be twice as rigorous when washing her hair, attempting to free the long, delicate silver strands of the scent to no avail. 

It lingers. 

Halfway through dinner that night, the entire inner circle and Feyre’s sister Elain gathered around a table filled with beautifully smoked and seasoned meats, steamed vegetables slathered in spices, and roasted potatoes with garlic and butter, Azriel reappeared. 

It only took him a couple of seconds to sniff the air and lock a hard, unreadable gaze on Asteria while everyone else peppered him with greetings. One shadow subtly split away from the rest, darting underneath the table and skittering over her entire form, as though attempting to discover the source of the coppery scent.

Having found nothing, the shadow whirls around the length of Asteria’s still-damp braid before it returned to its master. 

Azriel had taken the vacant seat across from the silver haired female, hazel eyes flashing with a concern that Asteria picked up on immediately. Beneath the table, Asteria nudged his foot with her own, their gazes met, and she allowed herself to offer him a small smile, enough to tell him; I’m okay.

His shoulders relaxed, and when Cassian sent him a brotherly taunt, the Shadowsinger didn’t miss a beat when he tossed out a smart retort, the entire table chuckled at the interaction. 

Except for Elain Archeron. Whose stare remained on Asteria, a slight frown seemingly glued to her lips. 

After the meal, the group moved to the living room, lounging on the couches and sharing several bottles of wine.

Azriel, hovering towards a door that would lead out to the yard, catches Asteria’s eye, discreetly nodding towards the dusk-lit lawn that had become their nightly meeting place, a thick blanket in hand. 

With everyone’s attention focused on Mor and Rhysand as they delve into a charming story from their childhood, Asteria follows the Shadowsinger outside to the area beyond the training ring. 

As soon as they sit down, the cold causes a damp-haired Asteria to shiver. 

A blanket drapes around her shoulders, warm hands lingering for an extra moment before Azriel settles beside her. 

“Thank you,” Asteria mutters, her hands, which are wearing a new pair of gloves that Feyre had bought for her before they left Velaris, close the thick fabric of the blanket around her, thankful that the spymaster beside her made a habit of bringing one out each night, though it often went unused, “Are you cold?”

“Illyrian,” Azriel states, as through it’s an answer. Asteria arches a brow, as though silently reminding the male that she isn’t from this world, and he didn’t explain as thoroughly as she needs. The Shadowsinger lets out a deep chuckle, lips quirked in a small smile, “I was raised in the mountains. Cold doesn’t bother me.”

“Consider yourself lucky,” Asteria chimes, jealous although cold doesn’t usually get to her so easily. She moves past the weather around her, feeling content that her friend had returned from his assignment, like his presence had removed a weight that the female unknowingly had been holding onto her chest, “I’m glad you’re back.”

“You missed me, Asteria?”

Asteria huffs, unable to hold back her smile when she sees a glint of mischief glinting in the Shadowsinger’s eyes. She nudges him with her elbow, “I never said that.”

“It felt implied.”

“Your feelings may be deceiving you.”

Azriel’s mouth twists, as though holding back a grin, before it settles into an easy smirk, “I don’t think they are.”

“You don’t?”

“No,” Azriel says, his smirk fading as his eyes direct themselves to the darkening sky, the first of the stars beginning to peer brilliantly into the night, “Because I can admit that you smell like blood, and that scares me.”

“It scares you?”

“What happened?”

“They attempted a surprise attack,” Asteria admits, shadows surrounding them growing darker, thicker, “It didn’t work out for them.”

“How many?”

“Ten.”

“Did they survive?”

“No.”

“Do you know what they were after?”

Asteria tries to draw up the memories she’d seen when she plunged into the mind of one of her assailants, trying to recall the orders and succeeding, “I don’t know who sent them, but they had clear orders to kill me.”

Azriel’s brow furrows, and his face is suddenly stone.

Keeping her eyes on the male, she lifts a hand from the confines of the blanket and removes one of her gloves with her teeth, once again revealing the scarred flesh beneath. Pulling a pearl of magic up from her well of power, letting it rest between her fingers and offering it to Azriel.

The Shadowsinger eyes it with interest, the faint light from it illuminating the angles of his face enough that he appears so achingly beautiful that Asteria has to remind herself to take a full breath. 

He opens his palm, holding it out to Asteria with silent permission. 

Asteria lays the pearl into the center of Azriel’s skin, watching as the light glows beneath the surface, her palm pressing into his.

What had occurred earlier in the day plays out in both of their mind’s eye, and Asteria lets Azriel see it all. She lets him feel the joy of the pianoforte interrupted by the sudden shock of an arrow bursting through the window of Murry’s music shop, and the clear, determined rage that had followed her over the wall of Velaris and led to the death of ten strange males. 

She lets him see each and every memory she’d pulled from one of the assailants. She shows him the life she’d wandered through before his neck snapped, and that same life ended. Every detail. 

When it’s over, Azriel’s own scarred fingers had wrapped around Asteria’s, the warmth of him blooming all the way up her arm to the center of her chest. 

She meets his eyes, expecting to find nothing but horror from the bloodbath. Repulsion after seeing the things she’d done. The lack of mercy. 

Instead, he’d softened yet again. Fond eyes searching hers for an answer to a question he had yet to ask.

Swallowing, and trying to slow her own heart, Asteria gingerly pulls her hand back to the warmth of the blanket wrapped around her, though she feels colder than ever, “That’s everything I know.”

Azriel nods, expression unchanging, “It’s useful. I can call in some favours.”

“From your spies?” Asteria is unable from blurting.

“Maybe,” Azriel murmurs, “Maybe not.”

“Very secretive of you.”

“Spymaster, remember?”

“How could I possibly forget?”

Azriel lets out another chuckle, and Asteria lifts her head, eyes taking in the expansive beauty of the darkening night sky, bright white stars gleaming above them. A sight she truly believes she’ll never tire of. 

A beat of comfortable silence, quickly broken.

Azriel speaks so softly that she almost doesn’t hear him, “I’m glad you’re alright.”

“I feel more than alright,” Asteria breathes, smiling as she thinks of how the ivory keys of the pianoforte felt under her fingers.

As though he could tell exactly where her mind wandered, Azriel nudges the female softly with his elbow, “You played that pianoforte.”

The memory makes her beam, an uncontrollable grin breaking across her face, and when she turns to Azriel, her careful eyes pick out the way he marks it, whatever tension remaining in his shoulders melting away, “I did. I played the crap out of that pianoforte.”

“I wish I could have heard it.”

“I can show you, if you want,” Asteria offers, the eager magic inside her already stirring. 

The Illyrian beside her smiles, the mischief from before returning into his burning hazel gaze, “I like that idea.”

Asteria is about to offer him another bead of magic, but before she can, Azriel stands. 

She looks up at his tall, lean form in confusion, “What are you doing?”

“Standing. I thought that was obvious,” Azriel deadpans, “Perhaps you should ask me what I’m thinking about.”

“I’m not sure I want to know.”

“Please, humor me.”

Suspicious, yet tremendously curious, Asteria does, “What are you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking that we fly down to that music store, and you play the pianoforte for me,” The Shadowsinger explains, his wings twitching in anticipation. 

“The music store?” Asteria echoes, “The same one I was just attacked in?”

“You’ll be kept safe.”

“You seem sure of yourself,” Asteria says, “What if they send another attack?”

Azriel holds out his hand, offering it to the silver-haired female, “We deal with it.”

“This is a bad idea,” Asteria mutters as she takes Azriel’s hand, actions betraying her words as he pulls her to her feet, the blanket wrapped around her billowing in a chilled winter breeze. 

“Probably,” Azriel nods, “Though I can’t bring myself to care.”

Turning her gaze to where the property ends, a drop off of sudden darkness illuminated only by the stars above and the city lights below. 

Flying with Rhysand in broad daylight had been one thing, the High Lord taking half an hour to assure the female that it would be fine, but this– this is something else entirely. 

Asteria remembers what it felt like to fall through this sky, and through the skies of whatever distant realms she’d passed on the way here. She recalls how the dagger felt hilt-deep in her chest, and the frigid, icy fear that came with anticipating that her death would arrive sooner rather than later. 

The memory sends a shiver down her spine, and not realizing it, the female had taken up a death grip on the Shadowsinger’s hand. 

“Don’t drop me,” Asteria meekly get out. 

“I won’t.”

“No, seriously, I fell from the stars once already, and I have no intention of doing it again.”

“Asteria, look at me,” Azriel softly utters, waiting for the female’s green eyes to connect with his hazel ones. The moment they do, Azriel’s hand squeezes hers, and the building dread in her chest lessens itself, “Do you trust me?”

“Am I going to regret answering you?”

“Definitely.”

Asteria gulps, “Yes. I trust you.”

“Then I suggest you hang on.���

“What do you mea– AZRIEL!”

In an instant the Shadowsinger sweeps her up, blanket and all, his arms hooking beneath her legs and under her back, holding her tightly to his chest while powerful wings launch them straight up into the air, Asteria’s startled yelp drowned out by the wind rushing past her ears. 

Locking her arms as tightly she can muster around his neck, Asteria’s heart drops beneath the pit of her stomach when her eyes lock onto the earth hundreds of feet below them. 

And when Azriel suddenly tucks in his wings and dives, her heart plummets even further.

“Ohgodsohgodsohgodsohgods,” The silver-haired female fearfully squeaks out, instinctually squeezing her eyes closed and hiding her face in Azriel’s neck as they pick up speed, far too panicked for his calming night-chilled mist and cedar scent to slow her racing heart. 

Then, wings shooting out, they hit an updraft, the plummeting decent halting completely. The sound of wings flapping steadily fills the open air, and Azriel easily glides through the chilled night sky.

“You okay?” The Shadowsinger asks, a slight chuckle catching Asteria’s attention. 

She lifts her face from his skin, catching the way his cobalt siphons gleam brightly enough that she can see his face and the amused expression he wears. Asteria curses him in her mind, unable to bring herself to speak this high up.

Chuckling once again, Azriel lets them drift closer to the ever-welcoming ground, “If you think this is bad, then never fly with Cassian.”

Asteria nods, unable to keep herself from hiding her face in Azriel’s neck once more, feeling how the arms that are holding her seem to tighten in response, a silent and unrelenting reassurance that the male would not allow her to fall away from him. 

When they finally reach the street, Azriel lands on the cobblestones with confident, practiced ease that seems as natural as the breathes that leave his chest.

Her feet on the ground, Asteria heaves in a relieved breath, allowing herself to release the iron clasp grip she’d had around Azriel’s neck. 

The Shadowsinger keeps a hand on the female’s back, the warmth of it reassuring, strong, and steady as some of his shadows flood into the cracks of a now boarded up window. The same window that had completely shattered when an arrow meant for Asteria sprung through it earlier that day. 

By impulse, Asteria’s gaze flicks up to the wall the archer had been poised atop of. She can hear the thwang! Of the bowstring releasing, the roar of the arrow soaring towards her. She can feel the centuries old killing calm flood over her, the calm beating of her heart over roaring adrenaline. A death blow. At least, it would have been if she hadn’t snatched it out of midair. 

Now, in the dim light of night there’s nothing visible to her. No one besides the Shadowsinger. 

It’s safe, the Realm around her nothing but silent. 

A silence that’s laid to rest when Azriel uses his dagger, an elegant blade he’s revealed to her as Truth-Teller, to aid him in prying off a the boards covering the window.

As soon as they’re loose, the dark haired male rips the boards loose, gently setting them aside before stepping into the shop with a light-footed ease that must have come with his centuries-long career as the Spymaster of the Night Court. 

“This feels criminal,” Asteria whispers with a playful smile, taking Azriel’s hand when he offers it to her, helping her past a remnants of broken glass as he clears it away with his boots. She doesn’t need the help, she’s proven that much, but it’s the kind of gesture that makes her heart pound a bit harder in her chest. A gentleness she’d forgotten a long time ago. 

“That’s because it is.”

“Oh, good,” Asteria snorts, “I was starting to think breaking and entering was strictly an Erilean crime.”

Azriel looks at her over his shoulder wearing an amused smile so brightly delightful that it warms the entirety of Asteria’s being. 

The Shadowsinger was often unreadable, but when he smiled…

To say the sight is devastating would be the understatement of the century. 

Asteria can’t help the breath that leaves her, not even able to comprehend what he’d said to her, and in order to recover and hopefully avoid Azriel taking notice of the effect he has on her, she clears her throat and sets her focus on the very thing they’d come here for. 

The pianoforte. 

Settling onto the bench, Asteria smiles to herself, removing her gloves and running her hands over the smooth, polished wood that covers the ivory keys beneath. The greedy side of her wants to lift it and play until the joints in her fingers ache and she can’t sit up straight. But the rational part of her, the one that had been screaming for her to be cautious since she fell from the sky, speaks up.

“What if Murry hears?” Asteria finds herself asking, a nervous feeling suddenly gnawing at the pit of her gut. 

Azriel’s brow quirks up, and he moves to sit on the bench beside the silver-haired female, his massive form more apparent than ever on the small seat, “He won’t.”

“How do you know that?”

“He lives in an apartment across town, and he doesn’t have any security wards in place. He has no way of knowing we’re here,” Azriel explains, “We’re fine, Ria.” 

All the questions, all the caution in Asteria’s mind quiets. Any thought wondering how he knew where Murry lived after a single encounter dancing in the square, how she’s supposed to play for him without alerting anybody, or when Azriel had even checked for wards slips from her mind.

Maybe it’s the nickname, or how he looks down her with a gaze so soft that she could cry, but Asteria realizes two things at once. Two things that are so simple, but also so world shattering that for the second time in only a few moments, the female loses her breath once again. 

The first; She trusts Azriel, wholly and completely. 

And the second; for the first time in a long time, Asteria has found something, someone, who makes her happy. 

It’s the trading of secrets beneath a glorious night sky, and seeking him out in every room she walks into. It’s early morning training and a mischievous glint in hazel eyes before taking off in flight. It’s splitting a bottle of wine and shadows calming building panic. It’s freedom. It’s rediscovering music, and dancing in a square with strangers. It’s sneaking off into the dark to play a piano. 

It’s her reality. She could be happy here. In Prythian. She could be happy with Azriel in her life. With the court she’d fallen into. 

Her thoughts pulsing in her mind, Asteria doesn’t even realize she’d opened the piano’s cover until the fingers of one of her hands are pressing down on ivory, the chords she unconsciously chooses filling the air with a joyous sound. Bright and warm, like being bathed in sunlight. 

Catching herself, Asteria pauses, unable to keep from smiling, blinking away the happy tears that had snuck up on her.

Unfortunately, Azriel notices.

His arm curls around her back, and the silver-haired female allows herself to lean into the Shadowsinger, releasing a breathy chuckle when a shadow swirls around her fingertips.

“What’s wrong?” Azriel asks, frowning.

“Nothing,” Asteria says, beaming up at him and quickly wiping at her eyes, “Absolutely nothing. Anything you want to hear?”

The concern doesn’t leave Azriel’s gleaming Hazel eyes, but he does give her another mischievous smirk, “Do you know anything from this Realm?”

“No,” Asteria grins.

“Then play me something from yours.”

Humming in agreement, Asteria thinks for a second. It had been so long since she’d played that she doubts she’d even remember any of the pieces she’d written. 

But then, a memory slinks forward. 

It had been the day she’d showed up at Aelin’s warehouse apartment, much to Rowan and Aedion’s discontent, but Aelin didn’t mind. She’d been welcoming. She wanted Asteria’s raw, unrestrained power on their side. 

More than that, Aelin recognized Asteria’s name. 

Not as a part of the Cadre, not as a warrior, but as a composer. 

Asteria had dreamed up a composition that Aelin had been obsessed with, and the Heir of Terrasen wanted the piece written down. 

Asteria had obliged, and promised to one day play it for the blonde female, but she never got the chance before Maeve cast her out on that damned beach.

So, straightening her spine, Asteria closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and she starts to play. 

Last time, earlier that day, Asteria had been tentative, almost scared to press her fingers down onto the ivory. 

But here, now, whatever had held her back had been killed and left behind in the dust. 

The silver haired female plays with vigor, attacking the keys the same way she strikes with a sword; with the precision that only came with decades upon decades of practice and training. 

The melody thunders through the instrument, the music rising and swelling only to fade when Asteria commands it to, the highs and lows that make this piece so complex. 

It’s something she’d written so long ago, a gift to the male she once believed to be her mate, and for a while it was only his. That is, until he’d encouraged her to turn it into a symphony. 

Then, the piece had been played all over the continent, and then beyond. And Asteria’s name became associated with something other than Maeve, other than violence. 

Asteria Relridaar’s first act of defiance against the Queen she served. 

Focused, Asteria lets the passion pour from her, directly from her soul. Her entire body alight from the music in her mind, soul, and heart. Each press of the keys encourages the next, beckoning to her through the centuries of blood and pain and guiding her to a different path. To a new reality. 

The one she lives now. Free. Happy. 

Her soul, the deepest, most loveliest part of her, the one where her music comes from, shines. 

The piece comes to an eventual end, and when it does, Asteria slowly opens her eyes, lashes fluttering as she eases out of the trance the music had put her in, finding herself surrounded by light. 

All around her, small beads of magic, each one glowing like a small sun, hang in the air in every direction, some in front of her, some up high near the ceiling. 

In the soft glow that surrounds them, Asteria looks over to Azriel, finding his hazel eyes gleaming, seemingly glowing in the light of the magic, and a small crease between his brows, his mouth parted.

“You…” He trails off, voice a bit more hoarse than the last time she’d heard it, “You are magnificent.”

Heart thudding against her sternum, Asteria tries to catch her breath, his words igniting something deep within her soul that had been cold for so long that she’d forgotten about it completely.

She opens her mouth to speak, Azriel’s dark, mysterious beauty now completely overwhelming. 

So overwhelming, that when his gaze briefly darts to her lips, Asteria’s toes curl in her boots, and she finds her mind completely consumed by nothing but the scent of mist and cedar. 

Asteria lets herself shift closer to him, feeling Azriel’s hand that hadn’t left her back shift down to her hip, tugging her closer. 

He slowly inches down, hazel eyes carefully watching Asteria, as if expecting her to startle, or to bolt away faster than he’d be able to follow. 

But she can’t. She doesn’t even know how it would be possible for her to do anything else than melt into the solid male beside her. 

Azriel’s forehead rests against hers, warm breath fanning against her face while the knuckles of his other hand slowly graze the edge of her jaw, stirring up a warm, frenzied feeling in her stomach, like a swarm of butterflies taking flight for the first time in a century. 

Feeling her own hands trembling, Asteria peels them from the piano, tentatively running her hands up Azriel’s chest and feeling the way he sharply inhales at the touch. 

She leans up, letting her eyes flutter shut as their lips brush, just slightly, just enough for every nerve in Asteria’s body to ignite. 

A pleasant burn that only blazes hotter when Azriel’s hand slides into her hair, gently tilting her head back to a better angle, one that he needs.

Asteria knows she has no right to touch him, to crave him like the very air she breathes, and yet she finds herself doing both. And when he puts his mouth on hers, kissing her as though she’s something to treasure, she recognizes the taste of him, like he’d been made just for her.

Azriel’s lips are soft, and he tastes like mint and sugar; A taste that Asteria already knows she’ll never get enough of. An addiction that will never be fully satiated. 

Barely in control of her own body, her self-control long abandoned, Asteria’s hands travel upwards, her fingers sinking into Azriel’s thick, dark hair, the strands soft against her hands. 

Azriel lets out a low noise from the back of her throat, sending a tingle up Asteria’s spine. 

Slowly, as though it takes everything in him, Azriel eases away. A new flush of colour tinting his cheeks and the tops of his ears pink, and Asteria is absolutely certain her face mirrors his. 

Asteria tries to find something to say, only to find herself so giddy, so in disbelief over what they’d just done, that she can only manage a grin before she’s hiding her face against Azriel’s shoulder, hearing his low chuckle rumble through her bones. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” Asteria asks after a long beat, her voice rasping in her throat.

“Please.”

“Earlier, when you asked if I missed you while you were away…” Asteria says, pulling away from Azriel so she’s able to look at his face, “I-I did. Miss you, I mean.”

His eyes shine with something Asteria can’t place in the soft light around them, “I owe you a secret in return.”

“I guess you do.”

“I missed you too, Asteria.”

Asteria feels heat burn her cheeks, a result of their kiss, or his molten gaze threatening to make her melt right where she sits, she isn’t sure.

Just then, there’s movement in her peripheral vision, and with reflexes like an asp, Asteria whips her head towards it, only to find a wisp of shadow curled around one of the smaller beads of magic that surround them. The shadow doesn’t balk, or cower from the light, and the light doesn’t dissipate, or shred through the darkness. 

The shadow whips around it curiously, harmlessly. 

Like a dance. 

The sight makes both Azriel and Asteria chuckle, the sound drawing the shadows attention, making it dart to the female and excitedly whirl around her long silver braid, were it stays, seemingly unable to leave her. 

“We should probably go,” Asteria says, mentally trying to find any excuse to stay in the small music shop for a few moments longer.

Azriel looks down at her, a brow quirked, “We can’t.”

“We can’t?”

“No,” The Shadowsinger says, his wondrous smile gracing his lips yet again, “Not until you teach me that piece.”

Asteria can’t help but match the male’s expression, “We may be in for a long night then.”

“I sincerely hope so.” 

—-

The Shadowsinger and the Realm Reader return to the house of wind after hours pressed shoulder to shoulder on a piano bench, Asteria teaching Azriel the music of her heart, and him picking up on it immediately. 

She had been completely surprised by the Illyrian male’s talent. His long fingers struck the ivory keys of the pianoforte with a deft familiarity that pleased Asteria to no end, and made her soul sing a long forgotten hymn. 

They’d been surrounded by music, beams of light and whisps of shadow, while they stole moment after moment in what felt like their own reality. A space, a place in time that belongs only to them. To a few more stolen kisses in empty music shops. 

It’s all Asteria thinks about when Azriel lands in their late night meeting spot, her entire body tingling with anticipation and two simple questions;

Will he kiss her again? And will he take her to bed?

Feet meeting the earth, Asteria’s hands linger around Azriel’s neck, his warm palms coming to rest at her waist. 

But before anything can be said, a throat clears. 

The sound jolts both Asteria and Azriel, the pair of them stepping away from each other in an instant, turning to face the one that had alarmed them. 

Elain Archeron. 

“Asteria,” The doe-eyed female greets, a kind smile on her lips, “I’ve been waiting to speak to you.”

Suspicion seeps into Asteria’s most primal instinct, and she can’t keep her brow from raising, “About?”

“Az, if you could give us a moment,” Elain kindly requests. The female is in her dress from earlier in the evening, long sleeved and soft pink, a few floral embellishments along the skirt covered by a warm looking jacket, like she had actually been waiting outside for quite some time awaiting the other female’s return. 

The Shadowsinger nods, warm gaze connecting with Asteria’s for a long beat, a soft smile on his lips when he reaches for her hand, giving it a warm squeeze before he heads towards the house, nodding to Elain when he moves past her and inside. 

As soon as the door snicks shut behind him, Elain’s smile doesn’t drop, but something in her gaze becomes more serious– more severe. 

Asteria marks the shift, and crosses her arms across her chest, preparing herself for whatever the middle Archeron has to say. 

“Rhysand bought a piece of land by the River,” Elain begins, “A solstice gift for Feyre. A place for her to build them a home of her own design. It’s all quite lovely, really.”

Asteria’s eyes narrow, “I’m sure it is.”

“My sister, the High Lady, asked me if I’d like to plan out the estate’s garden.”

“That’s quite the honor.”

Elain’s head tilts thoughtfully, “It is, isn’t it? There is, however, an unfortunate issue.”

“Which would be?”

“I can’t bring myself to plan a garden for a land that’s rotting away.”

The warmth that had been alight within Asteria disappears completely, instead, dread runs up Asteria’s spine. She inhales deeply, fists clenching.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Elain continues, “I don’t know much about you, just what Feyre has told me, which is that you are the only person with the magic capable of healing the realm. I’d hate to watch the land my sister’s Mate bought for her wither away because of a strange female’s irresponsibility.”

Asteria’s words are ice-cold when she speaks, “Believe me when I tell you, I take the well-being of your realm very seriously.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“If you did, I believe that your every free moment should be spent preventing the destruction of-”

“Stop talking,” Asteria suddenly grits out, Elain halting completely from the venom filled voice of the Realm Reader, “From what I understand, your immortality is new to you. Mine is not. I have spent three of your lifetimes learning the rules and laws of nature and magic in my own realm. I did not choose to be here, but I am. I do not have claim to any power, or magic, or trust from this realm. It’s complicated, but I’m trying. I’m learning. I’m doing what I can, so I do apologize if this magic that you don’t understand isn’t moving at a place that you’d like.”

Elain’s once kind smile deepens into a frown, large brown eyes boring at Asteria as the silver haired female takes a couple steps towards her, continuing, “This is beyond you, Elain. It may even be beyond me, but I swear to you that I’m trying.”

Standing within arms length, Asteria watches as Elain’s spine straightens, and she lifts her chin, a look Asteria recognizes immediately; It’s Elain drawing up her courage. Something Asteria can pick out so clearly, because she’s done it a million times herself. 

“What about Azriel?” Elain asks. 

Asteria’s brows furrow, “What about him?”

“He’s had a difficult life.”

“I know that.”

“I’m sure you think you do,” Elain snaps, something Asteria suspects is a rare thing for her, “He’s been through a lot, far too much to explain, and now, after the war, I think we can agree he’s deserving of something… Gentle.” 

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that you’re a jagged edge,” Elain states, “And not what he needs.”

A jagged edge.

The words hit Asteria like a punch to the gut, but she doesn’t show it. She refuses to. She doesn’t get fire back, because if she does, it would be hard to stop. 

She can’t imagine the Court would be so accepting of her if she slaughtered the High Lady’s sister exactly where she stands. 

Roping in her anger, and the rage slowly starting to burn inside her gut, Asteria takes a deep breath and starts tunneling rapidly into her well of power. 

“Hm,” Asteria hums, feeling her eye twitch before she meets Elain’s gaze. The Archeron female flinches at her stare, which Asteria takes as her own small victory, “Plan your garden, Elain.”

“What?”

“Plan your garden,” Asteria sneers, knowing exactly what she’s about to do while moving past the female and into the House of Wind, hearing the greetings of the inner circle, but not stopping to return them. 

Asteria moves through the house until she finds the staircase.

When she’d first woken up after her fall from the nigh sky, Rhysand had given her a tour of the house she’d be staying in, explaining that the two ways out of the estate were either by flight, or by ten thousand stairs.

With the rage building inside of her, and her focus spinning deeper and deeper into her own magic, ten thousand seems small. 

As she descends, Asteria mutters angrily to herself; harsh curse words and the middle Archeron sister’s name spilling out in the fleury of vexed rambling as she heads down, down, down. 

By the time she reaches the ground, Asteria’s legs burn like they did when she first started training as a child in Doranelle, her stomach flips uncomfortably, but she doesn’t care. Not when she hits the bottom of her well of power. 

Gritting her teeth, Asteria stalks towards the woods, pushing hard against the barrier of her own magic, trying to find what had been there before Prythian and finding nothing. 

She doesn’t stop trying, though. Walking deeper into the treeline she slams again and again into the bottom of the pit, trying to crack the ground, dive through it– anything. But coming up with nothing. 

Still, Asteria doesn’ falter. 

Finding herself surrounded by trees, the only sound around her being the clicks from insects and the occasional rustle of tree branches in the winter wind, Asteria sinks to her knees. 

Ripping her gloves off of her hands, the female sinks them into the earth.

Then, the Realm Reader rips her magic up from the bottom of the pit. She latches onto it with an iron grip, tearing it upwards and through her before plunging it into the Realm. 

Elain had been wrong, Asteria isn’t a just a jagged edge, she’s bloody knuckles and layers of scars. She’s more than that– She’s a blade. 

A blade that had been forged in fire, beaten again and again, and honed to perfection over the centuries. A fighter. A blademaster. The most powerful fae in all of Erilea. 

She knows it. It’s time this Realm learns it too. 

When the Realm’s voice comes through, no doubt to dismiss the female, Asteria silences it. 

She brings her magic down fiercely, and without mercy, feeling it spread out beneath her. The light burns, singing her hands as the Realm tries to reject it, but Asteria doesn’t care. She grits her teeth, pushing harder, faster– Relentless.

Feeling the surge of energy, Asteria shouts, feeling herself already beginning to tire, to burn out completely. 

So she keeps going. 

The light floods from her, deeper and deeper into the core of the Realm before whatever had been keeping her at bay, whatever had been resisting her, snaps completely. 

Screaming, Asteria watches a web of light beneath her dart out in every direction, disappearing further than she can see before a single beam of light shoots up from the earth and into her chest. 

Asteria is silenced by the bone shattering pain that explodes into her chest, the ache flowing upwards into her skull and past her mental shields as though they were made of a single thread. 

Her memories, the most painful ones, play out in her mind’s eye. She sees herself swearing her life to Maeve, to the bloodshed she’d carried out in the Queen’s name. She sees the moment she was handed over to Cairn in front of the entire court. 

It’s this moment, this excruciating sting, that Asteria knows what’s happening. 

Someone is in her head, walking through her life, just as she’s done to so many others. 

“No,” Asteria manages to grit out, reaching into her well of power for more magic, just a drop more, enough to stop this as reels of her own torture play out before her, “No!”

With a cry, Asteria whips out the last bead of her magic, the light making itself a blade and plunging into her own chest, severing the connection with a final burst of light that echoes out beyond the forest, shaking trees in its wake.

Gasping, Asteria falls face down into the singed grass, her ears ringing and limbs feeling like they’ve been filled with lead. Her heart beats erratically, and she’s barely able to draw breath into her lungs. 

At the edge of consciousness and something unfamiliar, Asteria thinks of her home. She thinks of Erilea. Of the forests and caverns she’d explored and the friends she’d once made. All the things she’d lost.

Before she fades, there’s a voice in her head that she doesn’t recognize. 

I understand now, it says, Where no High Lord or Lady would ever return, I will be waiting.   With the silence that follows, Asteria plunges into icy darkness.

-----

Taglist; let me know if you'd like to be added!:)

@bionic-donut @hollyismentallyillhelp @younxii @feyretopia @hideing @eat-cake @warzaines @brekkershadowsinger

Let me know what you think, and if you have any predictions about what happens next!:)

[pascalmode]

In The Stars (7 - The Bloodshed)

Hi! It's been a while! I haven't written Asteria in a long time and was randomly inspired for her today. I missed her. I hope you did too. I hope you enjoy.

Az x TOG!OC

Words: 2.9K

Warnings: Violence, blood, gore, and a lack of Azriel (the man is busy sneaking around somewhere but he'll be back in the next one so no one worry).

For a long time, two complete centuries, Asteria dreamed of freedom. And now that she has it, what to do with it evades her. 

Days and nights meld together, a handful of them passing in a quiet, yet impatient peace, the entire court still waiting to hear back from the High Lord of Summer regarding their request. 

The silver-haired Fae had slipped into a routine, rising early in the morning to train with the two Illyrians, then meeting with Rhysand for hours on end. The male and female would meet in the office where she’d been introduced to the rest of the inner circle and pour over literature that the High Lord would request from his library. 

Thick tomes of Prythian’s history; fierce battles between courts and the passing of lordship from one to another, records of naturalism that could probably be considered ancient by now, and anything else that may help her connect with the new realm that constantly rejects her. 

Of course, Rhysand would come and go from the room to tend to his Mate, who would grace them with her presence long enough that Asteria looked forward to her visits. The High Lady is someone Asteria effortlessly admires, only hoping that Feyre would say the same about her. 

Following the intense study, Asteria would retreat to her room for some much needed solitude before dinner, which is more often than not shared with the entire inner circle. Jokes would be made, and wine shared among a group that continuously chooses one another with each passing day. 

Asteria would sink into the shadows that always welcomed her, feeling like an imposter despite their desire to rope her into the conversation. 

When the meal would end and darkness would follow, Asteria would head outside after having longed for the stars relentlessly while the sun had been out. She’d sit and admire the night sky, wondering if one of the brilliant stars up above could somehow lead her home. Back to what she knows. To Erilea.

Then, like clockwork, Azriel would join her and she’d no longer find herself thinking about what she left behind. 

Instead, they’d talk, they’d laugh, and they’d indulge in one another’s secrets as though they’d been friends for as long as they’ve existed.

He’d quickly become a comfort to her, so her disappointment is ocean-deep when she retires for the night, lucky if she’s greeted by a dreamless slumber. 

Each day looked like the last, and when Azriel had suddenly disappeared for an assignment from Rhys, Asteria suddenly felt restless; as though her entire routine had ceased to exist.

Finding herself walking along the cobble-stoned sidewalk alongside the Sidra, Asteria allows her solitude to look different underneath a cloudless sky. Rhys had offered to fly her down to the city, since he and Feyre where heading down for some much needed time together after spending the entire morning apart, and Asteria took him up on the offer. 

She’d gotten a tea from the shop Azriel had taken her to not long go, and began mulling over what she and Rhysand had read earlier in the day about a seemingly infinite amount of traditions that take place in each court. 

The female familiarizes herself with the streets of Velaris, taking in the beauty of the community surrounding her. The fae couples strolling by arm in arm, vendors making sales and chatting politely about their products, and the laughs of friends catching up at a nearby cafe. 

It’s all beautiful. But none if it as attention catching as the music store she spots near the edge of the city, near the walls that wrap around Velaris. Asteria heads toward it without ever deciding to, simply craving something familiar. 

When she heads through the door, a bell chimes overhead, and Asteria breathes deeply, inhaling the scent of the viola’s varnish and spotting them lined up on shelves along the walls. There are sections for drums and percussion, others for strings, another for flutes and reeded instruments, all of which Asteria longs to hold in hand. 

But then she spots the pianoforte in the corner, poised by a large bay window that lets in gleaming natural light, and it’s as though nothing else exists. 

Moving to the instrument, Asteria lets her gloved hands move affectionately over the polished wooden cover that hides the ivory keys. 

Slowly lifting it, Asteria’s breath hitches at the sight of her beloved piano. Her comfort in the highest of stress. The female thanks whatever gods landed her in this strange world that it exists. 

“Asteria?”

Eyes darting up, Asteria quickly withdrawals her touch from the instrument like a child caught stealing sweets. 

When she finds Murry, the Fae she’d danced with in the square, she softens, “Hello,” She says, “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“In my own store?”

“This is yours?”

Murry shuffles nervously, walking over and settling on the other side of the pianoforte, “My father’s. I manage it.”

“It’s wonderful,” Asteria honestly says, “I’m envious of you.”

The words make an easy smile cross Murry’s youthful features, he sets his hands on the piano, “Do you play?” He asks. 

“I did, seems like a lifetime ago.”

“Then you should consider yourself lucky that music never ages,” Murry thoughtfully says, motioning to the exposed keys, “Give it a try.”

Nodding, Asteria shoots her companion a small smile before easing onto the bench in front of the instrument calling to her. 

The position is one she knows, one that she’d dreamed about for decades stacked upon decades. When she gently sets her fingers on the keys, it’s as though she’s greeting an old friend. 

Pressing down in a few bars of scales she learned as a child, the sound that echoes through the room is sloppy, and discordant. It brings a memory to the front of her mind. 

Hundreds of years ago she’d been sat at a piano just like this one, shoulder to shoulder with darkness personified. 

Lorcan Salvaterre. 

They’d been shoulder to shoulder, legs pressing against one another with his large hands splayed on the keys after interrupting Asteria mid-composition, which she which she couldn’t bring herself to be upset about. 

He’d sat down, and Asteria took it upon herself to teach him the basics of the craft she holds so close to her heart. It’s only right that he learns, considering he’s her muse. 

Lorcan wasn’t good at it by any means. His large hands would consistently hit the wrong keys, and the sound that came out of the piano would make her cringe, then laugh. How could she not? Her Mate trying to hard to please her, and failing spectacularly. 

Eventually they’d ease up from their seats, Lorcan taking Asteria to bed and loving her in the only way they’d ever really known each other. The smiles faded, replaces with moans of passion and lust filled grips on the other until there was nothing left between them but a hollow space. 

Ultimately they’d been wrong in thinking they were Mates, but the sound of hitting the wrong key, the wrong note, always makes Asteria think of Lorcan. A lasting memory from a life long since passed. 

Pausing, and allowing herself to slow down, to take a deep, calming breath, Asteria tries again. 

She moves through the scales like water coursing through a stream, confidently, and without hesitation. The piano obeys each of her commands, the erupting sound finally pleasing, and suddenly so real it’s almost tangible to the female who controls it. 

When she stops, the silence is so sudden that Asteria feels as though it had struck her in the chest. 

“You know your scales,” Murry remarks, snapping Asteria further into reality.

The silver-haired female shrugs, “They’re easy to remember.”

“Play something challenging, then.”

Asteria regards Murry tentatively, her gloved hands still resting on the ivory in front of her, “Any requests?” She shyly asks.

“Just that you play me something real.”

Nodding, the green eyed fae lets herself sit with what Murry’s asked. Something real. Asteria had been a composer before she’d been much of anything else. She knows music. She knows which notes compliment each other, and which ones provide a challenge when they’re struck. She knows how to expertly weave a melody from nothing. 

So, with one more breath, Asteria plays. 

She presses down on the ivory lightly, quietly, like a predator who’s just spotted its prey and is ready to begin the hunt. 

The music is slow, and when it starts flowing there is no stopping it. Realizing this, Asteria closes her eyes to try and understand it while it escapes her. 

The melody is slow, and winding. Almost lonely. It’s trying to find it’s own place, longing for something, or somewhere to call home. A yearning for something that has yet to exist. 

Minutes pass, and the music builds in a way that makes Asteria understand that the predator was never what she thought it was. Instead, it’s the prey. Noble sound fighting for its life, building into something more frantic. Desperate. Imperfect. 

Not in a way that is unpleasant, but in a way that makes Asteria wonder what she’d encountered, what she’s trying to express in a makeshift song. Imperfections that make more sense than anything else. 

A ballad of someone who has made mistake after mistake, but is still fighting. Still breathing.

When the final key is struck, the chord lingering as though it’s hesitant to end, Asteria lets out a sigh of relief. As though she’d finally grown warm after a lifetime of freezing. 

She’d played music again. And it had sparked something so wondrous in her that she can’t help the grin that overtakes her, her hands covering her smile in disbelief. 

A smile that quickly fades as a wave of unease drifts in. 

Asteria doesn’t know where it comes from, but it’s enough that she can’t hear what Murry is saying to her. 

A prickle on the back of her neck, like someone is watching over her shoulder. 

Something is wrong. 

Instincts suddenly gone haywire, Asteria bolts up just in time for for the window she’d been sat beside to shatter. A lethally sharp black arrow wedges into the piano bench where she’d just been sitting. 

A snarl leaves Asteria’s lips, and a deadly, familiar calm settles. She growls for Murry to run, barely registering him moving out the front of the store because she’s already heading through the open window. 

The glass cracks further under her boots, and Asteria’s sight settles on the wall that surrounds Velaris, not far ahead from Murry’s shop. 

There, standing squarely on top of the barrier, is an archer robed in black, new arrow nocked. 

With a twang! The weapon shreds through the air towards her. But it doesn’t matter. Asteria is ready for it. 

She snatches it from it’s path, stopping it before it can imbed itself where her heart thuds against her chest. 

The action makes the archer falter, and she can smell his fear as soon as it hits the air. 

Not wanting to waste another moment, Asteria darts forward towards the wall, snapping the arrow head from its vessel as she does. 

Leaping up, a blast of her magic propelling her up, Asteria twists and hurls the arrow head with all of her might, hearing a satisfying gurgle as it strikes true, directly into the neck of the Archer, sending him toppling backwards over the side of the wall he’d perched on. 

Asteria follows, the both of them landing on the other side, but only one still breathing. 

Raising her head, she’s surrounded.

A semi-circle of masked, black robed males look upon her from all sides, a couple more archers, a few with their swords raised, and one with two handheld daggers. Ten of them in total. 

Asteria reaches for a sword that isn’t there. Clenching her fists, she lets them remain by her side. She won’t need it. Not when the fight starts. 

Eyeing each of the men, marking where they are and who poses her the greatest threat, Asteria smirks, “You can run,” She croons out, “but I assure you, you’ll just die tired.”

Before they can blink, Asteria is moving. 

They let out a loud battle cry, the archers releasing their arrows only for Asteria to dart behind one of their own, the one closest to her, using him as a human shield. 

The arrows sink into his chest, and he screams, dropping his sword directly into her waiting hand. Without releasing him, Asteria drives the long blade inbetween his ribs, a sickening crunch resounding when she yanks the weapon free.

Taking up a reverse grip on the sword, which is almost to heavy for her to do so, Asteria dances to the next male, swiping a set of arrows out of the air as she does. 

Keeping her momentum, Asteria whirls, her blade ruthlessly sliding through flesh and bone of the one with the daggers, his blood spraying into a mist that no doubt gets into her hair. 

When he falls, Asteria uses a beam of golden magic to pick up the discarded blades, sending them both deeply into the foreheads of the archers. 

Four down. 

Two of the swordsmen move towards her at the same time, one clearly swinging high, and the other low. Asteria huffs, ducking under a blade and driving hers into the earth to meet the other and halt it’s momentum with a clang!

Kicking out, Asteria’s foot connects hard with one of the male’s knees, earning a loud, sickening crack! As the joint shatters. 

A scream fills the air, and the male begins to fall, only for Asteria to wretch her blade free from the earth and spin, her slice meeting his neck and separating his head from the rest of his body like a hot knife through butter. 

Arms are suddenly on her shoulders, wrenching her backwards before they’re wrapping around her throat in a strong chokehold. 

With her air faltering, an involuntary gasp leaves Asteria. She grabs onto the arms, dropping her blade. 

But not without purpose.

Channeling her light, Asteria focuses on the heat of it in her touch, driving it up as far as it’s willing to go, her gloves igniting and burning up into nothing but ash.

The man holding her lets out a bloodcurdling scream, releasing her completely while the scent of blood in the air mixes with burnt flesh. Holding a hand out, magic still flaring, one of the daggers loosens itself from the head of an archer, flipping end over end to her waiting palm. 

Turning, Asteria viciously slashes at her assailant’s throat, the spray of blood errupting from his wound and onto the silver-haired female’s face, and down her chest, darkening the midnight blue tunic she’d opted for that morning. 

Calmly, Asteria turns to face the two remaining males, her mind silently calling out to Rhysand while she eyes the ones who remain; the one whose sword had swung lowly at her, and the other, who looked so pale, and so afraid, that Asteria smiles. 

Without a word the female hurls the dagger she still holds into the male that had swung at her. The blade digging into the center of his throat in a flash of light so quick that he was hopeless to defend against it. 

“On your knees,” Asteria commands with a ice filled voice, noting how the masked male, the only male left, trembles as she approaches, starring at her unwounded, blood coated form as it stalks towards him.

He complies, his breath shaking with each rapid exhale. 

“Who sent you?” She asks, the killing calm that had invaded her mind slowly ebbing away. 

“Are you going to kill me?”

“That will depend on who sent you,” A voice from behind cooly states. 

Turning, Asteria spots Rhysand, his face a picture of beautiful indifference. Feyre stands by his side, sneering at the enemy down her nose. 

Relieved that she hadn’t called the High Lord for nothing, Asteria positions herself behind the remaining assailant, one of her hands yanking the male’s hood down only to harshly grab his dark hair, her other hand ripping off his mask and settling beneath his chin. 

A hold to snap his neck at the first que from the High Lord and his High Lady. 

“Our bloody friend doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” Feyre says, removing her gaze from the male to nonchalantly inspect her perfectly manicured nails as though she doesn’t care what happens to the stranger. 

“I-I can’t say,” The male shakily gets out.

Rhysand’s expression doesn’t change, his hand raising to pick an invisible piece of lint from the sleeve of his coat, “I don’t recall giving you a choice,” Night filled eyes find the green ones standing across from him, “Asteria?”

Nodding to the High Lord, Asteria draws her magic into her palms yet again. She pushes it into the male, shoving it past weak mental shields like a sword striking through wet paper. 

Seeking the truth, Asteria shuffles through memory after memory of an unhappy life spent below. A different city in the Night Court. Harsh parents, an even harsher mentor. Then, instructions. For this. To kill the very female watching his memories flicker through her mind’s eye. 

But who gave the order, she can’t see. 

Gritting her teeth, Asteria delves further, only for the same result. He doesn’t know. Whoever orchestrated what they wanted to be an assassination is completely faceless. 

Withdrawing her magic and coming back to herself, Asteria shakes the male’s life away from her own, and with a jerk and a sickening crack, Asteria snaps his neck.  

He falls to the dirt, lifeless, and Asteria brings her eyes to Rhysand’s, who is waiting expectantly. 

“He didn’t know,” She deadpans. 

“So he wasn’t lying,” Feyre utters, “He was just an idiot.”

“Seems that way,” Asteria nods. 

“Are you alright?” Rhysand asks, watching as the silver-haired female wipes the blood from her mouth with her sleeve. 

“Yes,” Asteria says, taking a second to examine the gore surrounding them as she catches her breath, “Though I may have gone a little overboard.”

“The decapitation?”

“I can admit it; that may not have been necessary.”

“Seems perfectly justified to me.”

Asteria looks to Feyre, who shifts he gaze from her mate to the blood covered female, “You did what you had to do. Let’s just hope this is the end of it.”

----

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added):

@bionic-donut @hollyismentallyillhelp​ @younxii @feyretopia @hideing @eat-cake @warzaines

[pascalmode]

In The Stars (6 - The Music of Velaris)

The beginning of this one is angsty, but hopefully the second half makes up for it. Send me a message and tell me what you thinkkk! or any questions you have! ily! have a good day!

Az x TOG!OC

Words: 4.6k

Warnings: Asteria has a panic attack, descriptions of anxiety and existential dread, very negative self talk, a little angst followed by a lot of fluff, mention of maeve (srry).

“Any progress?”

Asteria opens one eye, peeking up at the High Lord where he stands beside her, night blessed eyes gleaming and kind, his posture relaxed even with his hands clasped behind his back.

“No,” Asteria bluntly responds, kneeling on the frozen Sidra River that runs through Velaris, her bare, scarred hands chilled to the bone where they’re pressed onto the ice, magic alight under her skin and glowing brightly in the daylight. 

Rhysand hums, mulling over the blunt word, “So it is not the location that’s discouraging the Realm.”

Asteria clenches her jaw, the Realm’s sneering, cruel words rattling around her brain.

‘You are nothing. You do not belong here. You are not my Realm Reader.’

Gulping, Asteria pulls her magic back within her, rising to her own two feet and wiping her cold, wet hands on her pants, “No, it’s not location. It’s me.”

“We could try it from the top of Ramiel,” Rhys suggests, holding out Asteria’s brown leather gloves for her. She takes them, hastily shoving her hands into the warm confines of the material, “Maybe the mountain-view will put the Realm in a better mood.”

“I don’t think I’m that lucky,” Asteria mutters, beginning to shuffle towards the edge of the canal, the High Lord following her lead, “It’s not the location, the Realm barely acknowledges me, and when it does, it’s telling me to fuck off.”

“So no positive progress,” Rhysand concludes, stepping up onto the ledge with ease and offering Asteria a gentlemanly hand to help her up. 

Taking it and allowing the High Lord to pull her up off of the frozen river to the snow dusted cobblestones, frowning at him in the process, “Have you heard back from the Summer Court?” She asks. 

“Not yet, Tarquin seems to be taking his time with our request,” Rhysand drawls, leading Asteria up to one of the many bridges that connect the halves of the city that the river runs through, “We’ll call a meeting when his reply comes through to make a plan.”

“Is this High Lord not your ally?”

“Our relationship has been–” Rhysand pauses, leaning a hip on the edge of the bridge as he searches for the right word, Asteria halts in front of him, “-Complicated, as of late.”

Asteria hums, nodding her head. 

Complicated wouldn’t do. Her existence is complicated enough. Being here, a stranger in a Realm that wants nothing to do with her, and tasked with something dauntingly impossible; to heal that very Realm from its own damages. 

The more she speaks to the Realm, hangs on its every word as it refuses and degrades her, the more Asteria feels discouraged. Unlike herself. Unable to comprehend how she’d gotten here. 

In Erilea, her home, she had more raw, unbridled power than she knew what to do with, and the few years of her life where she had her own freedom, Asteria knew no challenge. Realm magic can do anything, and so can a fully realized Realm Reader. 

That’s not what she is in Prythian. All she is in this Realm is a female with a shallow well of power. Power of truth, and of light. 

Asteria knows it would never be enough, not to save this world from itself. 

Without the trust of the Realm, she’s useless. 

Asteria turns away from Rhysand, resting her elbows on the bridge’s railing, her fingers suddenly shaking with a familiar fear that she tries to shove down before it shows itself to the High Lord by her side. She wrings her hands, trying to distract herself from her own heart hammering against her ribcage. 

“Can I ask you something and have you answer it honestly?” Asteria questions, looking to Rhysand, who lowers himself to mimic her posture on the railing, giving her a nod, “When you saw me falling that night, why did you save me?”

The question makes Rhysand’s chest deflates with a long sigh, his dark features accentuated with the violet tones of night under the sun of the day, and he looks more thoughtful than Asteria had ever seen him, as if he’s carefully choosing his words. 

“I saved you,” Rhysand begins, voice soft and full of breath, “Because as soon as you entered this Realm, I could feel your pain. It was deep, and hopeless, and something I am unfortunately very familiar with.”

Asteria bites the inside of her cheek, taking her eyes off of Rhysand, unable to look at him while he speaks, and instead directing her gaze to the frozen Sidra that they’d just been standing on. 

“I had felt that kind of pain before, in myself, in my mate, and in each member of my inner circle,” The High Lord continues, “It is a harsh, lonely kind of pain, and when I looked up and saw you entering our Realm, about to fall into the next, I stopped you. I couldn’t rid myself of the thought that if what you were feeling was so familiar, that maybe, just maybe, you’d be one of us. And you’d need our help,” Asteria meets Rhysand’s eyes once again, “When I looked in your head and discovered just what you are, I realized we may need your help more than you need ours.”

“What if you were wrong?” Asteria asks, frowning, feeling nothing but discouraged in her own ability, “What if I can’t do this?”

“Then we figure out another way.”

There is no other way, Asteria wants to scream. But she stays quiet, offering Rhysand a small smile that is probably more of a grimace than anything else. 

The High Lord claps a hand on her shoulder, standing up straight and beginning to rattle on about Velaris, and the parts of the city Asteria would enjoy, or the politics of Prythian Courts, or even about his and his Mate’s activities from the night prior. Asteria doesn’t know. She isn’t listening. 

She’s staring down at the frozen Sidra, trying to keep her breathing steady. 

The longer she’s here, the more she realizes how useless she really is to the healing of the Realm. Rhysand’s faith is misplaced, it has to be, because if she was really meant to save Prythian from its own ruin then the Realm wouldn’t be rejecting her the way it is. She wouldn’t be stuck, confined, in her unfamiliarly shallow well of magic. 

She’s going to let Rhysand down. She’s going to let down Feyre and Azriel and the rest of the inner circle. 

She won’t be enough.

The thoughts raging through her make her breaths shallow out, enough that Asteria has to focus to stand up straight, her palms sweating underneath her gloves. Rhysand’s words are muddled out, overtaken by the sound of the heavy, fast beating of her heart rushing into her ears. 

They may be outside in in the dead of winter, but Asteria feels uncomfortably warm, every part of her starting to heat up, walls of her own mind crumbling down around her. Trapping her. Crushing her. 

She won’t be enough.

The words rattle around her brain, everything she wouldn’t be able to do for this group of people that had shown her so much kindness since she quite literally fell into their lives. That’s the worst part, they are giving her so much, and there’s nothing she can do for them in return. She won’t be enough. 

Asteria wrings her own hands to the point of pain, trying to bring herself back into her own head, to calm down and breathe when suddenly, a shadow finds her hands, slowly swirling around them, as if analyzing her actions to figure out just what she’s doing. 

A little surprised, Asteria lets her hands relax, stopping the wringing and watching as the wisp of shadow seemingly becomes satisfied with itself, slowly wrapping around her arm, and moving upwards behind her shoulders and down the length of her long, tightly braided silver hair. 

Asteria follows it with her eyes as best she can, watching as it returns back to the very male that the shadows belong to. 

Azriel’s concern isn’t masked, his hazel eyes intense when she turns to face him. So intense, that Asteria barely registers that he isn’t alone until the unfamiliar female is already approaching with her arms open. 

Asteria has a split second to register her name, Elain; soft and feminine, matching the female perfectly, before she’s wrapped in a tight hug. 

Arms tense by her side, Asteria’s heart doesn’t falter in its frantic beating, an overwhelming floral scent invading her nose and pushing her senses even further to their limit. 

Remaining rigid, Asteria can’t help but hate this. She can’t stand being touched unless it’s by someone she knows and trusts. 

It’s a relief when Elain steps back, a kind smile on her face as Rhysand introduces Asteria, the words muffled by Asteria’s screaming mind. So much, that all she can manage to do is give what she hopes is a polite nod. 

Another shadow reaches out to Asteria, and she forces herself to look at Azriel again, and actually take in what’s happening around her. 

She finds the shadowsinger as hauntingly beautiful as ever in the scaled armor he’s worn each time she’s seen him, and in his hands he holds a few shopping bags. His massive wings are tucked in tightly, and his shadows are whirling around him in their usual fashion, a few of them wafting out towards Asteria, as if concerned for her. Maybe they have reason to be. 

The female beside him, Elain, looks so soft, and feminine, just as Asteria had thought moments ago, that everything about the silver haired female suddenly feels too harsh, too severe. Like even her name is odd and grim in comparison. 

“Rhys, would you mind taking Elain back to the house?” Azriel asks handing his bags to the High Lord under Elain’s confused gaze, his low voice cutting through Asteria’s racing thoughts like a hot knife through butter. His concerned eyes find hers again, “Asteria, I want to show you something.”

Then, in the blink of an eye, Azriel is ushering the silver haired female away, his hand on the small of her back and wing stretched around her. 

Just as quickly, as if her body had recognized him, she relaxes, her heart rate slowing as Azriel guides her through the streets of Velaris.

—

“Are you alright?” Azriel asks, handing Asteria a steaming cup of tea that he’d purchased from a cafe a few doors away from the bench he and Asteria had settled on. 

Asteria takes the paper cup from him, savoring the warmth that bleeds through her gloves and into her palms, “Yes,” She says, watching the male as he sits close to her, taking a second to get his wings settled over the back of the seating. Asteria is a second away from suggesting they go somewhere else when Azriel finally gets comfortable, both his thigh and shoulder brushing Asteria’s, “Thank you.”

The Shadowsinger gives her a small smile, the concern still in his gaze as he looks down at her while she sips the hot tea, “Does that happen often?”

Asteria swallows, the pleasant herbal taste sticking in her mouth and the warmth spreading through her, “Does what happen often?”

“That kind of….”

“Panic?” Asteria finishes, saving the Shadowsinger the trouble of finding the right word, “Not before the last hundred years or so, but yes. It happens more often than I’d like.”

Azriel hums, nodding, looking towards the street corner, watching the other fae heading from shop to shop, some laughing with friends, others with determined gazes and places to be. 

Asteria stares up at him, suddenly curious about the Shadowsinger’s watchful gaze, “How did you know?” Asteria asks, bringing his observative hazel eyes to him.

He considers the question his arm extending to the back of the bench behind Asteria, “I didn’t. Not really,” He answers, “You just looked like you needed a friend.”

“Is that what we are? Friends?”

“What else am I supposed to call the only person who knows that strawberries disgust me?” Azriel asks, smirking. 

Asteria snorts, amused, while looking up at Azriel with a tight lipped smile, “You should know, I’m not very good at keeping friends.”

“Well, I’ve dealt with Cassian and Rhys for the past five centuries,” Azriel says, tone light, “I’d say you’re in good hands.”

Asteria hums, sipping her tea once again, “And what’s the key to friendship, my dear Shadowsinger?”

“There are very few secrets between friends,” Azriel says with a sly smile.

His expression makes Asteria roll her eyes in an exaggerated manner, extremely amused with the Spymaster and his desire for the unknown, “Of course you say that.”

She knows Azriel can see it, see how much he’s entertaining her, clearing her head without even trying, especially when a new, intriguing, glint of mischief enters his simmering hazel eyes, “What? It’s true.” 

“You just want me to tell you all of my secrets,” Asteria accuses, hiding what could be a smile behind the rim of her cup, taking a long drink of tea and watching as Azriel shrugs, no trace of denial to be seen. Asteria lowers her cup, leaning a touch closer and playfully sneering, “Greedy male.”

Azriel mimics her, leaning closer until their faces are barely a couple inches away, one of his shadows sneaking past him and curling around the end of her braid as he lowly utters out, “Captivating, mysterious female,” With a smirk resting on his lips.

Asteria can feel each of her tense muscles softening from the Shadowsinger’s nearness, making her mind race. No one, not even the Hellas-following male she once believed to be her mate, had such an easy effect on her. It’s almost as if her body recognizes him and is waiting for the rest of her to catch up, a warm feeling budding in each part of her, especially her lower region. 

The silver-haired female swallows, crossing one leg over the other and squeezing her thighs together in what she hopes is an inconspicuous manner as she clears her throat, “Which of my secrets do you want now?”

“Only the most important ones,” Azriel says, leaning back and giving Asteria the room to breathe again, “What’s your favorite color?”

“Oh, that’s personal.” Asteria answers quickly, earning a low chuckle from the male that pleasantly rumbles through her, “It’s always been green. What’s yours?”

“Blue.”

“Obviously,” Asteria says, reaching up with one of her hands and tapping the blue gem on his chest, “What are these? Is it a secret?”

The hand that isn’t resting on the back of the cold, metal bench wraps around Asteria’s, making her breath hitch as he lowers them to her lap, releasing her to show her the crystal on the back of his hand, identical ones on his chest, shoulders, and knees, counting seven in total, “No, not a secret,” Azriel says with another chuckle, “They’re siphons.”

Asteria raises a brow with a subtle curiosity, quietly urging him on.

“To put it simply, siphons are used by Illyrians, like Cass and I, to channel magic.”

“Do all Illyrians have them?”

Azriel shakes his head, “Only the powerful ones.”

“Do all of the powerful ones use seven?”

“No. No one else has enough power. They’d be lucky to use more than one.”

Asteria lets out a low whistle, suddenly impressed with the male beside her, one she never would have guessed to hold such raw power if he hadn’t told her. He moves too gently, and carefully to be carrying a level of power so severe. 

Seven. Seven siphons to channel his magic. 

Asteria remembers the red shield she’d run into just before her first encounter with Cassian, and how his crimson siphons flared brightly at her. It sends a shiver down her spine. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t piss off Cassian as much as I do,” Asteria mumbles, still thinking about the dangerous gleam of the crystals.

Azriel breathes deeply, that easy smile still gracing his features, “He’s harmless.”

“So then you’re the one I should be afraid of?”

“No,” Azriel answers, “Friends don’t fear each other.”

Unable to help the playful scoff that moves up her throat, Asteria looks over to the Shadowsinger with a smirk on her lips, about to speak when she’s frozen by the sound of a fiddle streaming through the air.

Automatically, Asteria turns her head to a street corner just a few feet away, a blue haired fae female tapping her booted toe to a upbeat tune she shreds out on her instrument, a male with insect’s wings launching into a complementary melody with a fiddle of his own just a moment later, their delightful song filling the square. 

Blindly, the silver haired female taps Azriel’s chest with the back of her hand, unable to take her eyes off the performers, “Az? Did you know they’d be here?”

Asteria doesn’t look at her companion as he grips her gloved hand, giving it a contented squeeze before releasing it, making her feel warm, “I wasn’t lying when I said I had something to show you. They perform here every night.”

The pair of fiddles build further, the counter melodies mixing and blending and challenging one another as the musicians come face to face, grinning as they get to a certain point of the song, slowing the tempo for a fraction of a second before launching back into it, making Asteria even more delighted. 

“You really love music, don’t you?” Azriel asks, thoughtfully. 

“More than anything else,” Asteria says, as if it were automatic. She turns back to the Shadowsinger, feeling as though she’s vibrating from her own excitement, “I played the fiddle, among other instruments, but preferred the pianoforte. I used to be a composer, too. For a hundred years the Doranelle Orchestra used to play my symphonies, and they were picked up by the companies in Adarlan and Terrasen. But that was before-” Asteria stops, her breath hitching and a familiar sadness flooding over her chest despite the addictively upbeat tune raging around her. Her voice goes quiet, “That was before.”

Before Maeve decided to take the music away completely, and put a ban on all of Asteria’s work.

The green eyed female takes a deep breath, letting it fill her lungs and rejoicing in the feeling that comes with it, and for the first time since the door between worlds was thrust open, Asteria reminds herself that Maeve, that horrid, cruel queen isn’t here. She doesn’t exist in Prythian. And Asteria may have left a war behind, but she also freed herself, completely and truly. 

Yes, at one point Maeve had taken music away. But Prythian gave it back to her, and Azriel led her to it. 

“Do you want to just sit and listen?” Azriel asks, softly, able to recognize her dampened mood.

Asteria remembers when they were at Rita’s not long ago, a different group of musicians playing something completely foreign to the otherworldly female. Azriel had asked her to dance then. Until now, turning to look at him, feeling as though she may start crying joyous tears at any second from the epiphany of her own freedom, Asteria didn’t realize how much she was hoping that he’d ask her again until a question moved past his lips.

There isn’t a doubt in her mind she’d say yes now, and she can’t help but wonder if he’d do the same. 

“No, actually. Would you like to-”

“-Dance with me?” Asteria and Azriel are snapped from the small, seemingly private bubble they’d put themselves in by the voice of an unfamiliar male.

Looking up, Asteria finds the male to be young, probably having just Settled, with a hand outstretched. He looks nervous, fingers trembling just slightly, but also kind. Long, sand coloured hair and dark eyes waiting expectantly for her answer with a slight grimace. 

“Dance with you?” Asteria repeats, looking from the strange male back to Azriel, who has both brows raised, the shadows swirling around him seemingly darker, thicker than hey were a moment ago. 

The stranger gulps, nodding, “People are- are, uh, starting to-to do it. To dance, that is. Would you? With-with me?”

Looking past him, Asteria sees that couples had in fact started to make their way into the square, dancing excitedly to the music from the pair of fiddlers, grins on each face and sparks of joy in each set of eyes, bodies moving in time with the melody. 

A little closer, there is a trio of young males that draws Asteria’s attention, staring at them. Snickering. Mocking the male in front of her’s posture, and jostling one another with conniving, rude expressions. 

They’re making fun of him, and Asteria immediately hates them for it. 

“What’s your name?” Asteria asks, bringing her eyes from the group to the lone male in front of her. 

Gulping, the stranger answers her, “Murry.”

“Well, Murry, my name is Asteria, and I have to tell you that I’m not a very good dancer,” Asteria says, handing her half-full cup of tea to Azriel, who takes it without being told to, “But if you know that, and you’d still have me. I’d be honored to dance with you.”

Murry’s grin spreads across his face in an instant, “Really?”

“Really,” Asteria nods, putting her hand in his, only to be eagerly tugged to her feet by the sandy haired male, her lips parting to release a startled yelp as Murry all but drags her to the square.

Looking over her shoulder, suddenly questioning what she’d gotten herself into, she sees Azriel watching her intently and smiling from ear to ear. The sight punches her in the gut, catching her off guard and making her stumble over her own feet. 

Before she can right herself, Murry is sweeping her into the line of dancers with a hand just above her waist and her hand held firmly in his. Asteria puts her hand on his shoulder, trying to keep up with Murry and the rest of the crowd as they bound and twirl in a seemingly organized formation, her eyes glued to her feet, trying to get it right. 

It only takes a few moments for Murry to playfully tell her, “You really weren’t lying.”

Something overtakes her then. Perhaps the upbeat music embedding itself into her blood, or the fact that she knows that group of males from earlier may be watching, but Asteria can’t help the genuine laugh that bubbles from her when her companion mocks her dance talents, “I warned you!” 

Murry doesn’t falter, however, instead, he quietly lets Asteria know when to turn, and when to take larger steps, and when he’s going to release her, only to spin her out and bring her back in, a smile on his face the whole time. 

The song thunders through her, fiddles giving her the other ques she needs to fall fully into the dance, confident in her moves, so much that when she looks over Murry’s shoulder to try and catch Azriel’s eye, she finds he’s not there anymore. Her still-steaming tea sitting lonesome on their bench. 

She doesn’t have time to frown, though, because when Murry turns her again, she catches sight of the Illyrian Shadowsinger fully engrossed in the dance, smiling down at a smaller, old female between his arms. 

Asteria’s heart clenches at the sight, warmth radiating through her down to her very soul. She doesn’t get to savor it, though, because the song ends, and the Fiddlers stomp their feet twice, and without a word, Murry steps away. 

Barely a second later, an absurdly tall creature with green skin that feels like leather, big hands and a wide jaw sweeps Asteria off her feet as a new melody begins. 

Just when she’d gotten a hand of the dance, she’s suddenly forced to do it in reverse, cursing under her breath with a chuckle, this partner’s movements more suave than Murry’s. He moves automatically, barely giving Asteria a moment to second-guess herself, his lead almost domineering. 

Looking around the circle, Asteria finds Azriel dancing with a raven haired nymph, his gaze finding hers over the head of his partner, smiling wide.

The Fiddlers stomp their feet again, and Asteria is nearly knocked over by a red headed fae with crisp blue eyes and fast feet, seemingly moving in double-time with the music. 

Like magnets, Asteria and Azriel find each other’s eyes again, and they both laugh, Asteria feeling ridiculous while the fae whisks her around the square with a showmanship like no other.

The music crescendos, the beat carrying on steadily as they switch partners again, another stranger in front of Asteria, and Azriel getting closer and closer as if he’s trying to rush towards her as he sweeps through partners.

Asteria craves him through the song, feeling it in her bones as it builds and builds, her feet keeping time beneath her as she’s brought into the arms of a new partner.

After that, it’s a dark skinned nymph.

Then Murry again. 

She wishes it were Azriel. 

A shadow whisps around her braid, and a new fae male spins her wildly. 

He’s followed by a tall Urisk, Azriel finally just a partner away.

The Fiddlers stomp their feet again, and Asteria’s heart leaps wildly in anticipation.

She steps into Azriel’s arms at long last, and the music abruptly stops.

Panting, her chest heaving, Asteria looks up at Azriel. His hands burn at her waist, the heat of them bleeding through her tunic and into her skin, making her entire body feel as though it’s on fire. 

Asteria feels her cheeks warm, knowing they’ve definitely tinged themselves pink at his nearness. She smiles up at Azriel, broad and without restraint, unable to do anything else as the crowd around them erupts into applause for the musicians that had hold up their instruments, finished performing and beaming with joy at the dancers they’d entertained. 

Azriel’s grin falters, mouth parting slightly as Asteria takes a hesitant step back, almost unsure to be moving away from his embrace, clapping and cheering with the rest of them. She eyes him suspiciously, afraid that she’d done something wrong, as his throat bobs with a swallow, one of his wings twitching before he joins the applause with her. 

Asteria nudges him with her elbow, the shadow that had found her during the dance swirling around her wrist for a few more moments before returning to its master, and the silver haired female can’t help but laugh. 

Just an hour ago, she wouldn’t have pictured this for herself. Dancing in the heart of Velaris, the city of starlight, with complete strangers, reveling in unexpected, wonderful music, enjoying herself. 

But she’s here, it’s all because of the male beside her. 

Azriel finds his grin again, and Asteria’s nerves settle when he waves to the old lady he’d begun the dance with, and Asteria decides that she’ll remember this night, a part of her soul that she’d long forgotten existed sparking to life as she takes him in. 

She’d remember how his very presence brought her out of a dread-filled panic and how his hands felt on her waist. She’d remember the burning delight in Azriel’s eyes that was meant just for her, and she’d keep it all to herself. A thing of private beauty.

He had given her something truly valuable this night. Something Azriel had been right about when they’d first sat down on the bench by the Sidra. 

She did need a friend, and she’s glad it was him.

---

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added)

@bionic-donut @hollyismentallyillhelp​ @younxii @feyretopia @hideing @eat-cake @warzaines

[pascalmode]

In The Stars (5 - The Secrets)

Hiii, let me know what you think of this, i'm very proud of it:')

Az x TOG!OC

Words: 3.1k

Warnings: a little angst if you squint, mentions of scars, mentions of cairn, mentions of torture, azriel and asteria having an actual conversation??????what??????

The cold had never bothered Asteria, in fact, it’s what she’d always preferred. 

There had always been something she found comforting about the stillness of a freezing, winter night. Like she’s the only person left in the Realm. 

She hadn’t always liked being by herself, but she had gotten used to it over the centuries. Asteria had driven herself mad in isolation enough times that she had to bring herself back. She’d gotten good at it, and now, whenever she’s surrounded by people Asteria finds herself craving the comfort she’d found in being alone. She likes it.

After returning home from Rita’s Asteria had slipped away from the Inner Circle, who insisted on continuing their revels with a bottle of Rhysand’s most decadent wines. Cassian, a stumble in his step, had gotten a hold of a butter knife, reverse grip, and had been trying to imitate Asteria’s moves from earlier in the day on a loaf of bread. 

Quietly, Asteria made her way outside, snow crunching under her boot as she moved around the grand home, finding herself a quiet patch of snow covered grass in the yard beyond the training ring and sitting down.

A soft wind wraps around her and lifts the pieces of silver hair that had freed themselves from her braid, her neck craned up so she can look at the infinite night sky above her. When she’d woken up, trying to escape the very house she now has a room in, she’d been stunned by the view of glorious night. But she hadn’t been able to take it in then, Rhysand quickly distracting her with an offer of safety.

Asteria didn’t know it at the time, but she’d been longing for another glimpse at the stars. She wanted to count them, and for a few minutes she’d tried, only to give up almost immediately, overwhelmed by the amount of them, as well as their sheer beauty.

The Realm is captivating in every aspect, but Asteria remembers what it had said to her when she first let her magic surge into it; I am not yours. You are not mine.

She had let too many people down over the course of her immortality, she doesn’t want to add more to that list. She would make this Realm trust her, and she would prove to Rhysand that she is more than what he’d seen behind her shields, and more than the assassin the Shadowsinger somehow knew she once was. 

Asteria raises a bare palm, glove held in her other hand. Her magic gathers there in a golden, shimmering ball of light, whisps of it fanning out in different directions. An easy flick of her wrist sends the magic around her hand, and she shifts it between her fingers before she gently lowers it to the earth, the glow of it simmering through the snow before it disappears into the ground, her fingers coming in contact with the grass.

‘You are not mine,’ The realm sneers, the voice in Asteria’s head just as harsh as it had been before, but somehow weaker, like it had lost strength since the last time it had spoken to her.

Asteria sighs, “I know. You’re not mine either.”

‘You do not belong here.’

“I know that, too,” Asteria mutters quietly, her fingers stinging with the cold of the frozen earth, “You’re hurting, Rhysand says the war made you sick.”

‘The High Lord of Night knows nothing. He shouldn’t have brought you here.’

Asteria’s brows furrow, “What do you mean he brought me here?”

‘You were falling,’ The Realm says, ‘The High Lord’s power slowed your descent between worlds. He saved you,’ There’s a pause, ‘I would not have showed you that same mercy.’ 

The silver-haired female doesn’t flinch at the harsh words, she sinks her magic deeper, prodding it to grow where it cannot be seen, “I don���t want your mercy. I want you to survive.”

‘That is none of your concern.’

“That is my only concern,” Asteria gently whispers, “Like it or not, I want to help you.”

‘You are not my Realm Reader.’ 

Shaking her head, Asteria allows her fist to clench, withdrawing both her hand and her magic, the light moving beneath her skin back to the well within her that she’d pulled it from.

Asteria had faced cruelty before, two hundred years of it consecutively, and she’d earned her thick skin, no matter how many scars it bears. 

But facing this strange Realm is different. Her entire life her home world had been kind to her, and loved her. Every time she’d wanted her immortal life to end, her Realm had coaxed her off the ledge. It had given her direction, and purpose. It had always been steering her in the right direction with a hand on her shoulder since she was a child. 

Without that warm presence, that well of power, and most importantly, that relationship, Asteria can’t help but feel a different kind of loneliness than what she’s used to. It’s as if she’d been plunged under frigid waters with nothing above, below, or around her. The cold seeps into her, and no matter how hard she swims, she can’t move. 

She’s sinking, and no one is around to save her. 

Asteria is huffing out a warm breath into the numbing skin of her bare hand when she hears soft footsteps in the snow behind her.

She stiffens, turning to see Azriel a few feet behind her, a blanket hanging over his arm, and an open bottle of wine in his hand. 

Asteria had noticed his scars long before he’d approached her at Rita’s, but she hadn’t gotten a good look at them until he raised his drink to his lips. She didn’t care about them, she’d know better than anyone that scars don’t define someone. What she is interested in, however, are the gems that he and Cassian always seem to be wearing. 

“It’s cold out here,” Azriel says, his own way of greeting.

Asteria looks up at him, his height making her cran her neck all the way back, “I don’t mind it.”

Nodding, Azriel tosses the blanket aside, “Guess I brought this out for nothing, then. May I join you?”

“Sure,” Asteria says, her eyes finding the night sky just because she knows that if they didn’t, she’d stare at him until the sun rose with morning light.

A few moments of silence pass between the pair, and she can feel Azriel’s intense gaze on her, “Wine?”

Nodding, Asteria reaches out with her gloved hand, her bare one tucked under her leg. Her finger’s brush Azriel’s as she takes the bottle, and despite the barrier of the leather between them, she still can’t help her shiver. Or maybe it’s the cold finally rattling her. 

She brings the opening to her lips, taking a long sip before offering it back to the male, and when he takes it, one of the shadows that seemingly always surround him zips up her arm, and excitedly darts to her hair, swirling around the length of her braid to earn a gasp from her before moving back down her arm and returning to Azriel. 

Asteria’s eyes are wide when she meets Azriel’s, who shares her expression, “Does that happen often?” She asks, a light chuckle punctuating her question.

Seemingly bewildered, Azriel shakes his head. He wasn’t expecting it either.

“No,” Azriel says, after a moment, clearing his throat, “They don’t usually react to much. Sorry.”

Asteria waves off the apology easily, and she takes special care of inspecting the shadows surrounding the male like whisps of black smoke. They peer at her from over his shoulders, a few of them stretching out, almost like they’re reaching out to inspect her before shrinking back to Azriel. Curious things. 

“Do they sing to you?” Asteria can’t help but ask, watching as Azriel takes a swig of wine.

He swallows, shaking his head.

“So, you sing to them?”

“What if I told you there’s no singing involved at all?”

Asteria huffs out an airy laugh, the corners of her lips involuntarily turning up into a ghost of a smile, “Then I’d tell you how deceptive your name really is, Shadowsinger.”

“What about you, Realm Reader?” Azriel asks, offering her the wine again with a teasing smirk, “Who reads to who?”

“The name is literal, I read the Realm,” Asteria says, taking a long gulp of the wine before sighing, “Although this one doesn’t seem to want me to.”

“No?”

“No,” Asteria says, drinking from the bottle again before handing it back to Azriel, “Before you came out here, the Realm was just telling me how it would rather me be dead than talking to it.”

“Sounds like a delightful conversation.”

“Truly riveting,” Asteria says sarcastically, her tone light, a result of the wine she suspects. It changes in an instant, though, a frown suddenly on her lips, “I don’t know how I’m going to make it trust me.”

Azriel’s hazel eyes gleam at her when she looks at him, and she swears she can see the idea as soon as it occurs to him, “Have you tried telling it a secret?”

She feels one her brows quirk itself, a habit of hers that she’s long past trying to break, “A secret?”

“You know, something you’ve never told any-”

“I know what a secret is, Azriel,” Asteria scolds, narrowing he eyes and making the winged-male chuckle to himself, “Why would I tell it a secret?”

“Secrets have a way of making you vulnerable,” Azriel says lightly, truly honest, “People, or I guess Realms, trust vulnerability.”

Asteria hums, reaching out and snatching the wine bottle from the Shadowsinger, “I think I’m vulnerable enough.”

“Why’s that?”

The silver haired female can’t help the smirk from her lips, “It’s a secret,” She teasingly utters, taking a long swig to punctuate her sentence, trying not to break out into a grin when Azriel smiles, chuckling at what she’d said.

“Well, secrets are my specialty, you know.”

“What are you implying, Spymaster?”

Azriel shrugs, holding his hand out for the quickly emptying wine bottle, and Asteria takes another drink before handing it over to him, “I’m implying that I’m good at keeping secrets, and if you want to-”

“What? Practice? Tell you all my secrets?” Asteria asks, searching for some semblance of a joke on the Shadowsinger’s face, but she doesn't find any. He’s looking at her, his smile fading and face holding the serious expression he always seemed to carry, one not far off from her own, “You act like secrets are free.”

“Aren’t they?”

“Of course not,” Asteria says, “Nothing is.”

“What do they cost then?”

Asteria considers the question, thinking carefully about her wording, “Equal trade-off, an exchange.”

“A secret for a secret?”

“Seems fair to me,” The silver haired female looks to the bottle of wine, and she lets herself look over Azriel’s scars, ignoring the feeling of his eyes on her face as she does. She swallows before speaking, “If I give you one now, you would have to grace me with two. I told you a secret earlier tonight.”

The male nods, the wing closest to Asteria twitching before falling still yet again as he recalls what she’d told him when she was suddenly overcome by the presence of musicians and their instruments, upbeat melodies erupting through her core, “Two hundred years without music. What was it like?”

“I hated every second of it. But that is not the secret I want to share with you,” Asteria says honestly, ignoring her own trembling as she removes her hand from where it had been tucked under her leg, slowly using it to remove her other glove. 

Her movements are slow, her own breath hitching as she takes off the brown leather, setting the gloves in front of her with care, suddenly feeling as though she’d crumble beneath the heaviness of Azriel’s gaze. 

“This is,” She whispers, lowly, showing him her hands. 

Hands that are just like his. 

Her pale skin is covered by ragged, fierce burn scars. They extend to the tips of her fingers and disappear under the sleeves of her tunic. Some of the first scars she’s received from Cairn. They were his favorite. Each time the healers saved her, reset the canvas for the sadist fae male to paint red again and again, Cairn made sure to thoroughly burn her hands. Each and every time. He couldn’t get enough, and Asteria is filled with shame because of it. Shame, because she was his plaything.

Azriel’s gaze feels scorching as he hesitantly reaches towards her, his own marred hands gentle as he flips one of her wrists, examining the patterns permanently embedded on the pads of her fingers 

Despite sitting in the cold, his skin is warm, and Asteria feels as though she might break out in a nervous sweat when Azriel brushes his thumb over her palm.

When he speaks, his voice is a heavy, low whisper, nearly a growl, “Who did this?”

“His name is Cairn. He’s a torture-master and a goddamn sadist,” Asteria mutters back, meeting the alight embers of Azriel’s hazel eyes, “We served the same Queen. I started to find ways around her orders, I defied her constantly, and she hated it. So, she gave me to Cairn when she didn’t need me,” Asteria pauses to breathe, hating the sting behind her eyes that comes with his name, “And he did this to me, again and again.”

Azriel doesn’t release her hands, his shadows having grown thicker, if possible. They make the night around them seem darker, as though her has the power to blot out each of the stars if he desires. 

A few of the shadows carefully dance around their joined hands, moving between Asteria’s fingers and around her wrist in a gentle caress. When they brush her skin, she can feel them, just slightly. The whisper of something tangible. 

Azriel’s face turns to a mask that Asteria can’t read, though she desperately wants to. She wonders if showing him was a mistake, if she should have kept this part of her hidden a little longer. But the talk of secrets, the looseness of the wine, the quietness of the winter night, and the very presence of a male she never wants to stop looking at makes her feel…. Safe, almost. Like the Realm is truly empty besides the two of them. Like for once, she doesn’t have to hold in the things that trouble her. 

Asteria is staring at Azriel’s impassive face, wishing that she hadn’t been the one to bring it on. When his mouth parts, she holds her breath.

“I didn’t see the sun until I was eleven years old, and when I finally did, I hated it,” Azriel says after a few moments, ending the heavy silence that had fallen between them. So heavy that Asteria thought she’d suffocate if it wasn’t broken, “Only for a couple hours. But still, I’ve never told anyone that when I first felt the sun, I wanted to go back to this dark, cold cell I’d lived in my entire life.”

“Have you felt that way since?” Asteria asks, her brows drawn down at her curiosity, every part of it directed to the fatally beautiful male in front of her.

Azriel takes his time drawing in a breath, and takes even longer exhaling, one of the corners of his lips drawing itself up, breaking the unreadable mask and making Asteria let out a relieved breath, “Not even for a second.”

“That’s quite the secret,” Asteria says, “You owe me another.”

He falls serious again, thought stirring in his mind, and Asteria wonders how many secrets the spymaster has, and how crucial they are. And she also wonders why she wants to hear each and every one of them fall from his lips. 

The Shadowsinger leans forward slightly, about to speak, and Asteria doesn’t know what to expect, what luscious knowledge he would share with her. 

“I hate strawberries,” Azriel finally deadpans, his voice dreadfully serious despite the slightest hint of mischief having graced a normally unreadable face.

It takes a second, but Asteria can’t help the bark of laughter that escapes her, one of the hands that the Shadowsinger had been holding flying up to her mouth to cover it, as if she’d been surprised the noise escaped at all. That was not the kind of secret she’d been expecting.

Azriel, seemingly proud of himself, chuckles, a smooth and low sound, and Asteria has to take a second to compose herself, quieting her laughter and putting a leash on her smile, smothering it down to a ghost of a thing. 

“Why strawberries?” The female finally manages.

The Shadowsinger shrugs, “I don’t know, I’ve just never liked them. Feyre’s sister makes this fruity parfait thing for everyone some mornings, and it’s mostly strawberries. I have to choke it down every time. I don’t have the heart to tell her I hate it.”

“Gods, you’re so brave.”

Azriel lets out a shout of laughter himself, shifting to his feet and standing, using the hand of Asteria’s he still holds to help her up as well, “It’s nice that someone finally knows, that’s been weighing on me for five centuries now.”

“An incredibly heavy burden to bear,” Asteria teases, smirking, “I don’t know how you’ve managed for so long.”

“Sometimes I don’t either,” Azriel says, finally releasing Asteria’s hand to bend down and pick up their near empty bottle of wine, the blanket he’d discarded, and the female’s leather gloves, “We should probably head inside. I heard Cassian mention early morning training.”

Asteria huffs out a breathy chuckle, “I’m sure the hangover he’ll have will convince him otherwise.”

Azriel smiles, tilting his head in agreement and taking a step back, giving Asteria an expectant gaze. A silent question about whether or not she’d be joining him. 

“You go ahead, I’ll head inside soon,” Asteria says, gesturing up to the night sky, “Stars like these should never be ignored.”

“Then you may have trouble ever sleeping in this court. They get better every night.”

Asteria sighs dreamily, “The exhaustion will be worth it, then”

The Shadowsinger nods, eyes gleaming in the dark, “Yes, I suppose it will be,” He says, reaching out and handing the silver haired female her gloves, which she takes and tucks under her arm, “Goodnight, Asteria.”

“Goodnight,” Asteria says with the tilt of her head. 

Azriel turns, heading back inside the house as the female turns her eyes back to the sky, the triumphant stars gleaming there, feeling a little less alone than she did before.

----

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@bionic-donut @hollyismentallyillhelp​ @younxii @feyretopia @hideing @eat-cake

[pascalmode]

In The Stars (4 - The Rematch)

Hello, hello! This is dedicated to @im-tired-please-stop because their support has been everything to me so far during this writing process. They always send me a kind message (hi, i love you). Let me know what you think of this, because it feels very different than what I'm used to writing. I LOVE YOU! ENJOY!

Az x TOG!OC

Words: 3.8k

Warnings: Sword fight, violence, drinking alcohol, and idk??? Maybe a bit sad??? Minor angst??? Find out, I guess.

Asteria cannot take her eyes off of the Shadowsinger. 

Even warming up next to Cassian on the training ring, stretching out her limbs and clashing a blunt-edged practice sword against one that Feyre holds, Asteria can’t seem to get her stare off of the winged male for more than a few seconds at a time. 

He’s so beautiful it hurts to look at him. The elegant and sharp panes of his face draw her attention, and the hazel of his eyes only make her want to inspect him further. 

More than anything, though, she’s curious. What even is a Shadowsinger? Rhysand hadn’t mentioned anything about Azriel’s abilities, but Asteria wants to know everything. She wants to know about the blue gems gleaming on his dark, scaled armor, and about the shadows peering at her over his shoulders, moving as if they have a mind of their own. 

She’s so fixated on them, that she almost doesn’t block Feyre’s practice sword as it jabs towards her abdomen. Asteria wards it off with late swipe of her blade, making her jaw clench. She needs to focus. 

“Not so good with a blade, are you?” Cassian taunts, a teasing smile on his face as he rests his own blunted sword upon his shoulder and saunters over.

Asteria lowers her weapon, ignoring the chill of ice-lined wind swirling around her as she turns to the absurdly tall male, “You sure love to hear yourself talk, don’t you?”

“I’m just saying, we can always lose the blades and even out the odds,” Cassian says, “Maybe it’ll give you an actual chance.”

“Right, because you had me pinned so quickly last time,” Asteria smirks, seeing her jab land when the winged male rolls his eyes, an amused smile growing on his face.

Cassian lets out a chuckle, his free hand perching itself on his hip, “How about a wager?”

Asteria’s brows raise, intrigued by the winged male’s words, and she gives him a nod, urging him to continue. 

“If I win, I get that sword you had on you earlier, and you apologize to me, Mor, and to the window that you needlessly shattered.”

“And if I win?”

“Then drinks are on me at Rita’s tonight.”

Asteria makes a show of taking a long inhale through her nose, and exhaling through her mouth; contemplating before she speaks. The reward is severely uneven, and Asteria is about to drive up the bargain, and hopefully amuse not only Cassian, but the rest of the Inner Circle, “So just to clarify; you want my mother’s sword, one that I’ve carried my entire life, my groveling, but all I get in return is wine?”

“Do you not like wine?”

“Oh no, I love wine, but it’s not enough,” Asteria smirks, “I’ll take your offer of drinks, for me and your Inner Circle, but when I win, I want you on your knees telling me that I am the most skilled fighter you’ve ever encountered, and whatever other flattery you can come up with.”

“Groveling for groveling?” Cassian repeats, earning a proud nod from Asteria, “Seems like we have a deal.”

“Seems like we do,” Asteria says, holding out her leather gloved hand. Cassian takes it, the rough callouses of his palms rubbing on fabric as he giving it a firm shake before he releases her.

A yell from the group of fae gathered at the sidelines of the mat make both of the fighter’s heads whip towards it, “Are we getting this started anytime soon? The wine is getting warm out here!” Mor calls, hugging her fur lined cloak tighter around her body.

Instead of putting her attention to the female, though, Asteria’s eyes find Azriel, finding his burning hazel eyes already scanning over her form. Her nerve endings fire, a tingling spreading over her entire body under his gaze. When their eyes meet, neither of them turn away. Hazel meets green and refuses to move anywhere else.

Asteria swallows her nerves, forcing herself to look back to Cassian as he responds to Mor’s taunts. 

“It’s winter! Stop hugging the bottle and put it in the snow!” Cassian shouts back, chuckling when the blonde responds with a vulgar gesture. The long-haired male turns back to Asteria, tapping his blunted, harmless sword against his palm, “We go until there’s a blow that would fatally wound, or one of us yields, got it?”

Asteria nods, taking a few steps back and spinning her blade at her side, Cassian mirroring her movements. 

They begin to move around the training ring, circling each other, eyes turning from playful and taunting to analytical and careful. Cassian is a General, Asteria remembers, and he’s had time to strategize since their last bout. She’d have to be more careful. She’d draw him out.

Asteria jolts forward a few steps, baiting the male into launching to her, his weapon raised. 

Cassian swings hard, his sword slashing down with a strong, two handed grip. Asteria ducks under it. She doesn’t make for a blow as she usually would, instead, she bats his advance away easily with her own blade, smirking as she does. 

Her smirk falters, however, when Cassian uses that momentum, turning bringing his sword into a high arch and bringing it down on Asteria in a fast, fluid motion.

She blocks it, and their swords clang together, the crisp noise ringing loudly through cold air. Asteria’s hand tightens on her hilt, and her free arm supports the steel of the blade, already sore from Cassian’s brute strength. 

Wrenching to one side, Asteria turns, sword swinging out and connecting hard with Cassian’s as he blocks. She pulls back quickly only to lunge forward again, trying to use her speed as an asset only for Cassian to parry the blow. 

The winged male lurches forward, drawing back only to repeat the action again and again without relent. His swings are strong, strategically placed. He moves like a soldier. Like the feared General of the Night Court Armies he’s known to be. 

He’s giving Asteria a good fight.

The silver haired female grits her teeth, growling as their blades clash together once again, the sound darting through the winter-chilled air. Cassian’s pure strength pushing Asteria back a step. 

Her arms are growing weaker by the second. With every swing of his blade Cassian is advancing on her, wearing her down. Asteria doesn’t have the muscle to take hit after hit, her arms vibrating from the impacts, as if the blows are echoing through her. But she’s faster than him. She’s proved that already. She just has to turn the fight in her favor.  

Cassian slices towards her again, and Asteria makes her move. Grabbing onto the General’s arm, Asteria pulls him forward. Ducking under his arm and kicking out, the female sends him tumbling forward, off balance. 

He whips around in a second, wings flapping once to help him regain his footing, and Asteria saunters towards him, making sure she swings her hips and draws arrogance into her steps as she switches her grip on the practice-sword. She holds the hilt in a reverse grip, and picks up her pace. 

Asteria wants Cassian to know that she’s taking control, and with the way he squares his stance, his lips pulled back in a silent snarl, she knows he hasn’t quite gotten the message. 

She’ll have to prove it to him the only way she knows how. 

Asteria darts towards Cassian before he can advance, catching him as flat-footed as he can be. Whirling around, Asteria spins as she engages the male once again, a growl ripping out of her throat. She attacks him with speed, and quick momentum. She bounces off of his parries and keeps swinging, and slicing, making him keep up with her. Her speed is the only advantage she has against him, so she’s put herself in an all out sprint of assaults 

The reverse grip she holds on her sword, the one Asteria prefers, is tricky. His blocks come with a new hesitation, as though he isn’t sure where the silver-haired female is actually going to strike. She’s making him rethink through his defenses. 

He’s trying desperately to regain the upper hand he once held, but every attack Cassian tries, Asteria turns against him. Each attempt to stop her momentum, to slow her down, falters, Asteria moving out of his reach like water through his fingers. 

She’s too fast for him, and Asteria knows she’s about to have him beat, just a couple more moves and she can use his own strength against him. Asteria manages to bat Cassian’s sword away, spinning and swinging for his chest, his throat. She’s thinks she’s about to win.

Until Cassian’s leg swings out in a desperate attempt to save himself and the match, and he trips her. 

Asteria doesn’t falter when she hits the mat, her mind telling her to movemovemove. Her head whips up as Cassian darts forward, and she kicks out, her foot hooking around his knee and pulling with all of her immortal strength.

Cassian falls back hard, laying out on the mat just as Asteria had for a split second, and much like their encounter the day before, Asteria is on him in the blink of an eye.

With no time to waste, Asteria rams the hilt of her sword into Cassian’s ribs and digs her knee into his chest, pressing her weight in to keep him down. 

Not yet defeated, Cassian swings his sword one last time, the blunted metal meeting Asteria’s forearm, held up to deflect the blow while she presses her blade into his throat, the both of them panting hard. 

The match is over. 

“You lose a hand,” Cassian lets out between labored breaths. 

“And you lose your head,” Asteria points out, pressing her harmless sword a little harder into the male’s neck, “I wonder what’s more important.”

“Depends on the hand,” Cassian smirks, and Asteria bites back her laugh at the crude humor.

From the sidelines, Rhysand, Amren, Mor, Feyre, and Azriel all cheer loudly, clapping their hands and yelling taunts to the General. They had been yelling the entire fight, constantly switching sides throughout. Asteria had barely noticed Rhysand calling, ‘Oh, it’s over for him now’ when Asteria took up her reverse grip on the blade. She’d been to focused on trying to slice through Prythian’s fearless General.

“You lose, Cassian,” The silver-haired female proudly says, pulling herself up to her feet, “Time for some groveling.”

Another round of cheers comes from the Inner Circle, and Cassian releases a dramatic sigh, raising himself up to his knees and holding his arms up in grandeur, drawing all the eyes around to him. 

“Asteria Relridaar,” Cassian begins, a delighted smirk on his lips, “Not only are you one of the most infuriating females I have ever encountered in my five centuries of existence, but you are also the most skilled fighter. You move faster than I can keep up with, and you have bested me twice. And I didn’t think it was possible, but you may be the only person to have better hair than me. I will forever be endlessly jealous. How’s that for flattery and grovelling?”

“It’ll have to do, won’t it?” Asteria teases, nonchalantly, offering the General her hand. He takes it, pulling himself up to his feet. The silver haired female half expects him to use the gesture to throw her to the mat and pin her to save a semblance of that fragile male pride fae are so well known for. He would never succeed, obviously, because Asteria was trained better than that, but it surprises her when he makes no such move. 

Cassian is sportsmanlike when he playfully claps her on the shoulder, and it feels so kind, so otherworldly, that Asteria stiffens. 

The female looks upon the group that had gathered, eyes lingering on the Shadowsinger for a moment too long before she’s clearing her throat, “I’ll see you all when it’s time for Rita’s,” Asteria hurriedly says, heart hammering in her chest as she moves away from Cassian and sets her practice blade on a nearby rack before hurrying back inside the house.

When she slams the door to her bedroom behind her, she tries to shake off the feeling of hazel eyes burning into her back as she fled. 

—

Since it was established a few hundred years ago, the Inner Circle had sought out Rita’s for excitement, a few good drinks, and a sense of comradery. There’s a booth always reserved for them, and bottles of their favorite wine and ale always on hand. 

Azriel always looked forward to nights spent there. It was the one place there were no spies needing his attention, no reports to follow up with, and where the shadows that are always dancing around him tend to relax, quiet down, just slightly. 

Sat on the edge of the booth, Rhys clamping down on his shoulder while he barks a laugh at something the Shadowsinger had muttered in response to an exaggerated story from Cassian, Azriel should be enjoying himself. He should be focusing on the words leaving Mor’s red-painted lips, as he usually would. Her mere presence should be absolutely gripping him from where she sits across from her.

But he’s distracted.

Truthfully, he’s the most off his game that he’s been in centuries, purely because of the introduction of the Realm Reader. The same silver haired female he can’t seem to pry his stare off of for more than a few moments at a time. 

He couldn’t read her. As the Spymaster to his beloved Court, Azriel prides himself for his observation skills. He watches from the shadows that always welcome him like an old friend, and often feels like he knows a person after a few moments. He’d proved that skill more times than he can count.

But not with Asteria. He can’t figure her out. 

She isn’t at their booth. She had been for a few minutes, chuckling along with the inside jokes Mor had shared with her during their first round of wine, but somehow never offering more than a small, crooked smile. She’d been enjoying herself, amused even.

But in a moment, it’s like a switch was flipped. Azriel had watched as something changed in her evergreen eyes, like a wall slowly being propped up, and she excused herself, lingering by herself at the corner of the bar instead. 

Even so, it’s as if Asteria’s presence demands Azriel’s attention, her green eyes, the shade of the evergreens that line the forests of the Night Court, are more careful than anyone Azriel had seen before. Maybe even more than his. As though she’s truly taking in and assessing every detail in the room, and had been since they arrived. 

Her posture is straight, her long, silver hair tightly braided and falling to the small of her back. She holds herself with a quiet dignity that only comes with centuries of training, and battle. Based off the lethal skill she’d displayed earlier, Azriel can’t help but admire the way she stands; Confidently, like she’s a mountain that no one can move. 

Why shouldn’t she be confident? She’d bested one of the most powerful Illyrians in history. She’s fast, and knows how to use a sword well. Outside of her fighting, her beauty is an elegant, dangerous variety. Tricky. Like she’d lure him in only to shatter him completely. 

Azriel’s eyes skim over her soft, feminine features betrayed by the slashing scars littered up and around her delicately long neck and collar bones, disappearing beneath her tunic. He’s curious if there are more underneath, and about the stories behind them. 

Most of all, he’s curious about why he finds himself unable to look away from her.

With his goblet suddenly empty, Azriel excuses himself from the booth, moving through the crows of both High and Low Fae, moving to the far corner of the bar.

Asteria doesn’t say anything when he stands beside her, his elbows leaning on the bar and shadows that were once settled waking up and screaming in his ear that she’s looking at him. Her scent wafts through the air, citrus and amber and something faintly woodsy he can’t quite place.

When she raises her cup to her lips, sipping her wine, Azriel notes how smooth the motion is. He thinks back to her battle with Cassian, remembering the lethal grace she’d moved with. She’d been sure of herself, the reverse grip she’d held on her sword acting as an asset to her speed and agility. Asteria had swiped at Cassian’s chest, and neck, deadly swipes if the practice blades were actually sharp enough to cause harm. He’d seen combat like that before on a few occasions from hired fighters. Ones that don’t end the match when their opponent yields.

“You fight like an assassin,” Azriel says, glancing over to the silver haired female to see her quirking a brow at him from over the rim of her goblet. 

She swallows before speaking, those dark green eyes of hers running over his face, that same careful observation he recognizes so deeply in himself, “Is that a bad thing?”

“Not necessarily,” Azriel quietly shrugs, “Are you an assassin?”

“I was. A long time ago,” Asteria breathes, looking away from Azriel and towards the booth housing his boisterously laughing friends, “I’ve been a lot of things since then.”

Azriel finds himself nodding, waving over the bar maid to fill up his cup, thanking her when she pours the wine and immediately taking a sip, letting the crisp taste flood through him, “What are you now?”

Asteria eyes him, her eyes lingering on the marred skin of his hands. He supposes that’s one of the worst parts, people notice, they ask, and Azriel has to tell the story again and again. He’s had females shrink away from his touch, and Illyrians up in the mountains make a point of mocking him about them. The scars don’t define him, but that doesn’t stop the shame that crawls up his spine when they’re mentioned. 

 “I don’t know,” She says her eyes finding his, almost hesitantly, as if she’s standing on uneven ground, “Being here feels,” The female pauses, her brows furrowing, “It feels like-”

Before she can continue, a strum runs through the air, and Azriel turns around, seeing that the house band that he’d gotten to know very well over the past hundred years they’d been performing had taken their place on a small elevated stage. 

The quintette starts an upbeat opening number, the beat of a lambskin drum coming in beneath the melody of two loots, the players facing each other with glee at the beginning of their performance, the other instruments; a pianoforte and a standing bass come in a moment later, their sounds full and complete as they mix together with familiarity.

Azriel looks back to Asteria, and what he sees almost makes him drop his cup.

The female stares at the band with a wonder-filled intensity, eyes lined with tears and lips parted. As though she hadn’t been prepared for the music, but the surprise was exactly what she needed.

“Are you okay?”

Gaze snapping back to the Shadowsinger, Asteria rushes to wipe at her wet eyes, nodding, “Yes, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Azriel says, trying his best to sound soothing.

“It’s just-” Asteria utters, frantic gaze back on the musicians, “It’s been two hundred years since I’ve heard it.”

“A band?”

Asteria shakes her head, the melody swirling around them, building loud enough that if she didn’t hold every ounce of his attention, Azriel wouldn’t have heard her devastating words.

“Music,” She whispers, voice shaking, “It’s been two hundred years since I’ve heard music.”

Azriel can’t help it when his brows raise in surprise, bewildered, he looks back to the band, and then to Asteria. He swallows, eyes grazing over the scars on the sides of her neck, traveling to the low, thin scar that runs across the base of her throat. It looks as though it would be a killing blow. His fist clenches at his side, and he can’t help but wonder what fresh hell the female had endured to not only be rid of music for so long, but also get such lethal looking scars from wounds that probably should have killed her.

“Do you…” Azriel trails off, finding her silver lined eyes again and clearing his throat, “Do you want to dance?”

“No,” Asteria breathes, shaking her head, “No. I just want to listen.”

He watches as her eyes close, the unique shade of green in her eyes hidden as she tilts her head back, letting the music consume, and thunder through her. Azriel doesn’t move from her side, the shadows in his ears scolding him for even looking away from the female, let alone putting distance between them. 

One song melts into another, and then another, and Azriel doesn’t know how much time passes, but all he does is listen. He hears the band perform a set he’s sat through before, but his attention isn’t on them. It’s on Asteria. 

Asteria, who he can’t seem to figure out. 

Another song ends, and the female blinks open her eyes, looking over to the Shadowsinger, content, “This Realm is familiar,” She suddenly says, and when Azriel raises a brow, confused, she clarifies for him, “That’s what I was going to say before they started playing. Being here feels familiar.”

Azriel can’t help the curious tilt of his head, “Really?”

“Prythian and Erilea don’t seem to be very different from one another,” Asteria says, her eyes still locked on the musicians, the pianoforte in particular, “I think— I think I got lucky, ending up here, of all places. You’ve all been kind to me.”

“They’re all very kind,” Azriel utters, looking towards his friends, his family, with a warm, fond feeling spreading over his chest at the light hearted expressions on their faces, as if the war is already long behind them. A joy recovered by their love, their friendship. Bonds that will never be broken, “They make me proud to serve this Court.”

Asteria nods, her eyes filled with longing as the piano leads the way into a new song, “Do you think I can come back here again?” She asks, her voice coming out timid, and almost afraid. A stark contrast to the seemingly fearless female he’d seen in the ring earlier in the day, “To listen to more music?”

“Asteria, you don’t have to ask permission,” Azriel says, his tone serious enough to bring the devastatingly beautiful female’s eyes to his, “You can come here whenever you’d like.”

“Right,” Asteria nods, waving over the bar maid for more wine. 

When her cup is full, she takes a long sip, and Azriel watches as that wall she put up earlier eases down. It doesn’t move by much, but it’s progress. A sliver of progress. It’s enough that the Shadowsinger is able to make an easy decision.

He can’t seem to figure out Asteria, but he wants to. He desperately wants to.

-----

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@bionic-donut @hollyismentallyillhelp​ @younxii @feyretopia @hideing

[pascalmode]

In The Stars (3 - The Inner Circle)

Guys I’m learning how to work tumblr (I have a taglist now, let me know if you want to be added to it;)). The love that I got in the last chapter makes me so BEYOND happy, and I’m grateful that people are giving both me and Asteria a chance. ily. Let me know what you think of this one:)

Az x TOG!OC

Words: 3k

Warnings: none, i think. Will az finally make an appearance in this extreme slowburn fic? who knows? i do. hehe.

Also posted on my ao3 (fortheloveofstark)

In a place dubbed the Night Court, Asteria had been surprised to see the sun rise in the morning. 

She hadn’t slept, so when the sun peered over the triad of mountains on the horizon, the female tracked its entire path upwards, unable to get her mind to quiet long enough to rest. 

Asteria can’t ignore what she’d left behind; Her brothers, the Realm she’d been deeply connected to since the day she was born over three and a half centuries ago, her entire way of being, and a war. 

She’d helped to start a war, and now it’s raging on without her. The Realm she called home, and called her dearest friend, would suffer the damages of it without Asteria there to heal it. Instead, a strange realm, a strange court, needs her help. And the Realm refuses her. 

Asteria had sent her magic through the house and channeled it down to the earth again, gritting her teeth from the effort as she did. She only has a small fragment of her magic left, a bottomed out, shallow well of power that she feels confined in. 

Feeling the bottom of it in a strange place made her want to break everything in the room, and even so, she reached out, and the Realm didn’t even dignify her with a response.

There was only silence. 

With a dagger in her chest Maeve had called Asteria the most powerful full blooded female on the planet. But she was wrong. Asteria was the most powerful fae of the Realm. Nothing and no one else compared. Her magic knew no limit. Her well of power had no end. By exiling her, sending her to her death, Maeve had changed the course of the war completely and turned it to be in her favor. 

The thoughts about the Fae Queen made Asteria restless, and she paced across the room she’d been provided so fervently that she’s surprised she didn’t put a rut in the floor. 

That’s how Rhysand finds her in the morning, knocking before he enters; dressed in a wondrous black shirt, jacket, and pants. 

“I take that you slept well,” Rhysand says, a brow raised and a feline smirk adorning his features, eyes tracking Asteria as she continues to pace, unwavered by the High Lord’s entrance. 

Asteria spares him an unimpressed glance, “I slept for seven days, Rhysand, I’ve rested enough.”

“Well then I guess I can’t ask if the bed was to your liking.”

“I’m sure it’s great.”

“What about the room?”

Asteria huffs, “It’s fine. Thank you.”

If she wasn’t in the middle of a downwards spiral about her own power and the fact that she’s stranded in a strange Realm, she would have told the High Lord that the room is the most luxurious thing she’s ever been provided. Asteria had been utterly speechless when she’d first seen it, taking in the silk of the sheets and the closet full of garments for her to wear. The blades she had on her person when she fell had been on the dresser, freshly polished and sharpened.

When she had been hiding some of her daggers and smaller blades around the room, the house had made a meal appear out of nothing, and when Asteria finished it, the plates and cutlery had vanished. 

Now, she has her beloved broadsword, a dangerous onyx blade that she’d named Querencia, strapped to her hip, a dagger sheathed on the opposite thigh, and Asteria had dressed herself in black pants and a navy blue tunic, both items found in the grand closet amongst others like them, as well as at least three dozen different gowns. 

She’d been sure to pull on her brown leather gloves as well, hiding what lay beneath.

“The inner circle is here, waiting in the office to meet you,” Rhysand says, hands clasped behind his back, “There are some things to discuss first.”

Asteria allows her pacing to slow, raising a brow to the High Lord, silently urging him to continue. 

“I think we should hide the fact that you aren’t from this world.”

Asteria’s pacing stops, and she slowly nods, folding her arms over her chest, “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that you are not the Realm Reader,” Rhysand explains, “Instead, you’re a seer, sent here on my request from Miryam and Drakon.”

“You want to withhold the truth.”

“I think it’s for the best. The idea of the existence of other Realms outside of ours is a frightening one,” Rhysand says, “One that has the potential to cause panic, and an existential crisis like the one you’re having.”

Asteria huffs a breath through her nose, a fraction of a laugh, “I’m not in crisis.”

“So the pacing was you being calm?”

“How about you get stabbed in the chest and exiled from your home after helping to start a war,” Asteria counters, “Let’s see how you react.”

“I imagine I’d handle it with my usual charisma.”

“And the deception of whoever you encounter?” The female adds. 

Rhysand sighs, “Asteria, I-”

“You’ve been in my head,” Asteria says, cutting off the High Lord and stepping closer to him, “You’ve seen my life, and you know that I’ve spent nearly every day of my immortal existence with someone else holding my tongue. So I don’t really care if your people have a crisis over who I am, or where I’m from. I won’t deceive them. I won’t lie. And if you want my help, you’ll tell them the truth too.”

Rhysand stares at the female, those night-filled violet eyes piercing her with something she can’t place when there’s a timid knock at the door. 

The door opens, and in walks a blue eyed, golden brown haired female that Asteria immediately recognizes from Rhysand’s memories.

Feyre Archeron, the High Lady of the Night Court. 

The Female eyes her mate, suspicion in her gaze as she moves towards the pair in the room. Asteria knows they speak in each other’s minds often, having felt it when she walked through Rhysand’s mind. She has no doubt they’re doing it now. 

After a moment, Rhysand’s lips quirk up in a devilish smile at whatever Feyre has communicated, and he turns back to the silver-haired female, “Asteria, this wonderous female is Feyre, my mate and the High Lady of the Night Court. Feyre, I present to you, our disturbance from the night of the solstice.”

“Rhys,” Feyre scolds, slapping the High Lord’s arm.

His smile grows, his hand finding his Mate’s back, “This is Asteria Relridaar. The Realm Reader of Erilea.”

Asteria eyes Rhysand, finally able to place how he stared at her before Feyre entered the room. 

He was looking at her with admiration. 

“It’s a pleasure, Feyre,” Asteria says, lips quirked up in a small smile as she bows her head slightly. 

The High Lady smiles, and Asteria decides she likes her immediately, “Don’t let Rhysand push you around,” Feyre says, “He’s more bark than bite.”

“You would know my bite, Feyre Darling,” Rhysand smirks, earning an elbow in his side and a stern glare from his wife. 

Asteria huffs out a small chuckle, she definitely likes the High Lady. 

Feyre takes a step closer to Asteria, her smile nothing but welcoming, and the silver haired female notes that they’re roughly the same height, “Are you ready to meet everyone?”

Asteria nods, looking to Rhysand as he says, “No lies.”

“No lies,” The female responds.

Following the High Lord and Lady into the hallway, Asteria lets her eyes wander across the walls, noting high quality, detailed paintings that she makes a mental note to look at closer once the meeting is over. Her pace doesn’t falter, though, and when they turn a corner and reach a set of elegant double doors of dark oak, Rhysand swings them open easily. 

Inside, Cassian stands near a expansive book shelf, flipping through a thick tome, Mor, the blonde female that Asteria had nearly sent through a wall, lounges on a beautifully crafted couch with a goblet of wine in hand, and beside her, another female with dark hair and a set of menacing eyes. 

Upon their entrance, the conversation in the room stops, and Cassian snaps his book closed with a satisfying clap.

“I see most of you are on time,” Rhysand greets, “An achievement on its own. Where’s our dear Shadowsinger?”

“Following up with a friend of his near the boarder,” Cassian dismisses, shelving the tome and crossing his arms over his broad chest.

Rhysand chuckles, turning to Asteria and beckoning her closer with a lazy wave of his hand, “No sense in keeping secrets. Our Spymaster is in a meeting a spy of his, I’m sure he’ll be with us soon.”

Asteria nods, stepping closer to the High Lord and his confident grin, watching as the females rise from the couch they’d been lounging on. 

Rhys gestures to the shorter of the pair, “This is Amren, our second in command.”

Asteria looks over the raven haired female, and doesn’t quite know what she sees. By sight, she’s standing before a fae, much like Asteria herself, but there’s something else. The way she holds herself, narrows her eyes and tilts her head as if trying to deduce things on her own, is different. Older. Both primal and ancient at the same time.

“You’re different,” Amren observes, making no effort of discretion while she scans over Asteria’s muscle packed form, blood red lips held in a knowing smirk. 

Asteria quirks a brow, “So are you.”

With nothing else said, Amren saunters back to the couch, sitting down and starting to run her fingers over the massive rubies that lay on a chain around her neck, her stare sending a shiver over Asteria’s spine. 

What she is, or what she once was, Asteria isn’t sure that she wants to know. 

Luckily the blonde steps forward, holding her wine and extending another goblet towards Asteria. She takes it, holding it carefully in one hand with a grateful nod.

“This is my cousin, Morrigan,” Rhysand introduces, “Third in command and overseer of our courts.”

“I’m also the one you landed a mean kick on yesterday,” The blonde says with a kind smile, clinking her glass against the one she’d handed Asteria, “You’re forgiven, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

Asteria raises her glass in sync with the female, sipping the decadently flavored wine in an attempt to avoid apologizing for her behavior. 

“And you should call me Mor,” The blonde adds, “Welcome to the Court.”

Asteria swallows, “Thank you,” She says with a meek smile.

Looking back to Rhysand, Asteria realizes there’s one last person in the room. One that she’d already introduced herself to. Huffing out a loud sigh as the General steps forward, Asteria raises her goblet and downs the rest of the wine, hearing both Mor and Feyre chuckling at her actions. 

“And I assume you remember the General of the Illyrian Armies, Cassian,” Rhysand says, clearly amused by the silver haired female.

“I’m glad you had your fun yesterday, because it will never happen again,” Cassian drawls, a confident smirk resting on his lips. 

Asteria lets out her own huff of air in response, remembering how fast she had the massive winged male pinned beneath her. The corners of her lips quirk up on their own, “You sure about that, General?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Cassian says, jutting his head up in a challenging nod, “Brave enough for a rematch?”

“Are you?”

“While that does sound entertaining, and we’ll definitely be heading to the ring to see Cassian take yet another loss, we have some matters to discuss first,” Rhysand says, moving to lean on the edge of a grand wooden desk, “Now that you’ve met her, I ask that you brace yourselves for her introduction.”

Asteria clasps her hands behind her back, feeling a reassuring hand rest on her shoulder, turning to see Feyre beside her wearing a kind smile. 

The High Lady clears her throat, bringing the inner circle’s eyes to her, “This is Asteria Relridaar, and she fell from the stars the night of the Solstice.”

“The stars?” Cassian echoes, brows raised. 

Asteria nods, Feyre giving her arm an encouraging squeeze before the green eyed female continues, “I am not of this Realm. I was exiled from a place called Erilea, and I don’t know how it happened, but I landed here, in your Court.”

Morrigan is the next one to speak, “Why were you exiled?”

“Sorry, hold on,” Cassian interrupts when Asteria opens her mouth to speak, “Are we not going to acknowledge the existence of another Realm?”

Asteria looks towards Rhysand at the General’s panicked question, his gaze declaring; I told you so.

With a sigh, the green eyed female looks to Cassian, “There are an infinite number of other Realms,” Asteria says, goosebumps flooding over her arms beneath her tunic. She remembers the feeling when she was pushed, when she was falling. Before she’d passed out there were flashes of other places. Worlds with buildings that stretched high into the sky and bright lights, others filled with with only ocean and civilizations beneath its surface, and some with no life at all. But then her eyes closed, and she was met with nothing but darkness. 

Then she landed in Prythian, and she considered herself lucky. 

“Travel between them, however, is impossible unless an extreme amount of magic is used,” Asteria continues, “That much magic is only accessible by one being in that Realm, usually-”

“A Realm Reader,” Amren finishes, fingers still tinkling with the gems on her necklace, “You’re a Realm Reader, aren’t you?”

Asteria nods, “Yes,” Seeing the question on both Mor and Cassian’s face, the silver haired female takes another breath, “A Realm Reader has a deep connection with their Realm, and is able to access its well of magic as well as their own. Realm magic is endless and capable of anything, including opening the door between worlds.”

Mor nods slowly, “And that’s what you did?”

“That’s what I was forced to do,” Asteria confirms, “When I was young I swore a blood oath to a cruel, and wicked Queen. She controlled every aspect of my life for nearly three and a half centuries, two of those centuries she made my every move, every breath, a living hell. It took those two centuries for me to summon enough magic to shatter the blood oath on my own. And when I did, I ran.

“I followed a friend of mine to a different part of the continent and entered the service of a long lost heir with a mission I believed in. She wanted a better world. I fought beside her, and called her a friend when the Queen sent her forces after us, and we started a war in the Realm. The Queen had an armada engage us at sea, and when we made it to the beach, she was there. She had a member of our Court hostage, and brothers of mine still bound to her through the blood oath. I couldn’t fight her because she had that leverage over me.

“I handed her the dagger she stabbed into my chest, and when she ordered me to open the door between worlds, I refused. But she had my brothers. So I forced all the magic I had into the Realm and when I opened the portal she pushed me through. I was the most powerful fae Erilea had ever seen, and the Queen knew she’d lose the war if I opposed her, so she wiped me off the board completely. I was supposed to fall through worlds until I died, but instead I ended up here, in a Realm that apparently needs healing, with a sliver of the magic I had before. 

“I wasn’t exiled for my actions, or as punishment. I was exiled because I was seen as a threat,” Asteria finishes. Behind her back, her hands shake, one holding the other’s wrist, and that fist clenched violently. Her story is nothing but a story. She isn’t the hero, or the villain. She isn’t sure what her place in it even is. 

That’s why she shakes. 

She knows all the eyes in the room are on her, and that they had hung onto her every word. They’d heard her, and she didn’t realize how afraid she was that they’d turn her away completely until they nodded in understanding.

“Asteria is under the protection of our Court while she tries to heal the realm,” Feyre says, making Asteria turn to her, seeing blue eyes lined with tears, “And after, if you want to stay, we’d be honored to have you.”

Unclasping her hands, Asteria reaches out her still-shaking hand, taking the High Lady’s and squeezing it, voice breaking as she whispers, “Thank you.”

“I sent word to the Summer Court for permission to work on the land, until then, we just need to know what we can do for you, Asteria,” Rhysand explains, his tone low, as if testing Asteria’s very wellbeing after her confessions. 

“To be honest with you, I don’t know that there’s anything you can do until we can get to the battlegrounds,” Asteria shrugs, releasing Feyre’s hand and speaking directly to the High Lord, “It’s up to me, and me alone to gain the Realm’s trust.”

Rhysand nods, processing the silver-haired female’s words, and she can see him mulling it over when Cassian claps loudly, making Asteria raise a brow to him. 

The winged General takes a step forward, “In the meantime, you owe me a rematch, Realm Reader.”

Asteria can’t help herself, giving Cassian a loud bark of laughter, “You’re on, General.”

Just then, the doors to the office creak open, and close with a quiet snick, the room feeling a little darker than it had just moments ago. 

“You’re just in time,” Rhysand cheerfully greets, “This is Asteria, she’s about to put Cassian on his ass for the second time.”

There’s a deep, throaty chuckle, a foreign voice sending an involuntary shiver down Asteria’s spine, “I look forward to it.”

Rhysand’s smile grows, “Asteria, meet Azriel, the Spymaster and Shadowsinger of the Night Court.”

And when she turns, Asteria is met with the most devastatingly beautiful male she’s ever seen.

-----

Taglist:

@bionic-donut @hollyismentallyillhelp @younxii

[pascalmode]

In The Stars (2 - The Lord of The Night)

Thank you so much for all the love on my first chapter:') So excited to keep this going. This fic is also posted on my ao3 (fortheloveofstark)

AZ x TOG!OC (This is a work of fanfiction)

Age: 18+

Warnings: Cannon level violence, mentions of torture, mentions of Maeve, a lil tiny bit of blood, Asteria proving how much of a baddie she really is <3

Asteria’s death does not come as Maeve needs it to. 

She had crashed down from the night sky in a burst of red light and collided with the earth hard enough that she doesn’t know how she kept breathing. 

Or how she breathes now. But she is. She inhales, and her chest rises, and with every exhale it lowers. A slow, steady rhythm reminding her how alive she really is, even if the ache in her head begs to disagree. It’s a throbbing, the pain aligning itself with her heartbeat.

The pain in her chest is worse, where a dagger once laid, was twisted, and yanked out. 

The sharpness of the blade’s absence is all she can truly focus on. Her thoughts slowly come back to her; her name, her home, her magic, what and who she trusts; she begins to list the things she knows until a hand gently brushes her shoulder. 

The touch makes her eyes snap open. 

Asteria expects the course sand of a beach beneath her, the smell of salt wafting into her senses. Instead, she’s met with the soft sheets of a cot beneath her, completely unfamiliar.

She doesn’t wince at the sudden onslaught of light on her senses, or shudder away from the strong herbal, definitely medicinal scents that invade her nose. Instead, her eyes dart to the unfamiliar female standing beside her where she lays, dark eyes and long blonde hair tucked behind pointed ears. A stranger, and a captor. Her mouth quirked as though she may smile parts, about to say something. 

She doesn’t get the chance. The stranger is pushed back enough to give Asteria time to raise her leg, a forceful kick hitting the blonde’s chest with enough power to send her flying backwards, crashing against the wall across the room with a loud wail of pain. 

Not hesitating, Asteria’s feet meet the cold floor, and though her muscles groan in protest, having been bed ridden for longer than she thought. It takes a couple steps to steady herself, but once she gets her bearings, she’s running. 

Dipping out of the room she’d awoken in and finding herself in a hallway filled with luxury, Asteria looks both ways, one way leading around another corner, lined with various doors, and the other leading to a large window. She’d been captured before, and she knows an escape when she sees one. 

Arms pumping as she gains momentum, Asteria sprints towards it. Powerful legs bound her towards the glass, whisps of her own silver hair blowing into her eyes for barely a second before being pushed away by the sheer speed of her movements. 

When she’s close to the glass, she leaps forward, arms shielding her face and knees out, the sound of the shatter reverbing through her bones as salt and lemon verbena scented air suddenly surrounds her, and she’s falling forward and down.

Gaze shooting downward and arms flying out, relief floods through her when she sees that she’d only been a few stories up, and she prepares herself for her landing. When she hits the ground, her feet absorb only a bit of the impact, and she uses her momentum to roll forward, training she had received over the centuries of her life making the maneuver automatic.

Asteria springs back up to her feet, quickly and boldly while taking note of the well taken care of grass underneath her, and she darts towards a stone fence on the edge of the yard only to be stopped abruptly by the sudden drop of red light in front of her. She bounces off of it, skidding back abruptly. 

A shield. 

A moment later, the ground beneath her shudders as a massive being drops to the earth in front of Asteria, cutting off her escape. He rises slowly, his impressive height only challenged by his broadness, fighting leathers strapped to each part of him. The female’s eyes narrow on the red, gleaming gems on his chest, shoulders, hands, and knees, the same colour as the shield slowly dissipating before her. He has long, curved blades strapped to him, and she becomes aware of the fact that she has nothing. Her weapons had been taken from her.

His skin is bronzed, and dark hair flows just past his shoulder line. Hazel eyes run over her figure, assessing and analyzing just as Asteria becomes aware of the large, almost demonic wings sprouting from the male’s back. 

Her mind works instinctively, checking his neck for a collar and his fingers for a ring, seeing nothing of the sort. Asteria clenches her fists, her stance widening in preparation for what comes next. She’d fought bigger than him before, and she would never back down.

“I’m going to need you to apologize for the window,” The male says casually, his stance reflecting his tone, “It was my favourite.”

Asteria doesn’t dignify him with a response, her eyes darting to the blade on his back, her lips pulling back to let loose a low snarl. 

The male opens his mouth to speak again, but before he can Asteria is lunging at him with a yell, forcing him into a fighting stance the split second it takes for her to reach him. 

Her blows are fuelled by a speed he’d rarely encountered before, based on the fact that his blocks are desperate, almost sloppy as he tries to keep up, his careful eyes seeking an opening for his own strikes. 

Asteria doesn’t let up, driving the male to take step after step back to try to make space between them. But as quickly as he moves, she advances on him twice as fast, swiping and punching, and waiting patiently for her opening. She’s toying with him. 

Though her eyes don’t move, her attention goes to his blade, and through her fury a small smirk graces her lips. Asteria slows, just for a moment. Long enough to let him think he can take control.

The male takes the bait, going for a blow of his own, one that the female easily ducks under, grabbing his arm and pulling him forward and off balance. He’s trying to use his wings to balance himself, flapping them to attempt to stand back straight, but the smaller female is climbing him, driving her knee into the place where his wing sprouts from his back. 

He cries out in pain, reaching back for her as her legs wrap around him and she’s flipping them backwards. 

They hit the grass with a thud, and before the male can recover even the slightest breath, Asteria is on him again. He’s turned onto his side, his arms pinned in a painful hold orchestrated by just the female’s powerful legs, his own blade pressed against his throat just enough to sting, making him look up at her. 

He tries to move, but Asteria has him locked in, his demonic wings flapping helplessly behind them, one of them twitching in pain from the blow it had been delivered.

Asteria growls above him, grip tightening around his blade as if she’s about to drag it across his skin, and she is, when a figure appears from nothing before them.

“Please don’t,” A new male kindly requests, violet eyes gleaming and dark hair swept back neatly from his face. He stands straighter than the one beneath her had, commanding power with just his presence. It’s enough that the grip on the blade loosens slightly.

Asteria’s eyes assess him, taking in his confidence, and the handsome face that most probably find devastating. The quiet authority that surrounds him.

“He meant no harm,” The male continues, taking a step forward and holding his hands up, showing he’s unarmed.

“She does,” The male underneath her grits out, “She means harm. Did you see the window?”

Ignoring him, the powerful male takes another step closer, “What's your name?”

She doesn’t answer him, her icy glare remaining on the stranger, whos jaw clenches. 

In her still aching head, Asteria feels something against her ever-present mental shields. At first, it’s a gentle brush, purely investigative. But right after that, there’s a push, and she shudders at the feeling.

“Do that again and I’ll spill his blood,” Asteria growls out, pushing the blade harder against the male beneath her’s throat. A small line of blood dots the edge of the metal. 

The male crouches, hands still up, “I just want to know your name.”

“Are you the King?”

“High Lord,” He corrects, “My name is Rhysand.”

“Where am I?”

“Prythian. The city of Velaris, in the Night Court,” The male, Rhysand, says. 

Asteria never heard of such a land. She channels her magic to her feet and through the leather of her boots, one of them planted firmly in the grass beneath her. She calls out to the realm she’s come to know so well over her three and a half centuries roaming it. She’s met with silence, and the cease of the power she’d summoned. 

No, The realm sneers in an unfamiliar tone, the words echoing deep in her soul for only her to hear, I am not yours. You are not mine. 

The female tenses at the response, her heart thudding hard in her chest. The Realm does not lie. She does not belong here. You are not mine. 

Maeve had thrown her through the door between worlds, and she had ended up here, in this strange world when she was supposed to fall for the rest of her eternity, or until she lost so much blood that her heart gave out. Whatever came first.

Asteria can feel her muscles lock up with dread, the tenseness drawn directly from the words of the strange realm; A voice she’d never heard before. She’d never heard of Prythian because it shouldn’t exist. She’s in the wrong realm. She’d left a war unfinished.

The words continue thundering through her, a chorus in the back of her head she cannot ignore; I am not yours. You are not mine. I am not yours. You are not mine. I am not yours. You are not mine. I am not yours-

“We can help you, we want to help you,” Rhysand continues, seeing the devastated look on her face and silencing the crescendo of panic building, “What’s your name?”

The green-eyed female takes an unsteady breath, moving the blade a hair's width away from the male she has pinned, who had ceased his struggling beneath her, “Asteria.”

“Asteria, will you please release my General?”

Muscles loosening with only a moment’s hesitation, Asteria nods, letting the General go from the hold and taking a few steps away as he rolls onto his back, catching his breath. 

When he stands, he glares at the silver haired female, the High Lord taking notice with careful eyes. 

“Cassian,” The High Lord scolds, giving the winged man a name, “Why don’t you check on Mor?”

The winged-male hesitates, Rhysand giving him a nod to urge him along, and with the brush against her mental walls just a few moments ago, Asteria has no doubt the powerful male in front of her has the ability to speak in his General’s mind.

“Mor?” Asteria repeats. 

“The female you nearly sent through the wall,” The General states with a glare, moving with a wide berth around the silver-haired female, “Another apology to put on your list.”

All he gets in response is a low growl. One that he sends right back. The pair watch each other with pulled back lips until Cassian disappears inside the luxurious estate.

“Your General is a bastard,” Asteria grunts, turning back to the High Lord to see an amused smirk upturning the corners of his lips. 

“He’s been called worse.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

“He’s got a real soft heart when you get to know him,” Rhysand smirks, “He’s just upset that you put him on his ass before he could blink.”

“And why shouldn’t I do the same to you?”

Rhysands eyes glisten, and Asteria swears there are actual stars trapped within the violent toned shade of blue. His mouth doesn’t move, and yet Asteria hears him, Because I know what you are.

Is that so, High Lord?

Your mental shields are impressive. Some of the strongest I’ve encountered, but not nearly as strong when you’re unconscious, Realm Reader.

Asteria’s eyes narrow, her title making her thudding heart pick up speed yet again, I am not yours. You are not mine. 

“You fell from the stars seven nights ago,” Rhysand says, a sigh leaving his lips as his hands clasp behind his back, turning to look over the stone fence Asteria had been rushing towards before Cassian got in her way, “It was the night of the Winter Solstice. You gave my Mate and I quite the surprise.”

“You seem to have recovered since then,” Asteria mumbles, moving to stand beside the night-blessed male, looking over the same view he gazes upon so fondly. 

A view that makes her heart drop to the pit of her stomach. 

Before her is an endless sky, wisps of night-darkened cloud surrounds them, more stars than Asteria had ever seen glistening above, and below; a plummeting drop to the hard, rocky earth. She had been racing towards it prepared to jump, and in this strange realm, one that does not know her or care for her, it would not protect her. 

Even her immortal body wouldn’t have survived.

“Quite the view, isn’t it?”

Asteria gulps, “Please don’t make me thank your General for stopping me.”

Rhysand’s chuckle is a deep and breathy sound, one that would have been beautiful if Asteria wasn’t so stunned by what she’d almost done to herself, “He doesn’t need that ego boost.”

“Why did you bring me here?” Asteria asks, her eyes scanning the side of the High Lord’s face.

“It seemed better to contain you here rather than down in the city,” Rhysand answers, his voice nothing but honest, “Based off what I saw behind your shields, I didn’t know what you’d be like if you woke up.”

“If?”

“Do I have to repeat that you fell from the stars?” Rhysand asks, turning to the female with a quirked brow, “It’s a fall you shouldn’t have survived.”

“And because I did, you looked into my head?”

“Not many people outside of this court know about Velaris, but you landed right outside the city’s walls. I needed to make sure you weren’t sent by an enemy. It was to keep both you and my people safe.”

Asteria’s leather-gloved hands clasp themselves behind her back, mirroring the violet-eyed male’s stance, “What did you see?”

“Everything.”

“And? Am I your enemy?”

“No, Asteria,” Rhysand breathes, “I believe you may be exactly what I’ve been looking for.”

“I fear that the realm is weakening,” The High Lord continues, that quiet power more prominent than ever despite his suddenly solemn expression, “There was a war, something I know you are no stranger to.”

Asteria eyes him wearily, “The war isn't over.”

“Maybe not in your realm, but in this one it is. We won, but the cost may have been-”

“The wellbeing of the realm,” Asteria finishes, earning a nod from Rhysand.

“The battlefields haven’t healed, and the woods beyond them are rotting. The High Lords across all territories have tried to fix the damage, but it’s no use. It’s spreading, and I think you may be capable of stopping it.”

Asteria shakes her head, “I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

Swallowing a lump in her throat, panic beginning to build in her yet again, Asteria’s eyes shift back to the glorious night that stretches on before her, “I do not belong to this Realm, it’s already told me as much.”

“You do not belong to this Realm now, but you could,” Rhysand says, turning to face the silver haired female and returning her gaze to him, “Realms feel pain, and joy. They know trust. It’s how it decides its High Lords. It picks who it trusts. If you earn that trust, you could help it to heal.”

“Your faith is misplaced,” Asteria states, her own green eyes searching deep within Rhysand’s, searching for any kind of deceit or trickery. All she finds is a burning passion. A genuine one. It pisses her off, “You believe all of this after just one look behind my shields?”

“I do,” Rhysand nods, his smirk reappearing, “Your magic is unique, Asteria. It’s been missing from Prythian far too long.”

“Maybe so,” Asteria shrugs, having no reason to argue, “But what reason do I have to trust you, Lord Rhysand?”

“Just Rhysand is fine,” The High Lord tuts, and Asteria rolls her eyes in response, “And you can trust me, because I’m willing to give you the very thing I took while you slept.”

He holds out his hand, and Asteria understands.

She swallows, eyes locked on the High Lord’s upturned palm, “You truly saw everything then?”

“I did. It’s time for you to do the same.”

Asteria’s movements are slow, and stiff, her eyes locked on Rhysand’s as her fingers pry themselves free of the brown leather gloves that always cover them. 

Revealing what lay beneath, the High Lord doesn’t gawk, or cower away. No disgust lines his features. He looks at her expectantly, and with patience. 

He does not fear her, even after what he’d seen. 

So, Asteria presses her palm into his, the little magic she has that isn’t reliant on the Realm glowing brightly between them, wisps of light winding around their arms and further; around each piece of them. 

Her magic brushes against Rhysand’s mental shields, grand walls made of the strongest, most elegant obsidian. At her gentle prod, the gates give way.

And then five hundred years of memories slams into Asteria. 

She sees it all; feels every second of it. Every sharp inhale on the battlefield, and every relieved exhale in moments of peace. She’s lived in Illyrian war camps, and found bastards there that she lovingly calls brothers. She mourns her mother and sister, and takes swift revenge for them, losing her father and becoming High Lord in the process. She knows and loves her inner circle. She suffered under the mountain. She knows her mate; heard her neck snap and felt her die, only to be brought back. 

Feyre, Rhysand’s memories purr, the bond glowing in an incandescent light that has nothing to do with Asteria’s magic. Feyre, Feyre, Feyre. 

What follows makes Asteria shudder, she sees her mate as a shell of who she is, hollowed out by the ignorance of the High Lord of Spring. Sees him lock her in the house, only for her to be saved by Mor. She sees her training, her healing. The cabin. Her sisters being plunged into the Cauldron and emerging as high fae. 

Then, after a meeting with each of the High Lords of the Realm, she sees the war.

She sees Hybern coming for them, and the efforts taken to hold the front line. She tastes the blood that filled the air, felt the surges of power from the creatures that joined them, and the unlikely allies, both fae and human, that came to their aid.

Then, she feels the cold kiss of death. She sees the light back home, and clings to the bond of two souls. Then she is brought back.

She sees the aftermath of the war, the rebuilding and healing. The impact on the inner circle, on her mate and especially her sister. She sees the Winter Solstice, the night of her mate’s birth, their private celebration interrupted by a burning red star blazing through the sky. She sees the week leading to where they stand now. 

Asteria lets go, having seen every piece of the High Lord’s past in mere seconds. 

She breathes heavily, looking up at the male to see his eyes lined with silver, about to spill over, “You truly saw everything then?”

“I did,” Asteria nods, breath coming in uneven heaves. She squeezes her eyes closed, her focus shifting on regaining herself. Her thoughts slowly come back to her, her name, her home, her magic, what and who she trusts; she begins to list the things she knows, finding gaps that are still filled by Rhysand, but everything else is her own.

Using her magic this way strips her down, and makes her bare. She experiences another person’s entire life; their memories, thoughts, fears, joy. All of it. Over the centuries it had gotten easier to control it, and to come back to herself. It is still an effort, and Asteria still feels as though she loses a part of herself every time. But she’d always had her Realm to soothe her, to remind her who she is. She doesn’t have that anymore.

You are not mine.

“And do you trust me?”

“I-” Asteria pauses to breathe, thinking about what she had seen. For a while she was Rhysand, and she knows his purest intentions. Despite what he thinks of himself, he is a good, honorable male, and he’s been genuine since he appeared before her, “I think I do.”

“If you help me, if you help this realm, Asteria, you will stay here under the protection of my inner circle, with free reign to come and go as you please.”

The bargain is nearly perfect to the silver-haired female, so much so that she lets the corners of her mouth perk up into a small smirk. But then, the memory of a naive seventeen year old fae with too much budding power than she knew what to do with rams into her with all the pain that followed. All the torture. 

Asteria frowns, meeting the High Lord’s eyes again, “I won’t take your blood oath.”

“There are no blood oaths here,” Rhysand assures, a hand clamping down on the female’s strong shoulder and squeezing, “That’s a primitive practice, it hasn’t been used in thousands of years in this court. All you can give me is your word.”

“And if I deny you?” Asteria prods.

“Then you may go,” Rhysand says with a slight shrug, as if it were the easiest thing in the world, and to him maybe it is, “There are lots of places to live in this court and the others beyond it.”

The answer makes her feel like she can breathe again.

It’s with certainty that Asteria nods to Rhysand, standing a little straighter, a little more confidently. She knows her answer, and she’s known it from the second the male gave her his hand, “Okay,” She says steadily, “I’ll help you.”

Rhysand’s grin is bright enough to light up the entirety of the glorious night sky that stretches out before them, “Well then, allow me to welcome you to the Court of Dreams, Realm Reader.”

[pascalmode]

i’m working on a azriel fic, and i can’t remember where the battles of acowar took place, does anyone know?? and if you do, can you please message me? i’d really appreciate it:)

[pascalmode]

In The Stars (1 - The Fall)

My first az fic! Also posted on my ao3 (fortheloveofstark) I know nothing about formatting on here or on ao3, so if you have tips or tricks, please message me! 

AZ + TOG OC (this is a work of fanfiction)

Age: 18+

Warnings: Cannon level violence, sad shit, mentions of torture, Cairn and Maeve, a whip. 

The dagger in her chest had missed her heart. 

And yet, she can feel the curve of the blade with each of her laborious inhales, the crimson of her blood dribbling down the front of her and filling her mouth with the taste of copper. 

Asteria looks around in her bloody haze, her brothers collapsed in the sand around her, fighting the oath that runs deep in their blood, the very oath that had taken her two hundred years and nearly all of her magic to shatter. 

The ironteeth witch is too far out of reach, near her, a weeping would-be-lady of a far away land is held in the steel-like grip of the male she once loved. The male she wished for so long to return her feelings. 

Directly across from her, the heir of the land, the heir of fire, is on her knees; reflecting Asteria’s own posture, held up by two males, having just been lashed by the whip of Asteria’s own centuries-long tormentor. 

As the Fae Queen glowers down at her, the same Queen the female had pledged herself to when she was too young to know better.

Asteria lets a weak growl past her lips as the raven haired terror crouches down, her hand raising to stroke down the blood soaked female’s silver hair. 

Asteria had thought she could help, that she could fight and make a difference in this war. That she would be the one driving the blade into the Queen’s heart. 

She’d been wrong. 

“You have been so strong for such a long time, Anaira,” Maeve whispers, her nail scraping along Asteria’s jaw. It isn’t the touch, but rather the false name that makes angry goosebumps rise along every scarred part of her. The blood leaching out of her has made her weak, weak enough that she can’t salvage the energy to bat away her hand, “Your magic is like nothing else. Through the Realm, you can do anything. And I have watched you, for more than three hundred years, waste that magic. That potential.”

Asteria opens her mouth, wanting to yell, and to scream to the queen. Tell her that she’ll never win. That the lashed would-be-queen would be her downfall. But she can barely manage more than a shaky breath and droopy eyes. 

Her brothers are snarling where they lay, trying to get to her. But they can’t. They’re still bound by blood. 

“You are going to do one more thing for me,” Maeve sneers, “Open the door between worlds. Right behind you.”

“Maeve!” The blonde heir shouts from behind, “Leave her alone, she has no part in this!”

The Fae Queen doesn’t spare a glance towards her, muttering, “Cairn.”

The sound of the whip cracking through the air shudders through Asteria, and the shriek that follows rumbles through her bones. 

“You should be grateful, all of you should be,” Maeve announces, her voice moving beyond Asteria, to the entire beach, “I’m doing you all a favor. The most powerful full-blooded female on her knees, drawing her last breathes. Soon to be cast out from her own realm and doomed to fall forever, long past her own death,” Maeve’s hand comes to grip the handle of the dagger that she had plunged into Asteria’s chest, “Open the portal.”

The injured female shakes her head, weakly managing, “I don’t serve you.”

“If you want your brothers to survive the day, you will,” Maeve sneers, twisting the blade.

With the jerking motion, Asteria screams, her magic surging out of her and into the realm beneath her. Maeve could hurt her all she wants, having done so for centuries, but Asteria will be damned if her brothers meet that same pain. That same torture. The ground quakes with the force of Asteria’s dying magic, light rising from the sand as though the stars had embedded themselves in the grains. 

With a noise loud enough to shatter the sky itself, the galaxy rips open behind Asteria. The winds rise, whipping around violently, as if it could protest the very thing that is happening. 

Asteria is dying, and there is nothing that the Realm can do to save her. 

The door between worlds hadn’t been opened; Her desperate magic had shattered it.

Maeve’s motion is quick and ruthless, ripping the dagger from Asteria’s chest, earning a pained grunt from the green-eyed female. Maeve’s long fingers grab onto Asteria’s chin, making her look directly into her own, endlessly dark eyes, “Very good, my Anaira. Do you remember why I named you this?” 

Asteria says nothing, the space between them filled with her own shaking breathes as Maeve continues, “It means despair. A constant reminder of what you are, and what you bring to others. Pain, fear, suffering. They have all been yours to wield, Anaira.”

Asteria hates that she feels helpless tears roll down her cheeks. She hates that Maeve had won. 

She’d succeeded in the one thing she set out to do; she had broken Asteria beyond recognition. Turned her into a picture of despair, as she had been named two hundred years ago and thought that she’d escaped. 

“Any last words, Realm Reader?” Maeve asks, releasing the female with a smirk. Taunting. Dangerous. 

She looks upon those surrounding her again, the warriors who would have made up a court that she’d have honored to be a part of; to fight alongside. Gavriel. Fenrys. Elide. Lorcan. Manon. The ones still at battle in the sea beyond the sands; Rowan. Lysandra. Aedion. Countless others. And Aelin. Asteria had done it all for Aelin; because she believed in her; Believed that she could be good when no one else did. 

And now she’s dying because of it. 

Aelin Galathynius meets her gaze, naked chest rising and falling from the pain in her back. 

“Make her pay,” Asteria says over the roaring winds, looking at no one but Aelin, her voice strained with effort and nearly muddled by the blood pooling in her mouth, “And do right by this Realm. By me. Keep your promise, Aelin, even though I can’t see it to it’s end.”

The fire-bringer’s eyes are lined with silver, and a sob rips through her, “A better world.”

“A better world,” Asteria repeats, every ounce of faith put into that idea. The one she’d believed in so deeply when she’d showed up in Adarlan, to Aelin’s warehouse apartment, before magic had been freed. 

A better world. One she’ll never see. 

Maeve grabs her chin again, “After all of our time together, do you have nothing to say to me?” 

Asteria’s green eyes bore into Maeve’s, the female who had taken everything from her. Who had renamed her at the first sign of her centuries long defiance. Her tormenter who had called her despair and brought nothing but that. 

But she is not despair. She is not Anaira. She is Asteria Relridaar, and like the Heir of Terrasen she loyally follows, she would not be afraid. 

So, Asteria opens her mouth, and spits on the Fae Queen, blood staining the porcelain skin of her oppressor. One last act of defiance. 

“What’s my name?” Asteria growls, a smirk growing on her crimson lips. Taunting. Dangerous.

She wants Maeve to say it. To know that just because the most powerful female of the realm will be gone, she will be remembered. She had shattered the blood oath and taken her own name back by her sheer will. Something that had never been done before. 

Maeve doesn’t wipe at her face, her dark eyes flicking from Asteria to the portal that she’d ripped open. Something Maeve could never do on her own even if she tried. 

The Fae Queen smiles wickedly saying, “It doesn’t matter.”

With a single push, Asteria is shoved through the door between worlds. 

And she falls.

[pascalmode]

I had to

[pascalmode]

HOSAB SPOILERS

ok but imagine bryce rolling back up to the asteri with rhys, cassian, and azriel backing her??? and the valkyries??? the chaos??? the power??? in my sweetest dreams pls sjm. 

[pascalmode]

andrew garfield came on screen and lived his biderman fantasy, manhandled tobey's Spider-man, blurted out I love yous with ain't no hesitations, saved mj and cried about it, threw a peace sign and left after passing one of the purest smiles to his legacy. Iconic behaviour

[pascalmode]

[pascalmode]

Imagine yourself as Mayfeld, this guy comes and wrecks your shit like the actual terminator then 6 months later he comes back and recruits you to watch him have an mental break down

[pascalmode]

‼️TFATWS SPOILER‼️

nothing but respect for MY CAPTAIN AMERICA

SAM! WILSON! SUPREMACY!

[pascalmode]

The Mandalorian | Chapter 16: The Rescue (2.08)