#Azriel's powers

[nikethestatue]

Azriel is not like the other boys

HOFAS SPOILERS below

____

We often hear that there is no way that Azriel is not fully Illyrian. There are people who absolutely insist that that's all he is, and despite a whole list of 'unusuals' about him, they refuse to acknowledge that he might be something entirely different than just a simple Illyrian.

Setting aside his Seven Siphons and his immense killing power, which he sort of randomly has, alongside Cassian and literally no one else, he is also a Carynthian, a Shadowsinger, and an "illyrian' who can winnow--none of these are capabilities that other Illyrians have. He also carries Truth Teller, a Made weapon, no less.

I was chatting with @shitwillnotbegiven about something unrelated, and then the highlighted paragraph (above) jumped out at me.

In it, we have Vesperus the Asteri who's been kept in a glass coffin for 10K years, and stuck under the Prison, unable to wake or escape. Bryce, Nesta and Azriel happen upon the glass coffin and wake Vesperus up, but don't let her out of the coffin.

Now, if you haven't read HOFAS, a little background: Prythian is/was a land that overflowed with wild natural magic. When the Asteri conquered it, they made the Fae of Prythian pay a Tithe (no doubt the remnants of that custom trickled down all the way to when Tamlin collected the Tithe from his citizens) of their magic, siphoning some of it to sustain themselves.

Let's examine the passage above:

Kneel, soldier. Make the Tithe so I can regain my strength and leave this cage.

Next to Azriel, Nesta (Made) and Bryce (a Starborn visitor from Midgard, which Vesperus isn't familiar with) are standing, and arguably, both Nesta and Bryce are SIGNIFICANTLY more powerful than Azriel.

Yet, Vesperus demands that HE make the Tithe. Not the two (non native) but very powerful Fae.

Now, let's go back allllll the way to early ACOMAF, where Feyre meets the Inner Circle for the first time. When she is introduced to Cassian and Azriel, Cassian jovially announces 'we are just Illyrians' and that they have 'no magic'. The only magic that they possess is the Killing Power, which is controlled by the siphons. Additionally, Rhysand tells Feyre that he couldn't wear the siphons because he kept breaking them, because 'his magic' worked in a different way. He is, of course, only half Illyrian.

Azriel meanwhile, is interesting because he can use the siphons and in fact has a surplus of Killing Power, like Cassian. But he can also control the shadows, because, as he said himself 'that's what he is. He is a Shadowsinger.' BUT, unlike the rest of the Illyrians, he can also winnow and as Cassian said in ACOSF 'Az is different in many ways'.

Now, back to Vesperus and Azriel again.

She asks HIM to make the Tithe. Not Bryce or Nesta (they are both Fae looking and presumably, Vesperus wouldn't know the difference). But, she does, doesn't she?

Because what has sustained her before? Natural Prythian-specific magic that the Fae of Prythian carried. And the only person out of the 3 in front of her that she senses this magic in is...Azriel. That would mean then that Azriel has NATURAL magic, which supposedly Illyrians don't possess at all. That also implies that HIS magic is so ANCIENT that Vesperus immediately recognizes it. It also implies that his magic is so pure that that's what she needs.

But what it also implies is that his natural magic is SO POWERFUL that only a little bit--a Tithe--is strong enough to actually break through Theia's spells and powers, which had kept Vesperus in that glass coffin all this time. Theia, the first Starborn, the one who could outwit an Asteri and imprison her in a glass coffin, the one who became Queen and ruled from Dusk, and the one who found a Rift into Midgard--her power is matched by...Azriel. Because just a little bit of his would seem to break through all of Theia's.

If that doesn't make Azriel more than just an Illyrian, then I don't know what will.

PS. I also thought about Prythian's Tithe, which supposedly everyone has to some degree. Interestingly, Rhys doesn't. He has simple taxation.

This is a whole different post, BUT--what if all the High Lords are part Starborn but also Asteri. What if their magic is also derived from the land, especially the seasonal Courts, where the High Lord is literally responsible for sustaining the season, and the environment is tied to his powers. What if the Tithe is necessary to maintain his magical powers? Kind of like the Asteri needed it to maintain their powers?

And Rhysand, for whatever reason he is part Valg doesn't pull as much from the land itself. His powers are so immense that he exists outside of what Prythian offers.

But like I said, it's a different post.

PSS Isn't it interesting that Elain said that she heard a heartbeat. Through the stones, she heard a heartbeat. With Lucien next to her, she'd assumed that the heartbeat was his. But he couldn't hear the heartbeat. Not hers, not anyone's. What if it wasn't Lucien's at all? What if she heard Vesperus's heartbeat? What if the little gardener who likes to grow things and wants more gardens has NATURAL MAGIC inside of her? What if that was the Cauldron's gift to her? What if she is actually not simply Made, but reborn? Reborn as a Prythain Fae whose magic blossoms and sustains life?

[offtorivendell]

The possible significance of Azriel and Elain Archeron, the Embrace of Solas and Cthona, the paired blades Gwydion and Truth-Teller, and thin places; a theory

Disclaimer: this is a theory that came to me while reading HOFAS, and as usual it makes absolutely no claim of being canon. It builds on past theories that my friends and I have written about Elain, Azriel, the revival of certain lands, the blades Truth-Teller and Gwydion, and brings in some new info from the latest CC book. It also won't be my best effort, as time is currently lacking. I meant to get this out for @elriel-month but yeah, that didn't happen lol. As usual, rambles and overly long sentences ahead. Sorry!

Thanks as always go out to @wingedblooms and @silverlinedeyes for listening to me rant, and believing me when I say I'll actually get around to writing out my thoughts, even though it takes me ages. I love that so many of our theories tie in well together - please check out their theories, too!

Spoilers: Maasverse spoilers ahead, please proceed with caution if you haven't finished reading.

Gwydion (aka the Starsword) and Truth-Teller; the Made blades

In CC 1 we got a brief description of the stylised version of the Embrace of Solas and Cthona as a necklace, worn by Bryce's mother, Ember:

Five minutes after Bryce got there, Jesiba’s client—a raging asshole of a leopard shifter who believed he was entitled to put his paws all over her ass—prowled in and purchased a small statue of Solas and Cthona, portrayed as a sun with male features burying his face in a pair of mountain-shaped breasts. The holy image was known simply as the Embrace. Her mother even wore its simplified symbol—a circle nestled atop two triangles—as a silver pendant. But Bryce had always found the Embrace cheesy and cliché in every incarnation. - CC HOEAB, chapter 22

Firstly, could this be the (hypothetical) wyrdmark on the left shoulder of the figure on the HOFAS cover? The two mountains are there, but the mark between them isn't exactly a circle, so it's not blatantly obvious, but it's possible (I'd love it if the marks on her arms represented the different gods, or Urd in all of her forms). Perhaps light and dark light cancel each other out in some way? And how relevant will the spiral mark be? Does it represent a vortex/portal opening? Or is it the Cauldron's swirling eddies?

Secondly, I also think the two mountains/triangles and the circle/dot in between them look a little like a basic depiction of Gwydion/the Starsword and Truth-Teller (ie. the points of two blades) with a black dot/black hole/portal to nowhere. It's not exact, because the triangles aren't meeting at the tips, so I'm not super confident in it, but I don't think it's impossible, and it could tie back into the six pointed star, and three pairs of powers gathering in the space where they meet. I promise I'm not trying to claim every little thing for Elriel, and given Nesta has her own trio of Made blades, I suspect they could also be relevant here (if Narben is also found, then there would be six blades for the six siblings and six star points), but as Azriel and Elain were the first two to use Truth-Teller (in recent history), I think it's fair to consider their specific importance here.

Elain, Azriel and the Made blades

I've previously suggested that Elain may have powered Truth-Teller with her light, in order to pierce the fabric of the universe before shadow walking to save Nesta and Cassian in ACOWAR (here and here); this is a theory which is not unique to me, as quite a few of my friends think at least some version of it may be true. However, I believe that what we learnt in HOFAS about “thin places,” and the paired blades Gwydion (the Starsword) and Truth-Teller, could take this a step or three further.

To recap as briefly as possible, Elain previously used Truth-Teller to shadow walk in ACOWAR, and we have since had hints that she may use it again in the future. There are many questions left unanswered about Elain's successful use of what we now know is a Made blade, so we'll have to wait and see.

“You honestly think he’d ever give up Truth-Teller?” “He gave it to Elain,” Mor said, admiring a moonstone necklace in the counter’s glass case. “She gave it back,” I amended, failing to block out the image of the black blade piercing through the King of Hybern’s throat. But Elain had given it back—had pressed it into Azriel’s hands after the battle, just as he had pressed it into hers before. And then walked away without looking back. Mor hummed to herself. - ACOFAS, chapter 4

As a brief aside, there are also moments tying Elain to the shadows (whether or not it ends up being Azriel's shadows specifically, her own, or the Void in general remains to be seen), and I think we could find out that the middle Archeron sister, who is canonically observant and wise, may have learnt by watching.

Behind me, Mor took Nesta and Cassian by the hand, readying to winnow them to the camp, while shadows gathered around Azriel, Elain at his side, wide-eyed at the spymaster’s display. - ACOWAR, chapter 50

Does Elain hear Azriel's shadows singing, and can she and Azriel privately communicate this way?

Did she also hear his siphon singing beautifully in ACOWAR? Perhaps as kin?

The Truth-Teller scene in ACOWAR, below, was also important enough to be included in the ACOTAR Colouring Book.

She refused the knife Cassian handed her, though. Went white as death at the sight of it. Azriel, still limping, merely nudged aside Cassian and extended another option. “This is Truth-Teller,” he told her softly. “I won’t be using it today—so I want you to.” His wings had healed—though long, thin scars now raked down them. Still not strong enough, Madja had warned him, to fly today. The argument with Rhys this morning had been swift and brutal: Azriel insisted he could fly—fight with the legions, as they’d planned. Rhys refused. Cassian refused. Azriel threatened to slip into shadow and fight anyway. Rhys merely said that if he so much as tried, he’d chain Azriel to a tree. And Azriel … It was only when Mor had entered the tent and begged him—begged him with tears in her eyes—that he relented. Agreed to be eyes and ears and nothing else. And now, standing amongst the sighing meadow grasses in his Illyrian armor, all seven Siphons gleaming … Elain’s eyes widened at the obsidian-hilted blade in Azriel’s scarred hand. The runes on the dark scabbard. “It has never failed me once,” the shadowsinger said, the midday sun devoured by the dark blade. “Some people say it is magic and will always strike true.” He gently took her hand and pressed the hilt of the legendary blade into it. “It will serve you well.” “I—I don’t know how to use it—” “I’ll make sure you don’t have to,” I said, grass crunching as I stepped closer. Elain weighed my words … and slowly closed her fingers around the blade. Cassian gawked at Azriel, and I wondered how often Azriel had lent out that blade— Never, Rhys said from where he finished buckling on his own weapons against the side of the wagon. I have never once seen Azriel let another person touch that knife. Elain looked up at Azriel, their eyes meeting, his hand still lingering on the hilt of the blade. I saw the painting in my mind: the lovely fawn, blooming spring vibrant behind her. Standing before Death, shadows and terrors lurking over his shoulder. Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two. The only bridge of connection … that knife. Paint that when we get home. Busybody. - ACOWAR, chapter 69

Firstly, @silverlinedeyes has a post that details how similar this passage is to the six pointed star scene from HOSAB, and the potential significance of it with regards to magical balance and the gathering of power(s). It's outlandish, but I think it could be important for any travels to Hel or beyond that the IC may undertake.

Secondly, I find it really interesting that Elain said to Feyre she didn't know how to "use" Truth-Teller; what if she meant she didn't know how to use it magically? I suspect it's possible that Elain didn't open a portal to nowhere (which appears to require both of the paired blades - perhaps their singing wavelengths cancel each other out?), but rather she created a portal to somewhere, and that's how she shadow walked across the battlefield in ACOWAR (aka she "slipped into shadow" and fought anyway). However, as we all heard her say that she didn't know how to use Truth-Teller, but then did, she obviously figured at least some of it out.

Alternatively, as @wingedblooms, @mrspettyferr, @cassianfanclub and myself have all wondered, did she possibly have some help?!

Was it Azriel, who told us in his ACOSF bonus chapter that he didn't need his shadows to read Elain?

Perhaps is was Nuala or Cerridwen, or maybe even Rhys?

Was it Koschei, the Mother, or a prince of Hel who gave Elain a helping hand?

Even then, how did Elain (hypothetically, of course) activate Truth-Teller? Just like Ruhn found Gwydion and Bryce accessed its magic, so I suspect Azriel found Truth-Teller, but it was Elain who first truly used its power (whereas Nesta, who was at the time full of the Cauldron's death magic, appeared to use it as a simple blade, hastening the king's death after Elain struck a fatal blow). Was it because her light stood in for Gwydion’s own magic and charged it? Is that why Azriel - who I have long thought may have Starborn heritage hidden underneath his shadows - has dark light, or shadows, instead of light? Is Truth-Teller actually devouring his light? Or - less likely - could the obsidian (wyrdstone?) blade be possessed by a Valg, or similar being? Though I'm less certain about that last point, as I wouldn't be surprised if the king of Hybern was possessed by a Valg (or similar) type creature, maybe a Daglan, and if that was the case then why would Truth-Teller decide to behave for Elain, unless the Valg* and Asteri/Daglan are enemies… anyway!

*What we learnt in HOFAS, about the blackest salt/obsidian drawing in the princes of Hel (while simultaneously repelling the Asteri/Daglan) makes me wonder about their possible ties to the Valg from TOG, who used obsidian wyrdstone rings and collars as a way to possess host bodies.

I'm not sure. I've been thinking about this a lot lately, because I think Truth-Teller and Gwydion could be stand ins for Elain and Azriel (not necessarily in that order, though I do think a dagger suits Elain better than a sword does in terms of function); a bond needing to be reforged between them has always screamed “renewed shall be blade that was broken” to me (the Ballad of Strider), and the Truth-Teller scene could be suggesting that the grey - as in the blend of light and dark - could be a thin place between them. It would follow that this imagery, albeit very loosely, could be evoking The Embrace of Solas and Cthona, which Ember wears as a necklace, and that could possibly be a wyrdmark on the cover of HOFAS.

“Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two..." Just seems so relevant here.

Cthona and Solas represent dark and light.

Gwydion/the Starsword and Truth-Teller are (bright) light and dark light.

Azriel and Elain are dark and light... or perhaps light and dark?

Are Void and Chaos (the Mother?) involved?

Is the statue of the primal goddess that Nesta notices in ACOSF another hint here?

If being carranam ties into this, would it include Feysand and Nessian?

Light and dark have grey in between them, and the thin places are described as “gray.” Elain was even engaged to a man named "Graysen" for crying out loud; his family’s colour was even cobalt. I would be so surprised if all of this ends up meaning absolutely nothing in terms of her story.

How could Elain and Azriel stand in for Cthona and Solas when Elain is light and Azriel is darkness?

I could definitely be wrong, but instead of purely life, I (and @wingedblooms) prefer to think of Elain as rebirth, which inherently straddles the murky realm between life and death - the grey between light and dark (and grey) - and beautifully fits with her role as a gardener (relevant theories are here, here, here and here), the Book of Breathings rambling about "rot and bloom and bone," her position as the middle Archeron sister, her ability to blend quietly into the background, and definitely the grey of dawn and dusk. Azriel, though? The one Feyre described as the knife in the dark? Well, he has shadows that can brighten into sunlight, and I suspect that may have been what Elain was referring to in ACOWAR, when she said she needed sunshine.

So...

Azriel's shadows lightening into sunshine: Solas.

Elain and her many ties to the earth: Cthona.

I'm unsure if this is trying to tell us that Azriel will be the stand-in for Truth-Teller, because he is "dark light"/has shadowsinging abilities, while Elain is represented by Gwydion due to her prominent (so far) association with hope or brighter light, or whether it's the other way around, and we're actually being told that, while Elain appears to be light and warmth personified, in the future she will carry Truth-Teller, the blade that is her apparent opposite, as Azriel will wield Gwydion* (if they both end up having surprise powers, being able to swap between light and dark). It's all very murky, one might say a grey area. But I do think it likely that Elain and Azriel will each end up carrying either a blade that represents themself or their partner in some way.

* Yes, I know that Bryce gave Gwydion to Nesta, but she already has her own trio of Made blades. If I'm putting money on who will wield it, I think it will be Azriel, Elain or Feyre.

Thin places and Made blades

Before HOFAS was published @cassianfanclub and I had discussed the - we thought - insane possibility of the differently coloured mountain rock in Prythian being significant in terms of their possible salt content, and that it could be no coincidence that the black and grey rock of the Hewn City was in proximity to a known appearance of one “Lord Thanatos.”

Black salts were used for summoning demons directly—bypassing the Northern Rift entirely—or for various dark spellwork. A salt that went beyond black, a salt like the obsidian … It could summon something big. - CC HOEAB, chapter 18

Bryce stiffened at the moldy, rotten earth scent that crept from the bundle as he unfolded the fabric to reveal a handful of rust-colored salt. “What the fuck is that?” Ithan asked. “Bloodsalt,” Bryce breathed. Tharion looked to her in question, but she didn’t bother to explain more. Blood for life, blood for death—it was summoning salt infused with the blood from a laboring mother’s sex and blood from a dying male’s throat. The two great transitions of a soul in and out of this world. But to use it here … “You can’t mean to add that to their water,” Bryce said to the Astronomer. The old male hobbled back down the ramp. “Their tanks already contain white salts. The bloodsalt will merely pinpoint their search.” - CC HOSAB, chapter 38

Mor went right up to the obsidian dais, and I halted at the foot of the steps as she took up a place beside the throne and said to the crowd in a voice that was clear and cruel and cunning, “Your High Lord approaches. He is in a foul mood, so I suggest being on your best behavior—unless you wish to be the evening entertainment.” - ACOMAF, chapter 42

The mountain underneath the House of Wind - the one that houses the library in which I think a certain cat-like darkness could be a prince of Hel - contains both red stone and obsidian doors, with veins of silver running throughout (which reads like hope in the void, like the Velaris Weaver's tapestry, and I suspect may be important for Elain's journey, given she is frequently associated with hope).

Rhys stepped into a hall at the foot of the stairs, revealing a wide passageway of carved red stone and a sealed set of obsidian doors, veins of silver running throughout. Beautiful—terrifying. Like some great beast was kept behind them. - ACOWAR, chapter 20

If @silverlinedeyes, @wingedblooms, @ladynightcourt, @cassianfanclub, @psychologynerd and I are right that Clotho and some of her priestesses are involved in something massive, and have been contacting at least one of the princes of Hel, this would make sense! Black salt to summon something big, and red salt to pinpoint their search. And obsidian doors?!

We then learnt the following in CC HOFAS:

“The black salt, in such high quantity, keeps them away. They never realized that its presence drew us as much as it repelled them,” Apollion said with satisfaction. “It has the same properties that made us immune to the thrall of their black crowns.” - CC HOFAS, chapter

“The black salt only repels the Asteri; the mists repel everyone else. But certain people, with certain gifts, can access the power of thin places—on any world. World-walkers.” Aidas gestured gracefully to Bryce. “You are one of them. So were Helena and Theia. Their natural abilities lent themselves to moving through the mists.” - CC HOFAS, chapter

Elain is almost certainly a world walker - doe eyes searching across the world! - and Azriel may be one as well, but what if it is everyone who can winnow? Or just those like them, with a deeper affinity to the Void? And are they walking thin places themselves/as a partnership (remember the charged glance they shared last winter solstice), or do they just have a natural ability to make use of those which exist in the wild? Or is it some combination of the above?

Additionally, the obsidian hilts of Truth-Teller and Gwydion appear to be incredibly important here. In addition to the possibility that the Illyrian runes Truth-Teller carries on its scabbard may in reality be wyrdmarks, what if the obsidian hilts both summon the bearer in a way that allows them to access the void/murky realm and provides protection from any prying Asteri/Daglan eyes? Are the hilts made from wyrdstone? What about Koschei? Is Truth-Teller the reason his magic captured Cassian instead of Azriel in ACOSF?

There are so many possibilities beyond shipping, though given this is romantasy we know the relationships are more important to the story than your average romantic side plot, so we really can't separate the two while theorising. But either way, I'm so excited to see where this leads, and if we'll finally get detailed information about the gods in each or SJM's worlds, and how they may function throughout her extensive literary universe.

If you've made it this far, thank you for reading!

[moonpatroclus]

@erisweekofficial Day 1: Bonds

Happy Eris Week! When @cauldronblssd and I saw the prompts for day one, we immediately started thinking of a way to take things in the bondage direction, and what better way to explore that theme than some Azris!

Thank you to @lucychanart for creating this commission for us and being so much fun to work with!💗

Please do not repost.

[wingedblooms]

“No. No—that is all mist and shadow.”

It’s giving Elain’s murky realm—the space between—where dream and reality entwine.

[aprill-99]

Rhys: “So let’s see if I’ve got this; you have immense shadow power, incredible combat skills, height, tattoos, secrets, dead parents, a thirst for vengeance, the weight of the world on your shoulders, a rebellion to lead, and a dragon?”

Xaden: “Yeah? I mean, there’s also my girlfriend who I’m completely in love with and 107 people under my protection but-”

Rhys: *frantically flipping through papers* “this is the hyper-intelligent girlfriend with unprecedented lightning powers? The one you speak to with your mind and call a nickname permanently?”

Xaden: “I do only have the one girlfriend. Kinda offended you’d think otherwise.”

Rhys: *signs a paper* “Adopted. The rebellion thing is handled. Me and your aunts and uncles have got this. Your new mom is going to need some time to add you and your mate to the family portrait gallery. Your bedroom is upstairs, knives are in the training ring, family dinner is every Thursday, your allowance is infinity and your curfew is never.”

Xaden: “I am…. Older than your wife?”

Rhys: “Did I fucking stutter?”

[somnas-writes]

Azris fic idea

Azriel and Eris are finally at the stage in their new relationship where they’re bold enough to sleep in the same bed.

Azriel doesn’t even touch Eris until he gets impatient and hugs him. Azriel absolutely melts and falls asleep so fast.

They both sleep fantastically that night, but come morning Azriel doesn’t wake up. At first Eris panicked, but upon further inspection he realizes that Azriel is in the deepest sleep ever.

On Az’s end, laying in that bed is the warmest he’s ever been and he hasn’t had a full night sleep in who knows how long— once he closes his eyes, he’s out.

He sleeps nearly three whole days, when he finally wakes up he doesn’t know where he is but he’s never felt more relieved.

[qu1cks1lversb1tch]

Azriel, the stoic and mysterious Shadowsinger being reduced to a needy, whimpering mess beneath you because his hands are bound and he can't place them on your hips. . . And gods, you just felt so good around him. His shadows caress every inch of skin possible, leaving goosebumps in their wake, yet it only gives you motivation. . . The look in his eyes said there would be consequences, but you couldn't find it within yourself to care. Especially as another whimper fell from his lips.

That's it. That's the thought. You're welcome :)

[feyreswaterybowels]

⭒The Silent One⭒

#2 Azriel x Fem!OC

⭒Part 1⭒Part 2⭒Part 3⭒Part 4⭒

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: Cassandra decides to join the IC for dinner. Things feel weird and wrong but also…safe and comfortable. She opens up to them about her past traumas and gets to know more about them.

Warnings/Tags: mentions physical and visual sexual abuse in the recent past. describes physical violence. trauma. mute character. slow burn. protective!azriel. protective!IC.

Authors Note: All reblogs, likes and comments are welcome, appreciated and encouraged! Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for the next part! Regular italics are inter thoughts while bold italics are her communicating with other people mentally.

⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☾ ݁⟡ ݁⋆

“Relax,” Nuala cooed as she helped Cassandra ease into the large bath, warm and floral scented.

Cassandra had never been in a bath like this. Only one suited for regular fae without wings. They had been cramped and uncomfortable and nearly impossible to bathe everywhere without hurting a wing. But this bath? It was huge and could easily fit multiple people with and without wings. It stretched all the way to one of those glassless windows where the water spilled over in a soothing stream.

She leaned back when Nuala prompted, letting her wings float in the water. It was so nice the way they felt so weightless. Nuala tilted her head back and their eyes met as she cupped her hands with water and poured it over Cassandra’s white hair. She lathered it with a nice smelling soap, massaging at her scalp.

It was difficult to lay there and relax while someone else washed her hair. It reminded her of the mistress, how when she bathed her and washed her hair it was rushed and rough and…and when she washed her hair like this she would sometimes push her head under the water and hold her there—

Cassandra bolted up with a gasp, hands coming up to wipe away the water that fell down from her hair and over her face, chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. She whirled around, wide eyes catching Nuala’s, trying to desperately apologize for what she had done. The female just shook her head gently.

“It’s okay,” She said, “would you like to be left alone for a moment?”

Cassandra considered this, she both wanted to be alone and have someone else around. But she nods her head. Cerridwen walked in then, a stack of something in her hand.

“Clothes for you,” she said, sitting the stack on a shelf across the room. “We will be back but if you finish with your bath and wish to dress before we return the clothes will be here.”

Cassandra nods. She doesn’t know what else to do, but the females seem to understand, offering her small nods in return before leaving the room—the heavy door closing as they leave the bedroom the bedroom.

She sinks down in the water once she’s sure she’s alone. So much has changed in such a short time and she’s still not sure if this is all real. These people…they could change any moment. Drag her from this huge room and throw her into a prison cell and use her for whatever they pleased.

Turning in the water she pushed herself towards the other end of the tub, the one that waterfalls over the edge. What she sees there takes her breath away, an audible gasp leaving her lips.

The first thing she notices is all the lights, it looked exactly like the painting she saw with Morrigan. There was so much to look at. But what she really wanted to see was the beautiful sight above that. The night sky. The thousands of stars twinkling above, surrounding a bright moon.

She could have cried looking at the sight. But not because she felt sad, she felt safe. Comfortable. Content. Like this was where she was meant to be.

Eventually she did get out of the bath, drying herself off with the fluffy white towel that was unnaturally warm. She stopped in front of the mirror, surprised at her own reflection. She looked so different from the last time she actually saw herself. Her skin that was once a golden caramel color was lighter and ashen, dark circles under her green eyes. Her white hair slicked back with water was thinner than when it used to fall in thick ringlets as a girl. Her rib cage and hip bones protruding in a way they always had but wished they hadn’t. She had wanted a thicker, fuller body like the girls she saw at the pleasure houses. A strong body like her mothers used to be. A body that could hold up her wings and maybe one day…fly.

She had gotten dressed before Nuala and Cerridwen returned. The clothes weren’t like anything she’d ever worn before. Cream colored pants that were lined with a fuzzy material that was softer than anything she’d ever worn before. The top was a matching cream, flowy top with sleeves that stopped at her elbows and buttoned up the back to accommodate her wings. The shoes were white, flat and slipped on her feet easily.

She chose not to attend dinner that night. She wasn’t sure she could stomach any food. The twins looked disappointed. Her decision had been made to gauge how she would be treated if she didn’t have dinner with this high lord male.

She didn’t leave her room the following day either.

Or the day after that.

No one bothered her. No one came to drag her from the room kicking and screaming. No one beat on the door or called her horrible names. No one held her down or forced the food into her mouth. In fact no one except Nuala and Cerridwen came to her room at all.

And when they came they would bring a small tray of food, she only ever drank the tea and ate the biscuit and left everything else. She didn’t want to take too much before knowing if she was expected to do something in return.

When she finally felt safe enough she agreed to dinner on her fourth night. Nuala bathed her again. She couldn’t help the panic that overcame her once again as the female washed her hair but she cooed at her, soothingly before getting up and leaving her to finish alone as she had the first night.

Cerridwen took on fixing her hair, drying and styling it into waves that fell over her shoulders. Once she was done and dressed Nuala put a cream on her face and spritzed her with something that smelled sweet.

When they were done she felt like a different person. She felt clean. Comfortable. Alive.

There wasn’t much time to dwell on her feelings of finally leaving the room before Nuala and Cerridwen pulled her up and escorted her down the maze of hallways.

“Just two doors down, you’ll find the dining room,” Cerridwen pointed down the hall with a small smile. Cassandra wanted to ask why they weren’t also joining but when she turned to face them they were just gone as if they disappeared into thin air.

⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☾ ݁⟡ ݁⋆

Walking into the dining room was a weird feeling. Cassandra didn’t feel like she belonged there. In the fancy room, with a huge table filled with foods…foods she had never seen before. The four people she had met three days ago—and another she hadn’t met, all sat around the table talking in hushed whispers.

Azriel was the first to look over. His eyes met hers and offered her a small smile. “Cassandra,” his deep voice greeted.

“I’m glad you decided to join us this evening, please come sit,” Rhysand said, standing and motioning to the empty seat next to him, where Azriel would be on her other side—Morrigan in front of her and Cassian next to her. The other female at the opposite end of the table from Rhysand.

Cassandra hesitated for only a moment before walking over and realizing that the chair was designed to accommodate wings. She wouldn’t have to sit at some weird angle to be comfortable. Her eyes meet Azriel’s, the gentle look on his face a comfort she needed. He stood from his spot, sliding the chair out and gesturing for her to sit.

She felt eyes on her as she scanned all of the food in front of her. She had never seen so much food.

“I trust everything went okay the last few days?” Rhysand asked as he took his own seat once again.

“I freaked out a little when Nuala was washing my hair…” Cassandra admitted, shoulders hunching in embarrassment.

“That’s okay, no need to be upset. You’ve been through a lot, it’s expected. Nuala and Cerridwen are understanding and won’t hold it against you. You have my word on that.”

She wanted to say thank you again but didn’t feel it was appropriate. She didn’t know what else to say so she nodded her head and looked towards that other female, freezing as she looked into glowing silver eyes. She had never seen anything so…beautiful and terrifying at the same time.

A snort to her side caught her attention and she looked at Rhysand.

“Sorry, I just heard that,” Rhysand said, Cassandra’s eyebrows pulled together before realization dawned on her. The comment about the other female… “Amren.” Rhys supply’s the name.

She looks back to the female, to those eyes that make her not want to look away.

“Hello, girl,” She greets, and it’s not a terrifying rumble, but a genuine greeting.

Cassandra offers a small smile, feeling a draw to the small female. No one else spoke so she reached for a plate but before her fingers could even graze it, it filled with food before her eyes. She blinked at it in shock, looking to Rhysand to see if he had done it.

There was a small smile on his lips as he shook his head.

“The house is enchanted, it does what it pleases. You wanted food so it filled your plate for you,” Azriel spoke, she looked over at him then back at the plate.

Oh, wow. She thought…the food had even been diced into smaller pieces as she had told Rhysand. Her eyes fell on the wine glass in front of her—she wouldn’t drink it, couldn’t, so she looked at Azriel again then around the room. Water. And just like that, a glass of water appeared in front of her.

Cassandra felt the corners of her mouth twitch up, eyes meeting Azriel’s again then Rhysands before she grabbed the glass of water.

⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☾ ݁⟡ ݁⋆

“It’s pretty awesome, right?” Cassian spoke, his long hair that had been pulled back earlier now fell to his shoulders.

Cassandra nodded in answer, sitting her glass back on the table. Rhys took his seat, grabbing his wine glass, silently observing the female as she reached for her fork.

“I’ve never had this much food before…”

Rhys isn’t surprised but he’s not expecting the words and they make his heart hurt.

“Eat as much as you’d like,” Rhys says warmly, watching as she scoops up some warm potatoes and brings them to her lips.

“Mm” she hums, eyes closing. “That’s so good!” Rhys doesn’t answer, he can tell she’s not speaking to him consciously, she’s just thinking, not a single mental shield to protect her fragile mind.

It’s the next bite that wipes the small mine from all the faces. No longer an exploratory bite but a ravenous one. One after another, eating quickly and without restraint. Eating in a way that meant she had been starving, had never had an adequate food supply, had never been allowed to eat more than what was given.

She didn’t speak and neither did they. None of them would tell her to stop or slow down, all having been there at some point in their lives. They had all known that hunger at one point or another. So they let her eat. And drink. And eat some more.

Potatoes. Greens. Fruit. Meat. Bread. A plate appeared next to her holding a slice of cake and she ate that too—she had never had cake before but no one else at the table knew that.

It’s only when her plate is empty that anyone speaks up. It’s Cassian that asks, “How do you feel you’re settling in?” It’s an attempt to bring about a conversation without making her uncomfortable.

Cassandra takes a slow sip of water, breathing deeply as she does before looking at Rhysand who nods in confirmation that he’ll give her answer.

“Honestly…I feel more comfortable here than I have ever felt anywhere else.”

“That’s wonderful! We want you to be as comfortable as possible,” Morrigan chimes in, excited as if she’d been waiting to talk to Cassandra for the past three days. “When we didn’t see you for three days we were worried—well I was. The boys wanted to give you some space.”

“I didn’t know what was expected of me,” she says, Rhysand repeats her and she’s met with confused frowns. “That’s why I stayed away, didn’t eat much. I didn’t know if anything would be…expected of me in return if I did.”

“You have no debt to us, Cassandra. Nothing is expected of you,” Rhysand speaks, his voice firm but gentle. “If you wish to come to dinner you eat your fill until you’re satisfied. If you need clothes you wear what you like and it’s yours to keep. Nothing will ever be taken or held against you as punishment of any kind.”

Cassandra blinks at him, feels the wetness in her eyes as she nods. There’s just one nagging question in her mind, one she needs an answer to before she gets too comfortable.

“Why am I here then?” She asks, setting her fork down on a freshly filled plate, half as full as before.

Rhysand lets out a sigh before telling the others what she’d asked.

“You are here because I received word from one of Azriel’s spies—I’ll give you a more in depth explanation on what that means at another time—that pleasure houses in my court were buying and selling females against their will,” Rhysand begins to explain. “See we have many pleasure houses in Velaris but it has always been law that consent is the main requirement for anyone involved. Those who work or visit have to be there because they want to be there.”

“So, when we got word this law had been broken, Rhys sent us out to patrol the pleasure houses,” Azriel said, drawing her attention to him, “he needed solid proof of the law being broken before he could step in. Cassian and I, we saw you there. Scared. Frightened. Clearly not there of your own free will and didn’t feel it was safe for you to stay there.”

Cassandra looked at him, taking in the shadows swirling around him. His kind hazel eyes, the blue siphons glowing on his scarred hands. Remembered how when her eyes first landed on him on the other side of those bars she had been absolutely terrified of him.

“What about the…Mistress?” She asked turning away from Azriel to look at Rhysand.

“You no longer have to call her mistress, her name is Kamari. She is still here in our cells, she’s not been harmed. We are working to gather some intel from her. Who her bosses are, where they are buying the females and any other information we can get from her. She’s been cooperative in giving us the information we need to stop this from happening to any other females,” Rhysand said, eying the female in front of him before looking to his second in command.

“Do you have any information that may help us, girl? Anything we could use against that female to get more information?” Amren asks, fixing her smoky eyes on the female.

Cassandra was quiet for a moment, thinking. Trying to piece together everything she could remember. She looks up and nods her head. Everyone seemed to sit a little straighter, their full attention on her alone.

“My father is the one who sold me to a male named Vale. Blue skin, a long deep scar across his face, black eyes…mean and very strong—”

Rhysand hold his hand up, relaying the information to Azriel and you watch curiously as one of his shadows darts away and out of a window.

“Cassandra, do you mind if I open up a channel for everyone to hear what you say to me? It will help us find these people,” Rhysand asks, she doesn’t need to think before she nodded. She wanted to help in any way she could. Help any girls going through what she did and stopping more from going through it.

“Please, continue,” Rhysand encouraged.

“The male, Vale, had bought other females. He kept me me in a dark room under his home with three other females. He—he raped one of the girls many time but not me or the other two girls. He said he would get more money for us if we stayed…untouched.” Cassandra’s stomach rolled at the memories. Nauseated, remembering the cries of that poor girl every time that man came down stairs and hurt her. She could see the anger in the eyes that surrounded her, could practically feel it radiating from them. Their fists and jaws clenched tightly, wings rigid and shoulders taunt. But she continued.

“I stayed there for a few months before he took me to that…pleasure house? I’m not sure what happened to the other girls. I think he may have kept the one he raped.”

“Do you know their names?” Cassian asks and she’s nods. How could she ever forget them?

“Seera, Juno and Neema. I believe Seera and Juno were sister but I’m not completely sure. We tried not to talk too much because it made the male very angry,” She took a deep breath, trying not to remember the time he had nearly crushed her throat for merely asking to use the bathroom.

Unbeknownst to her she had sent that mental image to them who were seething with anger at what this poor girl had gone through.

“Once I was at that place I was introduced to Miss—I was introduced to Kamari,” She continued, needing to get away from the memories of that male. “She was in charge of my training. She stripped me naked, told me I would never own a pair of clothes again. That I was to be naked and ready for any male to take me whenever they pleased. I was to learn things that would…please these males. Anytime I refused I was beaten. So, for months I watched other females pleasure males in many ways. But only watched. They said—she said I would be sold for a lot of money for being untouched. That whoever paid the most could do whatever they wanted to me. When I saw the two of you I thought—” She swallowed thickly eyes shooting between Azriel and Cassian. “I though you were going to—”

Her voice cracks and she looks away. Morrigan pushes out of her chair, walking around the table. “Can I hug you?” She asks.

All Cassandra can do is nod letting Morrigan wrap strong arms around her. Hugging her tightly. Holding her in a way that reminded her of her mother before she died. After a moment Morrigan pulls away offering a napkin to wipe her eyes.

“Cassandra, dear, we can be done for today if it’s too much to continue,” Rhysand offers gently.

She nods gently, feeling as if maybe she wasn’t much help at all. The rest of dinner is spent in silence, Cassandra hunched into herself while the other four fae think about killing everyone who hurt this innocent girl and many more.

⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☾ ݁⟡ ݁⋆

It’s later that evening when Cassandra slips from her room. The stone floor is cold under her feet and the satin nightgown doesn’t do much to keep the cold from her skin so she tucks her wings around her body.

She makes her way to the roof of the house, a training area the twins had told her was up here—they had also told her it was the best place to view the stars.

It’s a breathtaking sight. The wind whips her hair around as she walks to the edge. The lively city sparkling below while the endless sky shines above. Beautiful. She sighs gazing at the sight of the silver moon and tapestry of stars.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be up here at this time,” Cassandra spins around, sighing in relief when she spotted Azriel, she hadn’t heard him come out at all.

“Sorry, I couldn’t sleep. I always loved looking at the stars,” She said, grateful Rhys had made it to where she could communicate—at least with the few people here.

Azriel gives her a lopsided smile that makes her heart stutter. “No need to apologize, that's why I’m out here too. The night sky has always been…soothing.”

She turns back to the ledge as he walks closer.

“You know, my father he was ashamed to have children with wings,” Cassandra said, as Azriel watched her from the side, her white hair shining in the moonlight—those green eyes glowing again. “He kept us locked away, and didn't want anyone to see us. My mother had her wings taken when she was a teenager. She said normally they just clipped them but her father was especially cruel and completely took hers away. Well, when my father was drunk enough or didn’t come home some evening my mother would bring us out and let us look at the stars, she taught us the constellations. And I got to see Starfall with her only one time before she died. It was…the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. After she died I never saw the stars again—not until the night you and Cassian took me away from that horrible place.”

Azriel did his best to simmer his anger, to clutch his shadows tightly that so badly wanted to reach out and comfort the female—to wipe away the glistening tears on her cheeks. She looks over at him then and he looks up at the sky so as not to reach out for her.

“Your mother seems like a lovely woman,” He says, hoping the opportunity to talk about her mother may make her feel better.

The smile that came over her face wasn’t what he was expecting. The way it lit up her face had his shadows singing in his ear. Beautiful. She’s beautiful.

She wiped her cheeks with one hand and nodded.

“She was amazing. She tried to protect us from him but she was just as afraid of him as we were. She didn’t know how to get out. But she took care of us. She was still young when she died—he says she died from taking some kind of herbs, that she took her own life. But I—I always believed he did it.” Azriel took in a shuttery breath.

“I’m sorry,” He said, struggling to find the words to comfort her.

“Me, too. I wish I could have protected her the way she protected me. But now she’s up there with the stars looking over us. Watching me, I think she would be happy I got out. I just hope I can help protect someone else the way I should have protected her.” She folded her arms across her chest and turned away from the ledge. “I think I’ll try to get some sleep. Goodnight, Azriel.”

Azriel watched her walk away. Night gown blowing in the wind, the beautiful broken girl disappearing into the shadows.

tag list: @aelinwya @starlightandsouls @fullmoon-94 @aetherl0l @caticorn61 @lilah-asteria @blackgirlmagicforever @div94

[acourtofquestions]

"Cassian's waiting for you, Nesta," Azriel said-tone gentling. "Take off the Mask." Nesta stayed silent, Ataraxia ready in her hand. One swipe, and Azriel would be dead. "He's waiting for you at the House of Wind," Azriel went on. "At home." Another blink from Nesta. The silver fire banked a little. Like whoever Cassian was, and whatever the House of Wind was … they might be the only things capable of fighting the siren song of the Mask. "Gwyn and Emerie are waiting," Azriel pushed. "And Feyre and Elain." The silver flame flared at that. Then Azriel said, "Nyx is waiting, too." The silver flame went out entirely.

[thelov3lybookworm]

ummm so i made smth 🤭 maid!reader w my features? ig? (hair and stuff hehe) but like, if you wanted to imagine maid reader and her wings, this is what she'd look like for the most part 🥹

i am actually so obsessed w her like SHES SO ADORABLE also im so proud of the wings i drew like OMG?? MY FIRST TIME DRAWING ANYTHING REAL AND THIS??? I ADORE THIS OMG

(i drew this, it took me a whole day yall. i kinda imagined the wings like this, so im really happy with how it turned out) (ps. please be nice its not the best but it was my first time)

[innercircleweekofficial]

I laid the second half of the Book atop the other. A silent ripple of power hollowed out my ears, buckled my bones. Then nothing. From far away, Mor said, “We can’t risk—” “Give her a minute,” Cassian cut her off. I was the Book and the Cauldron and sound and silence. ~~~ A Court of Mist and Fury ~ ch. 62

🎨: milla_drawings on Instagram

[lunaatthezoo]

Now that death will grow my jasmine | Chapter 4

Read Chapter 4 here.

@elriel-month 2025 Prompt: Visions of the future

The fic is complete!

You guys I'm reaaaaally proud of this one. It was so emotional for me to write, and I think (hope) I really captured Elain and Azriel's spirits in this one--and more than that, their deep, unending love and devotion to each other.

Summary: Elain ends the lives of the two men who hurt her husband the most.

CW: On-page murder, graphic violence, heavy angst, misogyny, sexual harassment

Preview:

“I’m coming with you.”

Elain pulled out of his grip. “Azriel, no. You don’t–”

“I am going to be there, angel,” he interrupted, his voice sure and steady as the rising moon. “I will not let you be in the presence of those pieces of shit alone. Besides, I would like to watch their faces as they take their last breaths.”

A cold stillness settled over him as he delivered this final comment. 

“And that won’t mark you?” Elain whispered, running a hand down his arm. 

“That I can come back from. It’s the retribution of taking their lives that I don’t want to experience. The mark that comes from killing your own blood out of hatred.”

“Is that not what I’m doing?” Elain asked softly, her brow furrowing. Azriel shook his head at her.

“No, Elain. You are killing out of love.”

She felt her own eyes brim as she nodded at him. Because she was killing out of love. Love for this magnificent, kind, gentle, beautiful male by her side. A male that deserved so much more than this life ever gave him. 

Continue on Ao3.

[offtorivendell]

Elain's book, is that you? 🕯️🕯️🕯️

The Secret Garden

Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

The Dark is Rising

Grimm's Fairy Tales

Stig of the Dump (thanks @tswaney17)

I need to look into a couple of these some more, but even just thinking about Alice's Adventures in Wonderland...

“There is a garden—at my other house,” I said. “I’d like for you to come tend it, if you’re willing.” Elain only turned toward the sunny windows again, the light dancing in her hair. “Will I hear the earthworms writhing through the soil? Or the stretching of roots? Will the bird of fire come to sit in the trees and watch me?” - ACOWAR, chapter 24

Of course nothing is confirmed, let me clown in peace.

If we get Elain adventuring through tunnels, or through the looking glass, if she goes to Hel... I need it.

Meeting a Prince of Hel?

Lost in the murky realm...

Does she have a Secret Garden? Will she help to heal the land?

Will she finally visit Rosehall?

Elain stans if we get her book 🙏🏻

[hrizantemy]

Nesta hadn’t expected to notice so much about Taryn. It wasn’t in her nature to observe people in such detail, to catalog the small things about them, but Taryn… Taryn made it impossible not to. She didn’t know when it started, when her gaze lingered just a little too long, when her mind began picking apart every nuance of Taryn’s presence, but now she couldn’t stop.

There was the way Taryn smiled—never too wide, but just enough that her eyes crinkled at the corners, like she was holding back something bigger. It made Nesta wonder what kind of laughter Taryn saved for when no one was looking, what kind of joy she kept just for herself. That smile was bright but never blinding, warm but never overbearing. It was a smile that drew people in without demanding anything from themselves.

Her voice was another thing. Low and even, the kind of tone that calmed rather than commanded. It was soothing, soft as the sound of pages turning in a quiet room. Taryn never raised her voice, never snapped or barked an order, but there was a firmness in the way she spoke that made people listen. It wasn’t authority—it was trust. People trusted her voice, her steadiness, and Nesta wondered when she had started to as well.

And then there were the small, unintentional things. The way Taryn tucked her hair behind her ear when she was deep in thought. The way her nose wrinkled when she didn’t agree with something but didn’t want to say it outright. The way she fiddled with the rings on her fingers when she was nervous, spinning them endlessly until she found her composure again. Nesta noticed it all, these tiny, fleeting moments that seemed insignificant but somehow weren’t.

Taryn had a way of carrying herself that spoke of quiet strength. She wasn’t the tallest, wasn’t the loudest, but there was a steadiness to her presence that anchored everything around her. Even when she was rushing out the door, hair a little messy, coat thrown on haphazardly, she still seemed composed in a way Nesta envied. There was something magnetic about her, something that Nesta didn’t fully understand but couldn’t help being drawn to.

And her scent—Nesta hated how much she noticed it. Taryn smelled faintly of lavender and something earthy, like freshly turned soil. It wasn’t perfume, at least not entirely, but something natural, something intrinsically her. It clung to her clothes and lingered in the air after she left a room, a subtle reminder of her presence that Nesta found herself searching for more often than she cared to admit.

It wasn’t just how Taryn looked or sounded or smelled, though. It was the way she existed, the way she made space for others without shrinking herself. The way she moved through the world as if she belonged in it, and yet still found ways to carve out room for people like Nesta, people who didn’t quite know where they fit. Taryn made her feel seen in a way she hadn’t before, and Nesta was starting to realize how much she liked that. How much she liked her.

Most of all, Nesta noticed how Taryn didn’t like when she brought up her sisters. Taryn never said it outright, never stopped her from talking or tried to steer the conversation in another direction, but there was a shift every time. A tightness in her jaw, the faintest flicker in her gaze, like she was forcing herself not to react. The first time, Nesta thought she’d imagined it. The second time, she wondered if she was projecting her own discomfort. But after the third, the fourth, the fifth time, Nesta began to see the pattern.

It wasn’t dramatic, nothing obvious—Taryn didn’t glare or sigh or tell her to stop. No, it was subtler than that. Her hands would fidget more than usual, her responses would grow clipped, and sometimes she’d stare into her tea like it held an answer she couldn’t quite find. It was almost as if Taryn was trying to seem unaffected, trying to be supportive, but couldn’t quite manage it.

Nesta, ever curious and prone to pushing, began testing her theory. She’d bring up Feyre or Elain in casual conversation, slipping their names into anecdotes or comments just to see. Every time, Taryn’s posture would stiffen, her shoulders drawing ever so slightly inward, as though the mention of them carried a weight she wasn’t prepared to hold. She never snapped, never told Nesta to stop, but the shift was unmistakable.

At first, Nesta thought Taryn disliked her sisters outright, though that didn’t quite sit right. Taryn wasn’t the type to hate someone without reason—at least, not from what Nesta had seen. Maybe it was something else entirely, something more complicated. But what? Taryn had never met Feyre or Elain properly, not beyond a polite greeting at solstice, and yet there was something there, something unresolved and heavy.

It gnawed at Nesta more than she wanted to admit. She’d never cared much for what people thought of her sisters—too many people had opinions about them already. But with Taryn, it was different. She wanted to know why. Why the mention of them brought that subtle tension to Taryn’s frame. Why her eyes would cloud, just for a moment, before she schooled her expression into something neutral.

The question slipped out before Nesta could think better of it. “Do you dislike my sisters?” she asked suddenly, her voice cutting through the quiet of the room.

Taryn was mid-sip of her tea, the porcelain cup poised delicately between her fingers, when the words landed. She blinked, raising an eyebrow as if Nesta had asked her something absurd. Slowly, she lowered the cup to the table, her movements measured, almost too controlled. “Of course not,” she said evenly, her tone steady, but not without a trace of something else—a note Nesta couldn’t quite place.

“Liar,” Nesta said immediately, her gaze fixed on Taryn’s face, searching for cracks in her composure.

Taryn didn’t flinch, but her lips tightened just enough for Nesta to notice. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms loosely over her chest. “I don’t dislike them,” Taryn said after a moment, her words slower now, more careful. “I don’t know them well enough to feel anything that strong.”

Nesta tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. “That’s not an answer,” she said coolly, folding her own arms in response. She could feel her pulse quicken, not out of anger but curiosity—curiosity sharpened by years of mistrust and a need to understand. “You tense up every time I mention them. You get quiet, avoid looking at me. So, if it’s not dislike, what is it?”

Taryn sighed, a long and drawn-out exhale as if the weight of Nesta’s persistence pressed on her. She reached for her tea again but didn’t drink it, just held the cup between her hands, staring down at the steam as though it might give her the words she needed. “It’s not about them,” she said finally, her voice softer this time, almost tentative. “It’s… complicated.”

Nesta snorted, the sound harsh in the stillness. “Everything’s complicated,” she said flatly. “Try harder.”

That earned her a sharp glance, but Taryn didn’t snap back, didn’t argue. Instead, she put the cup down again and pressed her palms against the table. “Fine,” she said, meeting Nesta’s gaze head-on now. There was something raw in her eyes, something unguarded that made Nesta sit up straighter. “I don’t dislike your sisters, Nesta. But when you talk about them… it’s hard not to see how much it still affects you. How much of your life still seems to orbit around them, even now.”

That caught Nesta off guard. She opened her mouth to respond, to deny it, but no words came. Taryn pressed on, her tone gentler but no less firm. “And maybe,” she added, “there’s a part of me that doesn’t understand how they could let you feel like you were never enough. That doesn’t understand how they could sit by and let you carry so much alone. So, no, I don’t dislike them. But I’m angry for you in ways I know I probably don’t have the right to be.”

For a moment, Nesta didn’t move, didn’t speak. She felt like Taryn had stripped something bare inside her, laid it out between them for inspection. She hadn’t expected that answer, hadn’t expected to feel a tightness in her chest at the quiet conviction in Taryn’s words. “You think they’re the reason I am the way I am,” she said finally, her voice quieter now.

“I think they’re a part of it,” Taryn said, her gaze steady. “And I think you’re still figuring out how to be you without them defining every piece of it. And for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing a damn good job of it.”

Nesta swallowed hard, looking away, her fingers curling into the fabric of her skirt. She didn’t know what to say, what to feel. So she settled for silence, letting Taryn’s words hang in the air, heavy but not unwelcome.

Nesta leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest as she regarded Taryn with a sharp gaze. The weight of Taryn’s words lingered, and she didn’t know if it was anger or confusion curling in her stomach. Maybe it was both. “Then why did you agree to go to Solstice?” she asked, her voice quiet but edged with something brittle. “Why didn’t you say anything if you felt that way? If it made you angry?”

Taryn’s expression softened, but there was no hesitance when she answered. “Because it wasn’t about me,” she said simply, her tone calm and unwavering. “My feelings don’t matter when it comes to this. Not when it’s about your family and your choice to see them. Solstice isn’t about how I feel. It’s about you and what you needed to do, even if it was hard.”

Nesta blinked, startled by the simplicity of the response. She had expected defensiveness, maybe even irritation—something to latch onto and push back against. Instead, Taryn met her confusion with clarity, as though the answer had always been obvious.

Taryn leaned forward slightly, resting her forearms on the table, her hands clasped loosely together. “It’s not my place to stand in the way of you making peace with them,” she continued, her voice quieter now but no less firm. “Even if I don’t understand all the history or all the pain, I know it’s there. And if being at Solstice was what you thought you needed—if it was your way of trying, of healing—then my feelings didn’t matter. I went because it mattered to you.”

Nesta stared at her, unable to speak for a moment as the words settled. She didn’t know what to do with them, with the sudden understanding that Taryn had always been so careful, so steady, even when Nesta herself had been unsure. “You didn’t say anything,” Nesta murmured, more to herself than to Taryn. Her hands tightened in her lap. “You should’ve said something.”

Taryn smiled faintly, a small, bittersweet curve of her lips. “Would it have changed anything?” she asked gently. “Would you have stayed home if I said I didn’t want to go?”

Nesta opened her mouth to argue, but the words caught in her throat because she knew the answer. No, she wouldn’t have stayed. She would’ve gone anyway, because it wasn’t about Taryn’s feelings—it wasn’t even entirely about her sisters. It was about proving something to herself, about trying, about making some semblance of an effort. And Taryn had known that, had seen it, and had chosen not to stand in her way.

“I hate how calm you are about this,” Nesta muttered, looking away, feeling something uncomfortable and warm twisting in her chest.

Taryn’s soft laugh broke the tension, lightening the air between them. “I know,” she said, not unkindly.

For once, Nesta didn’t have a biting remark ready. She just nodded, her throat feeling strangely tight as she reached for her tea.

Nesta fiddled with the handle of her mug, her fingers tracing the edges absently, her gaze fixed on the steam rising from her tea. The warmth seemed to settle into her, but it couldn’t ease the unease curling in her chest. She hadn’t been able to shake it all day. There were things she needed to say, things she needed to work through, and Taryn’s steady presence was the only thing grounding her.

“I think I made up with Feyre,” she said quietly, as though speaking the words out loud would make them more real. “We talked. We forgave each other. It wasn’t perfect, but I think… it was a step. It feels like a start.” She paused, trying to understand the strange sense of calm that had settled in her heart after their conversation. It was the first time in a long time that Nesta felt as though she had done something right—something real—when it came to her sisters. But even with that, there was still a part of her that wasn’t sure it would last. The damage ran deep.

Her fingers tightened around the mug as her mind shifted to Elain. Her heart twisted at the thought of her sister, the distance between them, the unspoken words. She looked up at Taryn, her gaze lingering on her for a moment, almost as if trying to gauge how to say what was next.

“Elain, though,” Nesta muttered, the weight of her thoughts heavy in her voice. “I don’t know where I stand with her. Things are… complicated. It’s like we’re strangers, even when we’re in the same room. I know it’s partly my fault. I pushed her away, didn’t I? I didn’t know how to handle her… I didn’t know how to handle any of it, and I guess I was just angry. I’m still angry, but she’s… she’s different. She’s so different from me.”

The words felt clumsy, unformed, but they were all she had. Elain’s quiet sweetness, her gentleness—it was almost too much for Nesta to take in, too much for her to understand, and it had pushed her further away. The thought that her sister had gone through so much, that she had her own pain, just as Nesta did, but somehow it hadn’t drawn them closer—it hurt in a way that Nesta didn’t know how to express.

“I don’t know what to do with her,” Nesta admitted, her voice barely a whisper. “I want to try, but I don’t know how. I don’t even know where to begin.”

Taryn was quiet for a moment, her gaze distant as she seemed to be weighing her words carefully. She looked at Nesta, her expression thoughtful, like she was piecing together something fragile. Her fingers gently curled around her tea cup, her eyes softening as she met Nesta’s gaze.

“You know,” Taryn began slowly, her voice measured but kind, “that is a step, wanting to try. It may not feel like much, but it is. And sometimes, those small steps, those quiet ones—those matter the most.” She let out a small breath, looking down at her hands, before continuing. “I don’t have sisters, so I can’t say for sure what you’re supposed to do, what’s right for you and Elain. But from what I’ve seen in the way you’ve handled things with Feyre, I think… you’re doing the right thing. It’s not about rushing in, or forcing things, or trying to fix everything all at once. It’s about the small things. Setting boundaries. Being open when you’re ready. I think that’s a start.”

Taryn took a long sip of her tea, her eyes studying Nesta intently, as though trying to understand her on a deeper level. “You��ve made progress, Nesta,” she said quietly, her words steady, almost like a promise. “It’s okay that things aren’t fixed yet. I think… being willing to try, to open yourself to the possibility of change, is the most important thing. You don’t have to have it all figured out right now. Not with your sisters. Not with yourself. Just… one step at a time.”

For the first time in a long while, Nesta felt something other than the overwhelming weight of guilt or the tightening of old wounds. Taryn’s words hung in the air, a quiet reassurance. She wasn’t rushing her. She wasn’t telling her to force the healing, to push forward when she wasn’t ready. She was simply offering support, letting Nesta know that it was okay to take the time she needed, to go at her own pace.

And for Nesta, that felt like enough. Maybe that, too, was a step forward.

Nesta raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. She leaned back slightly, studying Taryn as she took another sip of her tea. “I don’t know much about your family,” Nesta remarked casually, her voice light but laced with genuine interest. She could feel the faint stir of her own discomfort as she realized how little she actually knew about the woman she had come to care for. “Why is that?”

Taryn didn’t immediately answer, her eyes flickering to the window for a brief moment before she set her cup down on the table. Her shoulders gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug as she met Nesta’s gaze. “Because I never told you,” she said simply, her tone soft but matter-of-fact.

Nesta’s gaze sharpened. “But… why not?” She had to ask, the question rolling off her tongue without hesitation. She had always been open with Taryn, shared pieces of herself, however broken they might have been. It was strange to think that Taryn might be holding back from her, keeping something guarded, especially when they had gotten closer in so many other ways.

Taryn leaned back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest as she sighed lightly. “Because there’s nothing to tell,” she answered after a beat, her voice quiet, almost distant. “My family… they’re not really a part of my life. I’m not close with them, never have been. There’s no need to talk about them, Nesta. It’s just easier that way.”

For a moment, the silence hung heavy between them. Nesta felt a flicker of understanding deep within her. She didn’t need Taryn to explain any further. She could sense there was more to the story, but it wasn’t something Taryn was ready to share. And for the first time, Nesta recognized the boundaries that Taryn had set around herself.

It was a strange, quiet thing—knowing that Taryn had her own walls, just like Nesta did. But for some reason, Nesta didn’t feel upset by it. She just felt… something. Maybe a quiet kind of acceptance. Something unsaid but understood, just between the two of them.

Nesta tilted her head, the words lingering in the air for a moment before she asked quietly, “Would you tell me? About your family, I mean. If you’re ready.”

Taryn was quiet for a long while, and Nesta almost thought she wouldn’t respond. But then, with a small sigh, Taryn set her tea down once again, her fingers tracing the edge of the cup as she looked at Nesta with a faint, unreadable expression. “Yes,” she said, her voice steady but soft. “I’ll tell you, if you really want to know.”

Nesta nodded, her curiosity still simmering, but her tone gentle, not pushing, simply waiting. “I do.”

Taryn’s gaze seemed to drift for a moment, her thoughts far away. Then, finally, she spoke. “They’re from the Dawn Court,” she began, her words slow, almost measured. “My mother was a healer. She helped people, mostly with potions and remedies—things that kept the court running smoothly. My father… he was a soldier, but I don’t really remember much about him. He left when I was young.”

Nesta listened quietly, sensing the weight of the words between the lines. Taryn spoke with a sense of detachment, as if the memories weren’t painful, but simply distant and faded with time. She didn’t press for more; Taryn had given her a piece, and Nesta understood that it was more than enough for now.

“They lived… fairly normal lives,” Taryn continued, her voice a bit lighter now. “We had a house, a garden, the kind of life that doesn’t really stand out. Nothing grand. Just… ordinary. It wasn’t a bad life, but it wasn’t anything special either. We were just… there.”

There was a pause, and Nesta felt a subtle sadness in Taryn’s words, a quiet yearning for something that had been lost. But Taryn didn’t linger on it, didn’t indulge in what-ifs or the could-have-beens. Instead, she met Nesta’s gaze with an expression that was as calm as it was firm.

“That’s all there is, really. It’s not much, and there’s not much more to say about it.”

Nesta sat back, taking it all in, realizing that this was Taryn’s way of showing trust. It wasn’t grand or dramatic, but it was enough for Nesta to understand a bit more about her—about her past, her life before, and maybe, in some strange way, who Taryn was.

Nesta could feel it, the subtle tension in Taryn’s words and the quiet way she held herself back, but she didn’t point it out. There were things that Taryn wasn’t saying, things Nesta could sense but had no desire to pry into just yet. Instead, she took a slow sip of her tea, savoring the warmth as the silence stretched between them.

Finally, after a moment of contemplation, Nesta asked softly, “Would you go with me? If I went to see my sisters?”

Taryn’s gaze flickered, a slight hesitation in her eyes, but then she gave a small, genuine smile, the kind that made Nesta’s heart skip a beat. “I want to be there,” she said, her voice steady but laced with something deeper. “If it means that much to you, of course I’ll go.”

Nesta’s smile deepened, a warmth spreading through her chest. It was more than just Taryn’s words; it was the fact that Taryn was offering herself—her presence—without hesitation, supporting Nesta in a way that felt natural, without making her feel like a burden or an afterthought. It was different from everything she had known before, and she couldn’t help but feel grateful for it.

“I’ve received a letter,” Nesta said quietly, her voice lighter now. She met Taryn’s gaze with a glint of something soft in her eyes. “From Feyre. She invited me to the House of Wind. And… I’ve accepted.”

Tag list: @litnerdwrites @viajandopelomar

[feyrescourt]

Bryceriels and gwynriels not being able to see that az’s Made dagger and his powers “responding” to the starsword or gwyn’s sus powers are parallels of each other and are not indicative of mate association will never not be funny to me.

[ivymoonstudios]

@elriel-month prompt 3: powers & possibilities