#azriel memory loss

[illyrian-dreamer]

Overwritten – Part 10

Azriel x Reader

Summary: After months as his prisoner, Hybern has hijacked your mind, turning you into an enemy of your home, your family, and your mate, Azriel.

Words: 1,889

——–

Part 10 ∇

You waded through the depths of the woods, the crisp air consuming you.

The ground was damp, the tree’s mossy and the cold bit through your clothes. But at least you felt something, allowing the sensation to blanket what writhed within.

Silent tears streamed down your face as you made you way further into the woods. Hybern had won, he had turned you to a weapon born in a cell, insidious enough to even hurt children. Months of treatment and the strides of progress were revealed now for a certain truth – it was not enough. You weren't enough. Not strong enough, no loving, or caring, or kind enough to overcome what he had made you. Not good enough for your family. And certainly not good enough for Azriel.

So you walked and walked, cyclical thoughts swirling in your head as you stumbled through the thicket, leaving the faint sound of the city behind, uncaring that you were lost.

It wasn’t until hours later, when the faint glow of dawn peeked through the branches, that you realised exhaustion was quick on your tail. Stopping at a clearing, you slid your back against a mossy ash tree, blinking through crusted tears and heavy lids that begged for sleep. Your vision reeled, the ground now uncertain and you wondered when the last time you had a drink of water was. Blinking faster now, you tried to steady your vision on the open grass in front of you.

And Hybern, who stood at the centre of it.

You choked on your own breath, scrambling to your feet.

His wicked grin shone through the dim light of dawn, at contrast with the climbing dark trunks that surrounded the clearing. Strapped to his body was  a plethora of weapons, the silver of swords and knives almost as bright as his smile.

“Impossible,” you gasped, your hands clenching to fists as you began to shake.

“Possible,” he responded, his eyebrows raising as he fingered the handle of his sword, the large weaponed sheathed at his waist.

You were quick to think to grab a rock from the ground, throwing at directly at his head. Hybern’s figure rippled like watery smoke as the rock shot straight through him.

“Liar,” you snarled, anger brewing in you. This was the first moment of peace you had found since you could remember – how dare he disturb it.

“I may be of your mind Y/N, but that does not mean my strikes will hurt any less.”

“Leave me alone,” you seethed, making to leave in the direction you had come.

“I will follow you,” he called, stopping you in your tracks. Turning, you found amusement written on his face. You wanted nothing more than to take his own sword and spear it straight between those smug eyes.

“Do it,” he provoked.

“What?”

“Kill me. See if you can.”

You shook your head. Perhaps if you shook hard enough, he would disappear.

“I’m surprised you’re yet to try,” he drawled, slowly pacing towards you. You watched silently, fuming, readying for when he might attack.

“Or perhaps it’s because you know you’ll fail.” His taunt earned a snarl from you.

“Why not try, dear Y/N? You’ve already lost everything important to you, what else could there possibly be?”

“Fuck you,” you spat.

“Ah, there it is,” he smiled, his eyes narrowing and focusing on you. “Fight.”

“No.”

“No? I suppose I forgot how wonderfully stubborn you are. After all, you were near impossible to break in my dungeon. Have I truly changed you that much?”

You glared at him, and he watched you back. “Pitiful,” he spat, turning in his tracks to leave you to brew in your own insanity.

With a deep breath, you tried to control the shake in your voice. “I’ll kill you when you’re brave enough to appear in the flesh.” Hybern stopped then, turning back to face you with a quirked brow. “Mark my words, you pathetic excuse of a male. I will kill you – the real you.”

Hybern tipped his head back a laughed. “Oh Y/N. You truly are as broken as you look.”

Red flashed before your eyes, your anger bubbling to the surface.

“You won't last to ever find the real me.”

You frowned, dissecting his works. This version of Hybern, a figment of your mind, was hinting to you, warning you. It was clear then – you needed to fight him, beat him, kill the plague he planted in your mind if you were to ever truly recover.

You didn't need to be told twice.

Launching into a sprint, you speared for the King, a cry ripping from your throat. He merely grinned, unsheathing his sword, swinging directly where you dove. You slid to your knees, narrowly missing the strike, the silver of his weapon glinting before your eyes, impossibly real.

With a grunt you rolled to your side, dodging again and Hybern stuck his sword in the ground, intending to have speared you. You glared back, the sheer audacity of a grouse death making you see red. This was not a fair fight, or at least not yet.

Darting behind him, you swung a low kick to his back, sending him off balance with an opportunity to swipe a weapon. You secured a hand knife, the closest item in your reach. Shrugging, you raised cold eyes to Hybern who had now steadied himself. This would have to do.

“Thief,” he spat.

“Cunt,” you replied.

Hybern growled, raising his sword high before launching for you, the loud swoosh of his weapon sounding above his yell.

And so began the dance between you two. You were light on your feet to avoid his strikes, circling and calculating for your own opportunity to attack. Your innate skill and tactics surprised you, and you realised there were years of training that innately prepared you now. You would have to thank your family for that if you made it.

“Don’t be a coward, Y/N. Remember, I don't exist, I’ll never grow tired.”

You gritted your teeth – Hybern was right, you were only exhausting yourself. Trembling with adrenaline, you kept your distance, your heart pounding in your ears as you tried to decide what to do.

“Pitiful, the lot of you,” he spat again. “Your court is weak, your family too. And your mate, willing to die for his true love? How utterly pathetic.”

Primal anger flushed within you, boiling your blood and you tossed the knife to your dominant hand, gripping it’s handle. “Don’t you dare speak of him like that.”

“I enjoy watching him come undone because of you, Y/N. I knew all along the Spymaster was the weakest link of the Night Court. Always putting others first, always suppressing his own needs and desires. All I had to do was push him right to the edge.”

A different kind of strength found you then, like a lone prized trophy in a barren cavern. You may not be worthy of love, but Azriel was the most deserving of all. You would die to defend that.

And so you launched for the evil King, arm raised with the blade pointed straight for his heart. Airborne, you careened towards him, you vision narrowed as the pathway to freedom honed in your vision. He wasn’t real, this wasn't real. You would overcome him for the sake of your mate, love and determination fuelling you as you launched to kill the King of Hybern.

It was a reeling shock to feel the King’s sword pierce clean through your middle. Your eyes widened with shock as you looked down, the handle resting at your stomach, Hybern’s hand already soaked with the red of your blood.

He grinned famously, your widened eyes finding his as your head swirled and you let out a strangled sound. There was no pain to be felt, yet your blood poured, warming you as your breath stuck in your throat.

“It’s as I said,” he smirked, lifeless eyes holding yours. “Pathetic.”

And perhaps because he was talking, or perhaps because he underestimated you, but he was unprepared for the short knife that quickly stuck in the side of his neck.

You delighted in watching Hybern’s artery generously bleed as much as your stomach did. And there was an odd moment where you clung to each other, neither of you willing to be the first to fall, both of you nearing closer and closer to death.

“Y-you b-bitch,” he stuttered with fury, gasping for the air that never reached his lungs.

You could feel him slipping from your mind – the roots that infected even the deepest corners beginning to wither and rot. He was dying, leaving your reality, flushing from your system after the months of poison and torture that had fixed him there. A sickness that finally had a cure.

You laughed, cackling as you watched those hideous eyes glow red for a final time before a white casting fogged them over. He let you go then, crumpling to the floor, his body withering before your eyes. A gust of wind blew over, sweeping his figure to ash and taking the remaining of his body with it, leaving you alone in the clearing.

Falling to your knees, you clutched at your own stomach, Hybern’s sword no longer lay within, the remnants of the weapon turned to dust along with the King. But your blood covered your hands, it’s warmth pooling around you, gushing at an alarming rate.

“Stop. Stop!” you begged to no-one, pressing on your own wound. You would surely die any moment now. 

So you cried – cried for the loss of your love, cried that you never had the chance to remember the life you had, or to ever recreate the joy and love you knew surrounded you. There was so much that could have been, and grief would be that last thing you ever felt in this world.

Through the blur of tears and the closeness of death that begged your eyes to close, it was Azriel’s scent mixed with that of your blood that told you he was near. In fact, he was not alone. 

“Real or fake?” your voice quivered as you body began to give, falling slowly to the mossy ground. Azriel caught you, pulling you to his lap quickly as he scanned over you.

“Real, my love. As real as can be. Where does it hurt?”

You frowned. “The blood–“

“What blood? I see none.”

You trembled in your mates arms as he cast an urgent look back to his family. Rhysand shook his head gently, tapping his temple to show Azriel your injury did not extend past your mind.

Azriel sighed in relief, stroking you hair as he held you close. “There is no blood my love, its not real.”

“My stomach! He– he–”

Azriel soothed you, rocking you closely. You were too delirious, too confused and exhausted to comprehend what was real or not.

“I killed him Az, for you,” you whimpered, your body convulsing with heaves of exhaustion. “We’re safe now.”

Azriel cradled your face, kissing your forehead before pulling you closely to him again. “Rest now, my love.” he soothed, and that was the last thing you heard before slipping into numbing darkness.

--------

Part 11>>>

AN: Thank you so so much for your patience with this chapter lovelies!! And of course for the ongoing support ❤️❤️ I sincerely hope you liked it!

I always love hearing what you think, so don’t be shy to drop a comment. And also if you’d like to join the tag list :) 

[theatrequeen]

Months ago on the Azris Discord server someone had mentioned the concept of Eris losing his memory as he aged due to the Beron's abuse from over the years, which led to this idea festering in my mind and for a while I'd thought about writing it into an actual fic, but I just don't have the time, but I still want to share the idea.

Eris dies at like 1867. He lived long enough to see his children grow up and fall in love. He got to meet his grandchildren. He’d stepped down from his High Lord mantle at around 1750 when his memory started to go. After everything that Beron had put him through eventually even his immortal body starts to give out. His mind was slipping for decades forgetting so many important things from his life. He’ll often talk about people who’ve already passed on (his Mother, Helion, Azriel’s Mother, sometimes even Beron) as if they’re still alive. He remembers Az and their children easily enough, but everything else is just a mess. All the nieces and nephews are a hot mess of names, he mixes up his brothers and who they’re all married to and whose kids belong to whom. He doesn’t remember people’s ages anymore and constantly thinks that old major events happened a lot sooner than they had been (i.e. Hybern war happened a few years ago). Lucien tried to help, searching for a spell to do something helpful, but it was pretty much impossible to find a cure as this was hardly ever seen in Fae. He eventually passes away in his sleep. Az finds out only moments after when the mating bond is cracking and eventually fades out. The funeral is at the end of the week for the beloved High Lord who’d managed to save Autumn from the hateful path that it had been led down. Eris’ body was burned and his ashes released in the wind. A gravestone was placed beneath the tree where Eris had spent so much time with Az and their children.

Az tried to stay strong for his children who’d lost their dad sooner than anyone had expected. Their daughter threw herself into her High Lady work (though with the world at peace, there wasn’t too much heavy work she constantly needed to do). She and her husband (Thesan’s eldest son) and their own children do what they can to find peace and move on in light of her dad’s death. Their son stayed in the Autumn Court as well, but Az had to leave. Everywhere he looked reminded him of his lost mate. Eris was Autumn personified so of course the Court would remind him of Eris. He traveled for a while, visited his friends and family, but seeing them all so in love and them constantly asking if he’s okay. He returns home to Autumn and is greeted by both his kids excitedly hugging him. It’d been about a year since he’d been there so after spending some time with them both he goes to visit Eris’ gravestone. He spends hours talking to him. Az admits that when he’d heard the stories of those ancient Fae who could die of a broken heart he’d thought they were absolute nonsense, but now having lost Eris, it hurts so much more that he actually understands those stories' pain. As Az sits by that tree for hours and as the sun’s setting he sees Eris standing there smiling at him, the gray gone from his hair, looking just as he had the day they’d mated. “It’s my time isn’t it?” “Only if you wish it to be.” Azriel knows the children will grieve. He knows his friends and family will be heartbroken, but he can finally see his mate again. The male he loves so much that it’s hurt to be away from for such a long time. So when Eris reached out to him he took his hand and stepped through to the otherside. 

Rhys and Cassian notice something’s wrong immediately. Their bargain tattoos begin burning. Rhys was with Nyx and Feyre at a meeting with Lucien and Elain and their children in the Day Court when his tattoo started burning. Cassian was with Nesta on a date at their favorite cafe in Velaris when his are burning. Nesta winnows him to Autumn where Rhys already is cradling Az’s head in his lap. Cassian dropped to his side both the batboys trying so hard to wake Az. Rhys is in his mind and sees those final moments but still attempts to bring him back. Nesta, still practically the goddess of death, knows there’s no bringing him back. His spirit is already so far on the other side. Silently she utters the prayer she’s heard enough to make sure that he passes safely. Nesta goes to find her niece and nephew. It’s important that they know what happened. Az’s daughter was with her youngest reading a book and his son was up on a ladder pulling down a book to read. Both are surprised to see Nesta there. She pulls them both into the hall and has to tell them the news. They rush out to where Az, Cass, and Rhys are. Az’s body was cradled between his brothers, both with tears down their cheeks. Az’s kids joined them. 

Azriel’s funeral was similar to Eris’. He too was burned and his ashes scattered. His name was placed next to Eris’ so that their memories would continue to live on together even though they’d both passed on. Both kids grieved again, but they also knew it was for the best. Their Baba had been miserable since their Dad’s passing (and they’d told that to their family in the other courts). He’d tried so hard to act as if he’d been able to peacefully move on as if he hadn’t lost half of his heart when their Dad had died. They’d honestly both been surprised that he’d lasted a year even. Both children made sure to make it a priority that they visit that gravestone often because without their parents, so many other’s lives would be so much worse off than if Autumn had just been left to rot and fester. Instead they’d both poured their hearts and souls into raising Autumn from the ashes so the future generations might be able to live peacefully and safely in the court that had known pain and suffering for so long.

[acourtofladydeath]

@theatrequeen created this tumblr post:

After it shattered my heart completely, I decided to ask permission to craft it into a full length fic. They graciously allowed me to run with this idea, and I outlined all four chapters and wrote the chapter 1 draft within 24 hours. These boys have my whole heart, and I hope you enjoy this full length interpretation of the original tumblr post.

I truly hope I did your idea justice, and thank you again!

In "All Things End" Eris struggles with losing his memory due to complications from traumatic brain injuries caused by Beron's abuse. He forgets parts of his life and steps down from the mantle of High Lord. Azriel and their children take care of him the best they can, until he eventually passes away. After losing his mate, Azriel tries to move forward, but eventually dies from a broken heart.

Chapter 1, "Inside Fading Out", focuses on the discovery of the injury and Eris's decline into memory loss.

[parkerslatte]

It’s Been a Long, Long Time

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: memory loss.

Summary: The last time Azriel had seen his mate was nearly four centuries ago. The bond went silent and for those many years, Azriel believed his mate was dead. As he sits with Elain in her garden, the bond suddenly comes alive once again.

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

•••

The day Azriel lost his mate, he was in agony. Not because of the pain, no. It was because of the lack of knowledge if she was alive or not. The bond fell quiet and Azriel could hardly grasp onto it. It was as if he were trying to catch smoke. There was nothing to touch. For years he searched for her, he never wanted to give up. He knew that every moment he waited, she could be in danger. 

Even long after she disappeared, Azriel still searched. However, as the centuries ticked by, Azriel began to lose hope. He was sure he had searched every possible location. There was no trace of Y/N. 

Azriel sat with Elain in her garden. He had noticed a positive change in the middle Archeron sister for the past few months. When Rhys tasked him to watch over Elain and help her adjust, he originally hated the idea. But he knew the reason why Rhys had set him the task. It was coming up to the 400th anniversary since Y/N had disappeared. 

As Azriel looked down at the ring in his hands, he could feel his heart plummet. Even if being around Elain had helped distract himself as she explained all of the flowers to him and their various meanings, the closer it got to the anniversary of Y/N’s disappearance, Azriel felt himself slip away from everyone and everything. 

The ring was still beautiful even after all this time. Azriel made sure it was. Despite vowing to never take off her wedding ring, Y/N always took it off before bed, deeming that it was uncomfortable when she rested her head upon her hand to sleep. But the first thing she did every morning was slip the ring back upon her finger. The night she was taken it had been no different except one thing, Azriel had not been there. His job had kept him away for an extra day, and for the first time since they were mated and married, Azriel had not fallen asleep next to Y/N. He had regretted that for four hundred years. The only reminder of her was the ring he found on her bedside cabinet that morning. 

“Azriel!” The sound of Elain’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. 

“Sorry?” He lifted his gaze from the ring and met Elain’s. 

“I asked you what that was,” Elain said, gesturing down to the ring in his hand. 

Azriel stilled. He never liked speaking about it with anyone but Rhys or Cassian. But seeing how Elain’s eyebrows were furrowed in concern, he could tell that a saddened expression had slipped onto his face. 

Azriel sighed. “It was my mate’s wedding ring.”

“Mate?” Elain said, her expression falling slightly. 

Azriel cringed internally. He knew about Elain’s small crush on him. She did not hide it well. Though he did not return her feelings, he still enjoyed her company. With her, she understood when he just wished to sit in silence and when he didn’t want to talk, she continued the conversation on her own. 

Perhaps there was a time where he could have retired her feelings, Elain was rather beautiful, but she would never compare to Y/N. Azriel had never had another relationship after Y/N disappeared. He only ever wanted Y/N and he would only ever want her. 

“Yes,” Azriel said, swallowing hard. “She- she disappeared four-hundred years ago. I was never able to find her.”

The small hurt expression on Elain’s face changed to one of sympathy. “Azriel, I am so sorry.”

Azriel nodded and looked back at the ring. “I have looked everywhere and there is no trace of her. I have always felt…empty since she disappeared. She was part of my soul that I have never gotten back.”

Elain dropped the bulbs she was holding back into her basket. “How do you know she is not out there? You couldn’t have searched everywhere on the planet?”

“I have searched everywhere where it was possible to take her,” Azriel answered. “I have found absolutely nothing.”

“Then believe that she is still out there,” Elain said.

“Elain, it has been nearly four-hundred years,” Azriel said. “I gave up hope of her still being alive a long time ago.”

“Do you still love her?” Elain asked. 

“More than anything,” Azriel said instantly. “I haven’t been with anyone after she disappeared. I tried, about two-hundred years ago but I couldn’t do it. It felt so wrong. No one will ever compare to her.”

“Then you shouldn’t give up hope,” Elain said. “You don’t give up hope on those you love.”

Azriel did not reply. He simply looked back down at the ring once more. It was centuries old yet it still looked brand new. Azriel made sure that the silver band never tarnished. Made sure that the gem never stopped sparkling. It looked the same as the day he had slipped it onto her finger. Elain, sensing Azriel wished to no longer talk about the topic, returned back to her garden. 

Ever since Y/N had disappeared, Azriel had always felt like he had lost part of his soul, and he supposed he had. Y/N was everything to him. She was who he lived for. She was the one and only love he ever needed, ever wanted. The night the bond snapped for them was one Azriel would never forget. Even if he tried, he would never be able to forget it. The initial shock then the pure feeling of the love she sent him. For the first time in his life, Azriel knew what it was like to be loved so deeply and unconditionally. It did not matter whether he deserved it or not. When he was with Y/N, none of that mattered. All that mattered was him and her and the fact that they were together. 

As Azriel tucked the ring back into his breast pocket, a large surge of emotion was brought to life within him. He clutched at his chest. Azriel cried out.

“Azriel?” Elain questioned, shooting to her feet. “Are you okay?”

Her voice was muffled as Azriel continued to claw at his chest. Something was threatening to burst through. 

“Something is different,” he forced out. 

“Do I need to get anyone?” Elain asked. 

“Rhys,” Azriel said. “I need Rhys.”

Elain nodded and ran out of the garden and into the house in search of his brother.

Azriel tried to stand but fell to his knees immediately. He could barely breathe. The pressure in his chest was gradually increasing and he could not place the feeling anywhere. 

“I have Rhys,” Elain said, rushing back into the garden, Rhys following behind her. 

“Az, what’s wrong?” Rhys asked, kneeling down next to him. 

“I don’t know,” Azriel said, breathing heavily. “There is a pressure in my chest. I don’t know what it is.”

“What were you doing before it started?” Rhys asked.

“Telling–” Azriel cut himself off as he yelled out. The pressure was becoming worse and Azriel was sure that if he tried to repress it anymore, it would surely kill him. “Telling Elain about Y/N.”

“Is he going to be okay?” Elain asked quietly, standing a small distance away.

“Az, you need to relax,” Rhys said, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

“I can’t,” Azriel said through gritted teeth. 

“The pressure will kill you if you don’t relax,” Rhys said sternly. “So, please, relax.”

Azriel met Rhy’s eyes and stopped clawing at his chest. The pain in his chest gradually got worse and worse. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before. 

“Rhys,” Azriel whispered, his voice full of pain. “I can’t…”

“Yes you can,” Rhys said. “Just relax, Az.”

Azriel closed his eyes and relaxed his body, letting the pain overtake his body until he cried out once again. However as soon as he cried out, the pain stopped and a new feeling overtook his body. It was overwhelming and Azriel backed away from Rhys’s touch. 

“Azriel,” Rhys said. “What is it?”

“I don’t know. I can’t–”

Azriel cut himself off as a familiar feeling rose within him. This time he didn’t claw at his chest, he gently placed his hand upon it. The emotions he was feeling weren’t his. They were someone else’s. Azriel hadn’t felt this way in a long time. He had forgotten what it felt like. But it felt right. 

“The mating bond,” Azriel said. “I feel the mating bond.”

Even Rhys looked shocked as he looked at Azriel. “Are you sure?”

Azriel nodded. “I can feel it. I can feel her, Rhys.”

Tears sprung to Azriel’s eyes. He tugged on that bond that had lain dormant for four hundred years. It was weak though he felt her tug back. Azriel could have sobbed at that feeling alone. 

“Take me back to my home, Rhys,” Azriel said. 

The home Azriel shared with Y/N. He hadn’t entered it in a long time. He could never bring himself to. Every single time he tried, he couldn’t open the door. That house was the home he made with Y/N and Azriel did not want to be there if she wasn’t. 

“Are you sure?” Rhys asked.

“I’m sure,” Azriel said. “She is there, Rhys. I can feel it.”

Rhys nodded and winnowed them to the outside of Azriel’s home on the outskirts of Velaris. As soon as they arrived, Azriel could already smell the familiar scent of his mate. He pushed away from Rhys and opened the front door. 

And there she was.

Y/N stood in the middle of the room looking around with her hands on her hips. “You could have dusted, Az.”

Azriel simply couldn’t believe it. “Y/N? Are you really here?”

Y/N smiled softly and Azriel nearly collapsed right there. That smile was always in his dreams but seeing it again in person…

Azriel rushed over to her and scooped her in his arms as they both sank to the floor. Azriel couldn’t stop the sobs that came from him and neither could Y/N. The bond between them hummed happily. Four hundred years of being apart and now finally being reunited. It was something Azriel had given up on a long time ago. 

“How are you here?” Azriel mumbled, his sobs subsided but his tears didn’t. “I thought you were dead.”

Y/N pulled away from the hug and cupped Azriel’s cheeks and wiped away the tears. “You are exactly as I remember. It has been so long since I remembered what you looked like.”

“What do you mean?” Azriel asked. 

Y/N sighed and held onto Azriel tighter, as if she were afraid she was going to be taken once more. “The night I was taken, I was drugged, they wanted me for my power of healing and I refused to give in. They were bad men and I was not going to help them no matter how hard they tried to convince me. They drugged my food to make me compliant but the only thing I could think about was you and our bond. Once they realised who I was and who I was mated to, they gave me another drug. This time it was one to dampen the power of the mating bond. It made me stop feeling you.”

“I remember that night,” Azriel said. “I thought you blocked it off.”

Y/N shook her head. “Once the mating bond was dampened, they drugged me with something else. Over time I began to forget things, important things. My name, where I came from, my family, my friends…you.”

Azriel wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her body flush against his. The sound of her heart beating was enough to bring a new surge of tears to his eyes. He never thought he would hear it again.

“They took me to a place on the continent, an entire city deep below ground with its own artificial sun and moon, whole fields and towns. Once I did not remember anything, they gave me a new identity and a whole new life.” 

“You didn’t remember me?” Azriel asked.

“I didn’t,” Y/N said sadly, threading her fingers in his hair. “But I always felt that there was a part of me missing. Even though the mating bond was repressed, I always felt that something was not quite right.”

Azriel’s heart fell. This whole time he had been in agony that his mate had been missing, while she did not remember him at all.  “How did you escape?” he asked. 

“If you believe me or not, there are good people in that community, incredible people,” Y/N said. “They helped me flush the drugs from my system and helped me remember who I once was.”

“The bond?” Azriel asked. “Did they help with that?”

Y/N shook her head. “Once the drugs were from my system and I was finally above ground, I felt you. I winnowed back here instantly. Consider me surprised when this house looks exactly the same as when I left four-hundred years ago.”

“I haven’t been able to come back here since you were taken,” Azriel whispered, his voice soft and vulnerable. 

Y/N caressed his face and wiped his tears away. “Oh, my darling. I am here now. Only if you still want me, of course.”

Azriel frowned. “Why wouldn’t I want you?”

“Az, my love, it has been four-hundred years. I would understand if you moved on in those years,” Y/N said. 

Azriel shook his head. “There has been no one else. I tried almost two centuries ago but I couldn’t do it. All I wanted was you.” When Azriel looked at her face again, he nearly burst into tears once more. It had been so long since he had looked into those loving eyes. The type of love he once thought he never deserved. “If you had found anyone, I would understand. You didn’t remember me.” Just that statement alone made Azriel hurt all over again. 

Y/N sighed a pained noise. “I won’t lie to you and say that there was no one, Azriel. There were a couple of people I have been with over the past four centuries.”

A new surge of tears streamed down Azriel’s cheeks as he gripped onto Y/N tighter. 

“But,” she continued, “there has been no one for many years and no one ever stuck around long. I could never fully commit. It was as if my body knew that it was wrong. I did like a few people but I never loved them. I could never love anyone more than I love you.”

“I never want you to go anywhere again,” Azriel whispered into her hair. “I missed you so much.”

Azriel’s fingers tangled in her hair as he rested his forehead against hers. Her soft breath fanned his face and Azriel swore he could nearly faint. Her scent, her touch, her breath. They were all things Azriel never thought he would ever witness again. 

“I am never going anywhere again,” Y/N mumbled. “I will remain beside you forever, my love.”

Azriel reluctantly unwrapped one hand from around Y/N and reached into his pocket and pulled out her ring. Y/N gasped once she saw it. 

“You kept it?” She asked.

“Of course I kept it,” Azriel said. “I always have it on me. It was the only thing I had that reminded me of you.”

Y/N wiped her tears away as Azriel took her hand gently in hers and slid the ring onto her finger. “Perfect,” he whispered.

Y/N looked him in the eyes. The love she held within them was something Azriel never forgot. He would see them in his dreams and nightmares. It was something he never thought he would see in person again. 

“Can I kiss you?” Azriel asked, almost afraid of the answer. 

Y/N smiled. “Az, I am your mate and your wife. There might have been a four century gap in our relationship but those two facts do not change. I love you. Of course you can kiss me. Kiss me until you can’t anymore.”

The shadowsinger smiled. “Then I’m afraid we will be here a while.”

Azriel finally kissed his mate and wife for the first time in four hundred years. 

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Rainy Season

Azriel x Reader

An angsty little one shot. Azriel’s mate is tired of being at the bottom of his list of priorities.

Update: Due to popular demand, this is being made into a series!

Part 2

The air’s getting heavy and we both know why

There was a time when an evening like this brought solace to my weary soul.

Azriel’s hand wrapped around my waist, caressing my stomach, pressing soft kisses to the juncture of my neck and shoulder. His hair tickling against my sensitive skin as we hid under blankets absorbing the incessant melody of drip, drop, drip, drop and the echoing pitter patter of rain drops hitting the roof. His warmth seeping right through to the coldest depths of my soul.

I’d turn around, pressing my bare breasts against his muscled chest. Our breath hitching as his sunburst eyes of brown, amber, and gold bore into mine, his soft lips whispering promises of forever.

Say that this storm is just passing through

But Azriel wasn’t here. He hadn’t been for 6 days, 23 hours, and 50 minutes now. It would have been laughable, comparing the past to now, if it weren’t so damned sad. In the beginning there’d been long, doting love notes with risqué quips regarding his intentions upon coming home, little gifts that he couldn’t resist bringing back from his travels, and the stolen hours where he’d sneak in a visit during the intermittent downtime on his missions. As a realist, I knew that it was not sustainable long-term but relished in it as the gift it was. Newly formed, passionate love that exceeded anything I had ever imagined upon finding my cauldron-blessed mate.

As the years went on I understood when the love notes became briefs and the thoughtful gifts became pecks on the cheek as he hurried through the door to exchange his leathers for clean ones, wipe down his weapons, and rest before his next mission. But time went on, as is inevitable, and distant were the memories of stolen moments away from missions, the desperate caress of his hands roaming my body as if he couldn’t quite believe I was fully corporeal before him - needing to touch me to reassure him that this was real. Now the touches were detached, perfunctory, another task on his never-ending to-do list.

Drop after drop we’re destroying this house and eachother.

The boiling point had been simmering for a while, left on the fire with reassurances of “Things are just busy right now”, “It’ll slow down soon”, “I would stay if I could, love. You know I would. I have no choice.”

But we both knew all too well that there was always a choice. There were times when Rhys let it slip that Azriel had volunteered for missions that his other spies were perfectly suited for, times when all I wanted in the world was to be curled up and listening to the rain with my mate.

Missions became tasks with the Valkyries, “chaperoning” Cassian and Nesta, and emotionally supporting the lovely doe-eyed fawn - Elain - who was the delicate cherry blossom of spring opposite of my wild summertime storm.

It wasn’t her fault. The trauma inflicted upon her, the loss of autonomy that came with being thrown into the cauldron and having her mortality stripped away without her say. The powers she never asked for overwhelming her senses. Hell, maybe it wasn’t Azriel’s fault for responding to the traumas of his past and the need to overcompensate for every ounce of blood he’s drawn by saving anything and everything that needed rescuing.

The problem lay with the fact that where Elain is a “seer”, my ability to “sense” when things are amiss was strong and Azriel’s intentions with her were becoming blurred. Feelings of lust had become more frequent down the bond along with flutters of joy and adoration. When it began I thought maybe things would look up in our relationship - he was missing me, fisting his cock to fantasies of taking me over and over when he returned home - but he only became more distant. He’d return more often than not smelling of jasmine and honey. The strength of the scent coating him correlating with the increase in enamored feelings slipping through the bond.

Six days ago when I’d asked him to skip out on training with Cassian and Nesta and whatever it was he and Elain would do - that was when the thunder clapped and the sky opened. “I can’t just stay home and cater to you all the time. I have duties to this court. Why can’t you find a hobby to occupy your time? Nesta reads and trains with the Valkyries, Feyre paints, Elain gardens and she evens bakes! Why can’t you be more like-“

He caught himself too late, immediately reaching out to place a gentle hand on my shoulder and apologize but it was too late for that.

Please, make it stop

It wasn’t that I wasn’t a forgiving or understanding person. i appreciated his dedication to his court and family and those in need but…

“Why can’t I be more like what? You can stop mid-sentence but you already said it all.” I looked down, shaking my head as silver lined my eyes. Gods, I hate that I’m an angry crier. “You want to know why I can’t be more like Elain in your eyes, Azriel? Because I exist in your fucking blind spot! I have been helping Feyre AT the studio, volunteering at a food pantry in Velaris, and teaching self-defense classes to women and children at the park but you wouldn’t know because you never ask me what I’ve been up to while you’re gone.”

He started to speak but I wasn’t finished. “The reason I cannot be more like Elain, or Feyre, or Nesta is because I’m none of them. I am ME. And you know what? I like me. I don’t want to be anybody else.” Trying and failing miserably to hold my head high I pathetically fell to my knees, shuddering as tears of rage flowed freely.

Warmth enveloped me as Azriel knelt down to soothe my quaking form. I let him if only because I didn’t have the composure to tell him otherwise as he began pressing kisses to my forehead. “I’m so sorry. I have been a terrible mate. I love all that you are- I- I’ll stop with Elain. She’s doing much better and Nuala and Cerridwen can keep an eye on her, so can Rhys and Cassian, and her sisters. It will be okay.”

That consolation attempt only drove the blade of bitterness deeper into my heart. Elain had so many in her corner and who did I have anymore? My chronically absent mate? The family I left behind to move to Velaris with Azriel? There was nobody close by.

“I think you should leave.” I sobbed out.

Azriel ignored the shaky command, continuing to hold me. Fuck - is this what it took for him to notice me? Breaking my heart so he could stitch it back up again?

“Azriel.” I stated firmly.

He met my eyes.

“You should leave.”

His look grew puzzled. “I thought you wanted me to stay - to spend time together? Please, Y/N. Let me make this better.”

“I need space. Give me one week.”

“But-“

“One. Week.”

Azriel’s shoulders slumped, head hanging low for several minutes before realizing that my decision was firm.

“I love you.” He said before heading out the door.

——————

Like clockwork as 7 days, 0 hours, and 1 minute were up, the front door to our home opened and Azriel’s footsteps padded in behind me, my gaze remaining fixated on the rain falling outside the window. A lump formed in my throat as I avoided turning to meet his gaze.

So dance one more dance and tell one more lie.

Azriel stepped around me, wordlessly extending a hand, patiently waiting as I avoided his gaze a moment longer before taking it. His shadows began humming faintly, increasing their melody and reaching a crescendo as Azriel began dancing with me through the room.

Say that you love me even if it’s not true

I let myself melt into the warmth of his chest. The thick air remained heavy upon my soul but I could have this. I could let myself enjoy this moment.

We wordlessly danced through the room in the soft glow of the fae lights.

We made our way through the hall into our shared bed that had become so neglected.

“I love you, Y/N.” he murmured as he laid me down, stripped bare underneath him.

“I love you too, Azriel.”

——————

Wish I could just say it and words were enough to keep you from being the one giving up.

The middle of the night left me restless as he lay soundly asleep beside me. My senses tugged me toward his bag that he’d discarded at the entryway. I brought out his dirty clothes from the week only to be greeted with the fresh scent of jasmine and honey.

Like the sky letting go for no reason

I packed my essentials and voyaged out into the pouring rain. Its patter on my skin washing away the salty tears streaming down my face. Following my senses to where the love was true back to my Summer Court home, my family. As free as a summer storm.

It's just the rainy season.

—————————————

A/n - I know there are plenty of Azriel x Reader and Elain fics out there. It was rainy and dreary here yesterday and this song was in my head for the first time in like 10 years so…. I wrote this.

[stormhearty]

Paring: former Azriel x Reader

Triggers: mentions of cheating, mentions of death, cursing, a lot of bold and italicize

Word Count: 3K+

Summary: The High Lords called a meeting to discuss the Death-God’s resurrection. However, with the death of their Seer, tensions run high between Day and Night Court, Helion outraged by the loss of your life. Truths are revealed and lies are exposed. And what happens when the High Lords realize that they have all been too late?

Note: I thank you all for all the love you have given to my one shot!! I had never thought it would have been so well received by fans and writers! I am very amused by everyone's reactions and thoughts on the one shot — everyone is wanting blood and redemption for our poor reader. And she will! This chapter is a segway/filler chapter — but still important. It's still angsty, don't worry. This one shot will probably become a 3 part series. I know in that voting poll I had done asked if you guys wanted a 5k chapter, rather than a 2- 2k chapters, but I wanted to leave you guys with one more chapter to look forward to! Please look forward to it!

Part One | Part Three | Epilogue

<Pushed to the Edge> Masterlist

“You had abandoned my emissary, disregarded her sight and had her take her own life in your Court… And for what? Your mate’s sister’s powers?!” Helion was fuming, amber eyes staring the High Lord of Night down, “And that her mate — - “a growl escaped his lips, as he glanced at the Spymaster next to Rhysand, “Had cheated on her for said sister?!”

The High Lord of Day’s voice echoed throughout the throne room, shaking its very walls at the allegation of what had happen within the wards of the Night Court. Helion’s fingers gripped the edge of the large round table, his claws causing the wood to splint underneath his fingertips.

“And now… you are telling me that her body disappeared?” his voice deathly low, “That your Spymaster’s shadows had whisked her body away to — God-knows-where… That, that child, never had never had a proper burial?!”

Rhysand couldn’t utter a single word against the claims placed against him and his Court — he couldn’t when everything that Helion had roared was true.

“… Show me…” Helion hissed, focusing at his old friend, “Show us what had happened that day…”

Rhysand gulped, staring at Helion before glancing around the table towards the High Lords of Pyrthian. All of them staring him down before all felt the claws of Rhysand's power creeping in their minds, images of that day of your death playing in their minds — all of them watching the confrontation between the Inner Circle and you — on how you were cornered and betrayed, leading up to your very death.

He hated it. Rhysand not only relived that that multiple times during his dreams — where he had failed you. He now had to relieve it while he was awake. Hearing your pleads and cries for him to listen to your visions, and seeing your body dying on that marble floor — to watch it be taken away by tendrils of shadow.

Once the memory came to pass, sobs echoed throughout the room. Helion being the loudest as he ran a hand down his face, his form shaking in his seat. Rhysand glanced towards his Inner Circle, watching his family relive that moment as well; eyes focusing on Azriel, who gripped the arms of his chair as his face wrinkled in anguish at the memory.

It had been a month ever since your death, a month since the sliver of shadows that once served the Spymaster had taken your body away — unknown to even Azriel on where they had brought your body to. And a month ever since more and more whispers of Koschei’s resurrection echoed throughout the Courts. The Death-God’s power vibrating throughout all of Pyrthian — it was difficult to not miss.

The High Lords gathered in Day Court to strategize on the impending danger of the Death-God. However, it was no secret on what had happened in the wards of Night Court. The loss of your light present throughout all of Pyrthian — every High Lord felt it.

Especially Helion.

He wanted nothing more to hurt and maim every member of the Inner Circle; but that wasn’t the purpose of this meeting — though he wanted it to be.

Helion reigned in his emotions, trying to calm the rage that boiled in his blood. Trying to clam the sadness he felt for the loss of you. He straightened up in his chair, letting out a shaky breath, looking back at the Night Court High Lord.

“… I regret that I ever had sent (Y/N) to your Court, Rhysand,” his tone small and disappointed, “Her powers were wasted on you and your Court. A Seer taking their life, being betrayed by the people she called her family,” His head shaking, a laugh, one so loud and so sarcastic escaping his chest that it echoed in throne room, startling the other High Lords, making Rhysand flinch in his seat. “What a damn found family you made. Betraying one’s mate, betraying a person who had served you for five-hundred fucking years over a female who barely has control over her own powers.”

Amber eyes darted to Elain, as he watched her flinch back, hiding behind the eldest Archeron sister, “What prophecy have you seen now?” the sarcasm very evident in his tone, “Have you seen what (Y/N) has seen? Have you seen the resurrection of Kosechi, as well? Your powers are nothing compared to (Y/N)’s.”

“How dare you talk to someone in my Court like — -” Rhysand started.

“You have no right to challenge me in my own Court, Rhysand!” Helion bellowed, hands slamming on the table, standing up as he glared at his once-called friend, “Do you realize what you have done?! Do you realize why there hasn’t been a Seer in millennials? Why (Y/N) has been the only recorded Seer in the history of Pyrthian? Because Seers have been hunted — by Fae, humans and Gods alike. They are so sought after, for their power, for the knowledge, for their sight. Seers have the power to uncover what is hidden, lurking in the darkness. They are the very light that unveils the darkness. They have been hunted to be exterminated for that very power…”

It had been the very reason why Helion had taken you in when you were a child, guarded carefully in the Day Court. To ensure the prosper of your power, the prosper of your light.

Amber eyes darted around the table, eyes staring at the High Lords that had situated themselves in this very room, listening to his tale before they stared back at Rhysand, “You, being the powerfullest High Lord if all of Pyrthian should have known that. And now, her body, one filled with Unknown-God-and Cauldron bound powers is missing…”

A huff escaped his lips in exasperation as he sat down back into his seat, “Her body should be buried here, in my Court, where she rightfully belongs to. But, no. And none of us could properly pray respects for the loss of her light…”

It was no secret that Helion had a soft spot for you. You were like his child, raising you since you were small, watching you grow and become a bright light within the Day Court. He knew how your light felt, how he basked in it as if it was the sun that radiated overhead.

And so when he had woken up that night in cold sweat, feeling the vanishing of your light — he knew something had gone terribly wrong.

“… — Helion…” Feyre tentatively called out to him, “You said her body is Cauldron bound? What do you mean by that?”

The Day High Lord glanced at the High Lady, staring her down before he nodded his head once. Leaning forward to rest his chin on his hand, “That’s what both myself and (Y/N) believe. (Y/N) is one the strongest Seers I have met in my life, those few Seers that I have encountered, ones that have wanted to remain hidden, are no match to (Y/N)’s powers. Your little Cauldon-Made Seer is no match for her either,” he sneered at the middle Archeron sister.

"There has been little records of Seers in Prythian, we all know that. Not even my libraries had enough information about them and their powers. But, despite that, (Y/N) was able to hone into her powers with little instructions… You know that she doesn’t just see the future, she was able to see what was happening now. She was able to focus on parts of Pyrthian and tell me what is and what will happen.

“But during the war with Hybern, much like when Nesta felt the Cauldron, (Y/N) felt it too. We didn’t know why, but we realized she and the Cauldron were somewhat connected. Whether it be the Cauldron was reason why she has her visions or if the Cauldron was the source of her power, they were bound. A natural connection between the two of them. And when the Cauldron broke, (Y/N) had told me she felt the Cauldron’s power sought refuge with her, as if the Cauldron sought her light.

“After the war, she had asked for my opinion — she felt the remnants of the Cauldron’s power tingling through her. She told me she saw more visions, visions of the far off future that she had no idea when would happen, and that her powers were starting to become out of her control. She was starting to lose herself in her powers, lose her mind to it… I didn’t know how to help her…”

The Inner Circle remembered, weeks after the end of the war, (Y/N) had asked if she could return to Day Court for a few weeks. Rhysand had let her, thinking it was not important. Azriel, too, didn’t question on her reason why she wanted to leave.

It was when they started to not care. When they started to focus their attention to Elain — the Seer that had defeated the King of Hybern.

Helion let out a broken laugh, staring at the Inner Circle, “I’m sure you never knew, did you? On how broken she started to be after the war. You never knew how her sleep was plagued with visions, that she couldn’t even close her eyes without images flashing behind them. Of how she sobbed in bed, wondering if she was in a dream or reality. She couldn’t differentiate anymore… And you…” eyes focusing on Azriel, “You never felt her pain because you put up a wall between your mating bond. Did you know, Azriel…”

The Day High Lord’s tone was seething, remembering those day.

“Did you know, how she cried for you? She begged down the bond for you to come and help. Wanting your protection, wanting to help sooth the pain she had felt? Wanting you just to be there? But all she could feel was the wall you placed, ignoring her… abandoning her when she needed all of you the most…

“I sent her back, hoping that all of you would help. I sent her back with sleeping tonics, hoping to help her with her sleep. Hoping that her family and mate would help her through her toughest time. Hoping that you all would see her. But I can see that never happened. That no matter how much she begged for you all to listen to her visions, to see her in pain, you ignored,” his voice was laced with anger, disappointment.

No one said a word. The air in the room tense and dense at the revelation that Helion lamented. No one knew of what you had gone through.

Azriel felt his his heart burn in his chest, as if his siphons were burning his skin — he felt the remnants of the broken mating bond in his chest, aching more at Helion’s words.

He didn’t know, he didn’t see, he didn’t feel the pain you were going through. He had ignored the tug of the bond when he had that wall up. He had been too infatuated with the middle Archeron sister, wanting her to feel belonged in their Court — all the while alienating the person who had been with him through thick and thin.

And, yet, he couldn’t do the same for you.

Bright blue eyes closed as Feyre silently mourned and apologized to the Heavens, to the night sky where you might have been.

But she realized on the implications of what had Helion had told them — that you might have been the Cauldron-bound object that Koschei needed to escape that lake.

She looked up at Rhysand, and he to her as they communicated down the bond. Both of them realizing what could happen.

The gesture wasn’t missed by Helion as he watched them, waiting for them to explain what they might have discovered. However, when they did not say anything, a growl escaped his chest.

“What is it?”

Feyre and Rhysand looked at the Day High Lord, hesitance shown in their features, “… It’s about what (Y/N) had told us. You all saw it in that memory…”

Helion thought, playing the memory back as he watched remembered your face, the anguish of your features shining through his head, listening to your words — your vision of what might pass.

“… That Koschei needed something from the Cauldron to be released from the lake,” Lucien pointed out from his spot next to Helion, the russete eye looking at Elain before back to Feyre.

“What if…” Tarquin mumbled, “…Koschei found (Y/N)’s body? If you and (Y/N) knew of the connection to the Cauldron, that the Cauldron sought her power. He could use her body to be freed from that lake.”

Helion looked at the Summer High Lord, amber eyes wide at the realization, “… If that were to come to pass, we would be doomed. (Y/N)’s body is probably soaked in Cauldron powers. It would be so easy for Koschei to be freed, and no one would ever notice. It is not impossible, but since (Y/N)’s body has disappeared, it is possible for her to have fallen into his clutches.”

Kallias, in the mist of the conversation, was watching, observing, the only remaining Seer in the room. He leaned forward, bright blue hues staring the Made-Fae, as he rested both arms on the table, “Have you had any visions?”

Heads turned towards the High Lord of Winter at his question. It did not phase him, as he continued, ”I heard from your High Lady that you rarely said anything about your visions, since the Cauldron broke. So do tell us, what have you seen about the Death-God?” If she had her powers still, a Seer would be still useful in this situation.

Elain visibly swallowed, as all attention was on her once more. Brown eyes frantically glanced around the table, over to her sisters and then to Azriel who both looked at her expectedly.

A heartbeat later, and the Middle Archeron sister knew that she couldn't lie.

She shook her head, “I have not seen anything… since the Cauldron broke…” her words nothing but a whisper in the wind.

It was as if a pin dropped on marble floors, the silence in the room was penetrating.

A laugh broke the silence. Eris’ shook his in disbelief on the drama they were hearing, “So you’re telling us, you have been lying about having your powers. And that (Y/N), who has actually seen those visions had taken her life?” he glared at the middle Archeron sister, “For what? Because you needed a position in the Night Court? So that you can gain the Spymaster’s affection? To bed him?”

Elain shook her head again, brown eyes desperate as she tried to catch eye with her family, with Nesta, who just looked away, brows furrowed with anguish, “… I just wanted to be useful…” she whispered in fear, slumping down in her chair, “My powers… were the only thing that made me feel like I belonged… But I didn’t have them, and… I just, didn’t want to lose my family.”

“And yet, you were willing to let (Y/N) lose her family, her mate… and her life. Just to keep your own,” Thesan expressed, "That selfishness will be the downfall of Pyrthian."

Elain flinched at the truth thrown onto her face, eyes down-casting, silence taking over her form.

Before anyone could reprimand Elain for her actions, the grand doors slammed open, a dark mist blowing throughout the room. Frightened and confused screams echoed through the room.

Helion stood up, using his power of light to dissipate the darkness that tried to cover the room. Amber eyes glowed as he watched as a cloaked figure float into the room.

Eyes watched the cloaked figure as it settled its form onto the floor, bare pale feet touching the marble.

“… I would think… that if the Pyrthian High Lords would gather… they would invite a God to their meeting. But I guess, manners do not exist in this world…” the voice was grating and brittle.

The hood swept, as if eyes inside were looking at all the High Lords that were now standing up, all attention to him.

A eerie chuckle escaped the hooded figure, spiny fingers grasping the edge before slipping it down. White hair and black eyes were revealed, pale, sickly skin glowed underneath the darkness that had surrounded him.

The figure bowed, a mocking gesture to the High Lords.

“It seems, that you are unaware of who you are being greeted by…” a boney finger raised up and pointed towards Nesta, the eldest sister stiffening, “Though I’m quite sure you do, dearest sister…” he grinned at her.

Nesta gulped and looked at the uninvited guest. She knew who would greet her like that — only the Death Caver has echoed the same words, “You’re Koschei… aren’t you…”

Koschei grinned wider, head tilting to the side as he stepped forward, laughing as the High Lords ready themselves for a battle with the Death-God.

“Oh don’t be so tense, my High Lords…” he mockingly commented, sweeping a hand, “Please sit… Do not stop your meeting for dear little old me. Though it is such an honor for you to do so.”

He rounded the table, eyes making contact with each of the High Lord, black eyes sweeping over their forms before he stopped before Rhysand.

Violet hues and black sockets stared at each other.

“Though I do have to thank you, High Lord of the Night… You have gifted me the precious gift of life. Though, it was through the loss of one of your own… You might have known her. Cared for her… Loved her…” Koschei looked at Azriel whose hazel eyes burned at the Death-God.

He let out a low laugh.

Tarquin’s assumption was right — the Death-God had used your body to free himself from the lake, right underneath their noses. No one felt it, no one knew. And it had been too late to do anything about it; months too late to prevent the resurrection, months too late to find your missing body, months too late of not listening to you.

Koschei looked behind him, far past the grand windows, the familiar cry of the bird of fire and ash echoing through the lands of Day Court, heading towards them — Vassa had come to stop the sorcerer-lord from his destruction.

However, before she landed on the balcony, an arrow, made of shadow and darkness struck her, causing the great bird to plummet to the land beneath her.

Lucien gasped and ran towards the balcony, peering down to see if the mortal queen had survived the fall; but there was no sign of the cursed queen anywhere below.

“What a dramatic entry by Vassa, as always…” Koschei said with a sigh, before another chuckle escaped his lips, dark eyes boring into the empty spot beside him, “Don’t you think… (Y/N)?”

All heads snapped towards the Deathless God, your name slipping from his lips, as they watched a swirl of darkness materialized a familiar figure. Azriel watched, hazel eyes wide as he took in your form, whisps of shadows that had whirled around you — his shadows, one that had abandoned him ever since your death.

“…(Y/N)…” Azriel whispered in disbelief, his voice shaking.

There you stood, next to the Death-God, very much alive.

Very much like a Death-God yourself.

And it echoed in your outfit — tendrils of shadow made up your dress, covering you from head to toe, fluttering near your feet as if a gown swayed by the wind. In your hands, a bow and arrow made of those shadows — the very bow that had struck Vassa down from her flight.

That was where Azriel’s shadows had gone to — leaving him, following you to your death, and making you someone completely different.

Someone that was going to be the downfall of Pyrthian itself.

Tagging: @cleverzonkwombatsludge, @setayeshmohseni, @kindasleepycryptid, @f4iry-bell, @woodland-mist, @kalulakunundrum, @topaz125, @thelov3lybookworm, @hnyclover, @harrystylesfan2686, @anuttellaa, @ithan-holstroms-girl, @judig92, @venuseuripedis, @fairywriter-oracle, @thehighlordishere, @acourtofbatboydreams, @willowpains, @historygreekqueen, @dr4g0ngirl, @ayme301, @kemillyfreitas, @crazylokonugget, @abysshaven, @michaelharrypotter, @naturakaashi, @kittenbi, @namelesssav, @guiltyreader, @awkardnerd, @je-suis-prest-rachel, @quackitysdrugdealer, @thesunloveschips, @brieflyclassymortal, @justdreamstars, @isa1b2h3, @himesuedi, @fxckmiup, @starswholistenanddreamsanswered, @t0uch-starved-h0e, @mybestfriendmademe

[pellucid-constellations]

If It All Fell

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: If it all fell apart—if you forgot who you were—would you love him again? Would the bond guide you back? Azriel doesn't know if that uncertainty is one he can bear.

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: Nothing big in this one. Memory loss?? Overprotectiveness?? Azriel losing it (but not that much just yet)??

a/n: Hi this is going to be a series :) thank you for reading <3

Part 2 ♡

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

As you blinked through the haziness, a dull throb echoed along the base of your skull. You sat up abruptly, feeling rocks and twigs digging into the backs of your legs, and winced as several shouts attacked your senses. You recognized none of them.

Gods, your head hurt. 

A few more blinks and the sun made an appearance, light assaulting your too-sensitive eyes. The leaves beneath your hands crunched and blew away in the balmy breeze, a few flecks of green still stuck to your palm as you brought it up to rub your head. 

“Don’t,” a feminine voice warned, and it was then that you pinpointed one of the shouts from earlier. But it was warmer now, calm. “Don’t touch your head, y/n. Azriel and Cas are getting help.”

You scrunched your face up but obeyed the command, taking steady breaths to try and manage the pain. The woman in front of you—blonde hair, brown eyes, a fierce expression—was like no one you had ever seen before. She was so incredibly beautiful you weren’t sure if you were actually awake. 

You took a pause. 

And then another. 

Who was the last person you had seen? 

“Where am I?” you asked instead, trying to appear sane. Your voice sounded unfamiliar. 

The woman’s expression pinched. “You’re in Spring Court. You remember that, don’t you? Rhysand sent us.” 

“Rhysand?” you repeated, the name foreign on your tongue. “Sent us for what?” 

“Well, we were supposed to be rallying Tamlin into re-fortifying his borders to win back the Summer Court’s good graces, but that beast is an idiot. Forging agreements with witches was quite possibly the worst move he could have made.” 

“Witches?” 

“I know, unbelievable,” the blonde ranted, sitting back on her heels beside you. “We came to help only to find out he had helped himself to the wicked. I knew he was distraught after Feyre, but to turn to this?” 

The pounding in your head was making it increasingly difficult to follow the tale the woman was spinning. Perhaps if you had more backstory, more information, you would understand what she was talking about. 

Desperate for that connection, you winced as you asked, “Um, not to offend, but… who are you?” 

Her aggravated expression crumpled into one of shock and concern. Her mouth parted, her brows came together at a point, and then she shifted, bringing her hands to your shoulders. When you flinched at the touch, the woman pulled her hands back, her fingers curling into her palms. “You don’t recognize me?” she asked, trepidation lining her tone. 

You shook your head, immediately regretting the action as pain shot up your neck. 

“Not at all?” she whispered. When your face remained blank, she pulled her hands into her lap. “Do you know who you are?” 

Another lapse in silence. 

“My Gods…” 

Darkness materialized nearby—swirling darkness. It reminded you of shadows and brought you a sense of peace for the first time since you opened your eyes. 

But then people started emerging from the darkness, taking up space in the vast forest, and that peace collapsed. Two large men with wings stomped against the twig-covered floor, causing a raucous disturbance as they began hurrying an older woman out from behind them. They both spoke in low, rushed tones and you wanted all the sound to stop. 

You ignored the woman’s directions from before and squeezed your head in your hands, your eyes snapping shut. It didn’t work, and you hadn’t expected it to, but Gods did your head hurt. It hurt and it was plagued by an impossible pressure that wouldn’t seem to let up.

“Mor, how long has she been awake?” one of the men asked. You felt him kneel beside you, felt him place rough, textured hands on your wrists in an attempt to pry your hands down. But he was gentle—so very gentle. 

“Azriel, she—” 

“Mor, if you could move aside. I need to look at her,” a much older voice chimed in. 

There was shuffling around you, new hands pressing to your face. You heard whispering that you couldn’t make out, and then the panic set in. 

You didn’t know these people. When you first woke up, the disorientation was focal; you were concerned about the pounding in your head and your whereabouts and that was it. But there were so many people here now, and you didn’t know any of them. 

You didn’t know who you were. Did they know who you were? They had to. 

“Majda, stop. You’re scaring her,” the man beside you, Azriel you’d heard him be called, practically hissed. 

Majda only hummed. “I am doing the job you brought me here to do. If I can’t work around a mating bond I will send you away, Shadowsinger.” 

Your breath came out in faster huffs, each one deeper than the last. You opened your eyes to try and gain some footing in the situation, still keeping your hands glued to your head. 

Your gaze went out before it went in, and you saw the blonde woman, Mor, beside a much larger man. His shoulder-length hair was messy and windswept, and he sent you a bittersweet, sympathetic smile that you couldn’t replicate. He watched with furrowed brows as your eyes darted from him, to Mor, to the wide forest around you. 

“I still don’t see why we couldn’t take her home first,” the man standing by the trees grumbled. “She would be more comfortable there.”  

“We didn’t want to move her with a head injury,” Azriel growled. “Not one from a witch.” 

His voice sent your attention towards him. Azriel was on his knees beside you, holding your wrists with his thumb circling the back of your hand in delicate strokes. He was painfully beautiful and you were left to wonder, yet again, if you were truly awake. When your gazes met, something foreign pulled at your ribs and the pressure sent an unexpected scream past your lips. You hunched over in a panic, yanking yourself away from those beside you.

That wasn’t right. None of this felt right. 

The older woman, Majda, cursed, staring after you as you pushed yourself further and further away. Each movement sent a new ache aflame in your head, but that didn’t stop you because you needed to get away. Your feet kicked up dirt and rocks and your hands tore with the effort but this wasn’t right. 

Azriel reached you before you could hit the tree just inches from your back. He held your head in his own hands and locked you in his gaze, keeping you trapped in the yellows and browns and the flecks that joined them. He took exaggerated breaths, wings flared out to block out the sun, and then he began whispering. 

It took a moment for you to understand the words, your heavy breaths mostly drowning them out. 

Something swished in the distance. More whispering, more secrets. 

“You’re okay. I’ve got you.” 

When Azriel’s voice finally came through, it was like a lifeline. 

“I’m here, my love. You’re safe. I know it hurts, I know.” 

It was odd, finding peace in a stranger. The shadows that seemed to dance around him swirled into shapes that framed your skin, and some of the panic felt foolish in their presence. They twisted and curved, somehow amplifying the cool tone of Azriel’s voice as he promised you things you had no capacity to understand. 

But he never stopped talking, not even when your gaze left his to follow his shadows instead. If anything, the action seemed to spur on the small beings more, and you wondered—for a brief moment—if he was controlling them. 

Something like amazement seeped into your panic as you whispered, “Who are you?” 

You didn’t know the man in front of you, that much was true, but he looked so… broken at your words. Something akin to pain clashed with his beautiful features as his jaw clenched to an unnatural degree. You were surprised that his teeth didn’t crack beneath the pressure. You wondered what else he could withstand—what atrocities he’d seen to make his eyes turn so dark when you spoke your words out loud. 

“No,” Azriel growled, chin hooking over his shoulder. His wings pulled back to reveal a new man, but this one looked slightly different from the others. No wings, different eyes. “You stay out of her head, Rhysand.” 

Rhysand. He was the one that had sent you here.

The concern on Rhysand’s face looked unnatural, like it didn’t belong there. “Az, it could help. Let me help her.” 

“You could make it worse. We have no idea what that witch did to her.” As Azriel spoke, shadows began to cover you more and more. Your sight became dim, your body camouflaged in darkness. 

“Looking in could be the only way to figure that out.” The next bout of silence was uncomfortable. The pounding in your head persisted, exacerbating to the point of tears along your waterline. “I know what you’re feeling, Azriel. I get it. But I want to help her, brother. You know I would never hurt her.” 

A twig snapped beneath a boot.

Azriel growled low in his chest. 

The pounding gave way to a sharp pain, and it made your senses lighter, less focused. 

You couldn't remember ever passing out before, but you thought it might feel like this. 

“Stay away from her.” 

“She doesn’t remember you, Azriel.” 

A choked breath. “Don’t touch my mate.” 

Darkness that surpassed the shadows finally granted you a reprieve from the pain. 

Maybe you'd wake up and this would all make sense.

Part 2 ♡

[lees-chaotic-brain-reblogs]

Azriel Fic Recs

Note: I do sometimes link my reblogs bc there is literally nothing I hate more than clicking on a link only to arrive at the ghost blog page.

Blogs to just read through

@azsazz @azrielhours @daycourtofficial @assassinsblade @illyrian-dreamer

@utterlyazriel @imaginesmai @solbaby7 @fieldofdaisiies @writingcroissant

@pellucid-constellations @flickering-chandelier @shadowdaddies @solbaby7

@marvelsmylife

The Orange Peel Theory (fluff) Hug (fluff)

@bubbles-for-all-of-us

Buried Underneath (angst) Golden Hour (hurt/comfort, fluff)

@mrs-azriel

Unrequited (angst) A Pair of Spies (hurt/comfort)

@leoniestarlee

Illyrian Assassin (fluff, hurt/comfort) (series)

@florencemtrash

The Shadowsinger and the Inkbird (angst, fluff, hurt/comfort) (series) In a Years Time (angst, fluff) The Artificer (angst, fluff, hurt/comfort) (series)

@azrielsdove

Love and Loss (angst, hurt/comfort)

@readychilledwine

Haven (fluff) Losing Forever (angst, hurt/comfort) The Breakfast Club (fluff)

@serpentandlily

No Going Back (angst)

@violet-shadows

Low on Hope (hurt/comfort, angst) (series) Speaking of Forgiveness (angst, hurt/comfort) (series)

@writingsbychlo

When You Hold Me (fluff)

@lalacliffthorne

The Basic Rules of Friendship (fluff)

@bluetimeombre

And I Wouldn't Marry Me Either (angst)

@prythianpages

I've Been Waiting for You (fluff, hurt/comfort) Dandelions (fluff) (series) When I Kissed the Teacher (fluff)

@imaginesmai

The Orange Peel Theory (fluff)

@azrielbrainrot

I Laugh Like Me Again...She Laughs Like You (angst)

@itsjunear

Hidden Feelings (angst)

@stxrvel

The Cliff (angst) (series)

@stormhearty

Pushed to the Edge (angst, hurt/no comfort) (series)

@heartless-tate

Notice Me! (fluff)

@leafsandstarlight

Annual Visit (fluff) (series)

@shadowandlightt

Of Nightmares and Memories (series) (angst)

@azriels-shadowsinger

I Can't Sleep with You Still Mad at Me (hurt/comfort) Everything Reminds Me of You (angst, hurt/comfort) I Broke the Lock You Were Screaming (hurt/comfort)

@thisblogisaboutabook

Rainy Season (angst) Baby, Mine (angst/fluff)

@thehighladywrites

Banned From Intimacy (fluff, 18+)

@ervotica

My Hands are Searching (angst, hurt/comfort)

@grandlinedreams

Archeron Sister AU (angst, hurt/comfort) (series) Untitled (fluff)

@azrielwingspan

A 'Tea' Party (fluff)

@angelshadowsinger

Scarlet-Tipped Secrets; Peonies, for You (angst)

@parkerslatte

Centuries Coming (angst, hurt/comfort)

@moonlightazriel

Worlds Apart (tog x acotar crossover, hurt/comfort) (series) Nap (fluff)

@motherabove

All the Time in the World (angst)

@surielstea

Bright Smiles (fluff)

@itsswritten

Finally (fluff, pregnancy)

@lady-of-tearshed

Clingy Bat (fluff)

@utterlyotterlyx

Another Love (angst, fluff)

@sillymercury

Emergency...(fluff)

@mxtantrights

Jealousy (fluff)

dividers by @cafekitsune

[utterlyotterlyx]

Say Yes To Heaven

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary - There was no bond that could compare to yours and Azriel's, not even in death.

Warnings - heart breaking angst and sadness, swearing, loss of a loved one, fluff, you're going to cry because I did before I even started writing this.

Work Count - 4.4k

Based on this ask

"I must be in heaven."

Prepare yourself...

Cedar had become your favourite scent.

It intoxicated you the moment he stepped into the room, the quiet male who kept to himself, shrouded in shadow, scanning the room intently whilst lingering toward the back of his clan.

Heart clenching in your chest, you examined him, the infamous spymaster of the Night Court who you'd never met before. He was beautiful, beautiful like moonlight and rain, and you beheld him with such grace that you never gave to anyone.

It was as though the universe knew, and as you glanced to him, you knew too. His stare hadn't found you yet, but he was looking for something, for someone, like he too could feel the gravitational pull that had taken hold of his essence the second he had stepped over the threshold of the ballroom.

A gold strapless dress clung to your figure, Helion's signature halo entrapped in your unbound waved hair. The candlelight embraced you in its golden glow, finding a kinship in you, and you basked in it. Originally from the Autumn Court, you had found a place in Helion's court as his second, his closest friend, his confidant. But something told you that the second the Shadowsinger looked to you, there was little Helion would be able to do to keep you.

Air escaped his lungs as he found the one his shadows had been whispering to him about. There you stood at the edge of the dais, your assigned place at the event thrown by your High Lord, skin glistening and eyes teeming with blissful shock. Your hands were folded in front of you, your shoulders were pushed back and your entire was poised and elegant.

Azriel cared little for court politics as his feet carried him absentmindedly in your direction, and not once did those hazel pools of torment move off of your face that was glowing in the light. He came to a stop before you, visibly breathless, and took your hand in his, feeling that pull swirl into a pit of yearning need in his stomach.

Sultry plucking of a harp consumed the room, an ethereal melody that possessed him like a siren did a sea merchant. A tune that was making him swoon, it complimented you and the moment perfectly.

Standing on the step below you, you looked down on him, expressionless but with soft features that he wanted to touch and etch into his memory. The world slowed, Azriel swore that it was you that stopped the world from spinning, to freeze time in that moment as that golden thread in his chest found its needle inside of your soul.

"Azriel," he told you his name, seemingly being the only thing he could coherently say to you, scanning your face in patient desire to hear one syllable fall from those lips with your hand still in his.

Tilting your head to the side, you smiled softly, "Y/N," your voice was angelic, soft like summer rain, as melodic as a lullaby.

Azriel had heard of you from Rhys who considered you to be a friend as much as Helion, you were a dream walker, able to tread along the line of the sleeping and living worlds unnoticed, to create and infiltrate the dreams of others, to throw your essence into the wind and see where she carried you.

A rare thing, so rare that you were the only known dream walker to walk Prythian in a millennia.

"I've been waiting for you," you dipped your head and smiled, a blush creeping up to your cheeks that made him grin at the captivating beauty of it.

Taking a step down from the dais, you peered up at the male whose wings were shielding you from the crowd of your friends no doubt staring at you both, a bewitching speckle of gold in your eyes, "So have I."

"I must be in heaven," Azriel smirked into your shoulder as he rolled his hips into yours.

He had dreamed of that moment, of having you laid bare beneath him, shuddering and moaning in delicious delight.

Azriel had waited months for it, he had waited as you took your sweet time to accept the bond, no doubt dragging it on purposefully to drive him mad, you were infuriating like that. He had waited until you had decided to leave Helion and settle your roots in Velaris, he had waited until you were ready to take that step, and not once did he complain or rush you.

The night you had accepted the bond formally was the same evening Azriel had moved you into the house he had ordered Rhys to build for you both the moment they had returned from the Day Court after meeting you. It was light and airy, it was brimming with warmth and love, it was the perfect harmony of both of your intertwined souls.

Azriel danced with you in the candlelight, holding you close to his chest and muttering his silent thanks to the Mother for the gift that was you, a mate who wasn't afraid of him, but who was instead enamoured by him.

It was that night you had cooked for him and assured him that you were ready, that he was everything that you ever needed and wanted. Azriel had gladly, and quickly, ate the meal you had presented to him before gathering you up in his arms and taking you to your shared bedroom.

"Say yes to heaven," you had breathlessly muttered back to him, your nails digging into the skin of his back and running along the thick membranes of his wings, "Say yes to me."

Azriel kissed you, moving inside of you like it was the only thing he was sure was right, that it was the only thing that made sense. Your bodies moulded together like molten gold in a crown casing.

"Yes. A thousand times yes," he spoke over your lips, grinning and capturing your lips in his own, running his fingers up your sides and furling them into your hair.

Entwined with you was the only place that gave him sanctuary, the only place where peace was able to find him and where the demons wouldn't dare journey to. Home.

Two hundred years of you.

Two hundred years of coming home and having you by his side, two hundred years of falling in love you with you more and more each day.

Not one bit of you had changed in that time, you were still the gentle, caring, loving soul that he met all those years ago. You still wore your signature gold, your eyes still sparkled with adoration when he walked into a room, even as your family grew with the additions of Feyre and her sisters, not once did your bond falter.

Even Rhys knew that he and Feyre couldn't compare to the bond you shared, a bond of tormented nightmares soothed by your touch, a bond of universe shattering love and yearning, a bond so strong that nothing would ever come between it.

Azriel never stopped smiling, he never lingered anywhere knowing that you were at home waiting for him, everywhere he went he took you with him, or a piece of you if you couldn't be there physically.

Rhys had sent your mate back to you with a smirk, noticing his incessant fidgeting on the chair before his desk, and Azriel didn't need telling twice before he bellowed from the house and soared into the skies, following your scent all the way to the hearth of your home.

You stood with your back to him, head peering over your shoulder like you had heard him coming from miles away, hair clipped up and spilling over your face, "Az," you breathed and rounded the seating area to bury your face in his chest, nuzzling into his cedar and warmth like a babe to a blanket. Azriel curled his arms around you, his shadows peppering your face in sweet kisses and dancing across your shoulders, "I've missed you."

The longest you and Azriel had ever gone without one another was a week, any longer and your bond would ache and crack, forcing you back together and humming in delight at the first featherlight touch before your bodies collided.

Cupping your face in his marred hands, hands that you had never grimaced at, he scanned your face like he did every time he returned to you, with glazed eyes, sketching your face to memory just so that he could dream of it when slumber took hold of him, "I missed you so much, my little dreamer."

His kiss was tender, full of exhaustion and need to have you close. Azriel scooped you into his arms, not being able to stop his lips from touching every bare patch of skin on show to him before he undressed you and made love to you for hours. Making sure that you knew how loved you were, how much he starved for you.

Once your head was nestled onto his chest and his fingers were tracing patterns into your shoulder, you felt him sigh, the exhale making your head drop a couple of inches. Craning your neck, you silently asked him what was wrong, your brows furrowing as he spoke, "Promise me that you'll always be by my side."

"I'll never leave you, Az."

"Promise me," he begged, "Promise me that you'll come back."

Caressing his cheek, your soothing voice uttered, "I'll come back. Even as a shadow, even as a dream. I'll come back, always. I promise," a familiar burning coiled around your forearm, blank ink swirled and settled into the skin that lay there, a matching one appeared on his forearm and you wound yourself into him as tight as you could.

Tensions were rising with the war against Hybern looming and you knew that he was terrified, you knew if it was only him, if he didn't have you, then he would be fine. But he wasn't ready to lose you or himself, not when he wasn't ready to stop loving you.

Azriel had flown into a blind rage once Cassian had told him what you had been ordered to do.

The war was looming, accelerating even, and Azriel was trying frantically to keep you out of it.

Rhys had ordered you to dream walk into Hybern, into the King's sick and twisted mind. It was the only leverage they had, that the King didn't know of you so wouldn't know how to prepare against your abilities. You'd be able to figure out his plans, you'd be able to warp his mind into making the wrong move.

It was an order that you had agreed to, albeit begrudgingly, "I can't do it here. If there's any chance he knows of me and can use my magic to trace it to the source, then I can't be here."

Rhys had made sure to keep Azriel out of the meeting, he had made sure to busy him with something else, he knew that he wouldn't allow it, and Rhys needed you to agree. It wasn't like he enjoyed coming between you two, he loved you like a sister, he doted on you and appreciated every single thing you did from his family.

After the cauldron, you were instrumental in healing both Elain and Nesta, you infiltrated their dreams and filled them with light, you plucked away the horror, much like you had done for Azriel when you had first began your relationship, and locked them away in the chest in your mind where the nasty things went. Even Feyre had leaned on you, and you had gladly done the same for her, coaxing away her sickness and making her into the powerful female she had grown into.

Your gift was serene, you very rarely used it to do something bad, but the King of Hybern was a monster, one that needed to be stopped, and the war was drawing closer, and they were running out of options.

"You're not going anywhere," Azriel had growled from the doorway, glowering like the devil in disguise at his brother before approaching you, running his fingers down the side of your face and placing his lips on your forehead.

"Az," you trailed off, taking his hands in your own and forcing him to meet your gaze, "We don't have a choice."

Azriel shook his head, "I can't be away from you," he was terrified, terrified that you leaving would mean that he would never see you again.

Tears bubbled in your eyes, "I know," your bottom lip wobbled, "But you can't come with me. This is a part of me that I'm not proud of, I don't want you to see this. You're needed here, you need to protect our home."

"You are my home, y/n. Not Prythian. Not Velaris or the darkness. You. You're my little dreamer, I need you here where I know that you're safe."

"If I don't do this then we won't have a home to come back to, we won't come back to each other like we promised."

"No-"

"Az, we don't have a choice," you cupped his face and his fingers curled around your wrists, "I can do this, and we can win. And then we'll go home to our little house by the Sidra and make all of those babies we talked about, okay?"

Silence, "Okay."

Turning to Rhys, you told him, "There's a dream walker temple on the edge of Summer. I'll go there, I work better at dusk," you focused back on your mate as the sun began to dip in the sky, "Take me home. Please."

One more moment, one more moment of your love consuming you before the realisation settled in that there was a real chance that you'd never see one another again.

Azriel stood on the grass of your home, clutching onto you with every fibre of his soul, "What if we don't-"

"Don't say it."

"Y/N," tears spilled down his cheeks as they did on yours, your hands were fisted into his shirt and your forehead was pressed against his.

Purple had began to float across the sky, a warning that time was waning.

"I will see you when dusk meets dawn. I will see you in the stars and clouds. I will see you again," you strained through strangled sobs, "I love you Azriel. Thank you for finding me and giving me two hundred years of love and wonder. Thank you for loving me and becoming the only home I ever needed."

"You rescued me from myself," he breathed, "I'll look for you. I'll dream of you. I would go through all of my pain over and over again if it means that you're waiting at the end of it. I'll see you on the other side of the stars, my little dreamer. I love you," he blinked hard and tears fell from his eyes, ones that you brushed away before kissing him deeply, "Go. If you don't go now then I'll never be able to let go of you. I can't watch you go. Please y/n."

Pressing your lips to his one more time in a featherlight embrace, you stepped from his arms, shuddering at the cold that shrouded you in that moment and sobbed at his outstretched hands that were searching for you.

And then you disappeared, you vanished before your mouth could betray you and tell him what you had both been dreaming of.

It had spent your energy but it had worked.

Your journey into his mind had been successful and once you rose from the golden stone floor of the dream walker temple and saw the sun loom on the horizon, you screamed the news and findings into Rhys' mind and simultaneously flooded the straining bond with love, sighing as a tidal wave of adoration flowed back to you.

You had to get there, you had to reach the battlefield and help. Being Helion's former second meant that you were a gifted warrior, and even living in Velaris hadn't allowed you to take a break from that part of your life.

Ash floated from the sky, landing on your face as you winnowed to the edge of the field and gasped at the sight. There were mangled bodies everywhere, there was screaming and crying, and fighting surrounded you like your own personal nightmare.

The sky was dark with smoke and you frantically tugged on the bond, begging it to lead you to your mate. There was a chance now, a real chance that you'd both be able to go home and live the dream you'd always wanted.

Blue flashed in the corner of your eye and you saw him, he was surrounded, back to back with Cassian as a circle of enemies encroached on their position. Glancing to your side, you ripped a steel tipped javelin from the body of a long gone foe, throwing it in the air and grasping it with a perfect grip before hurtling it through the sky, smiling as it ripped through a total of six enemies.

Azriel and Cassian both snapped to your direction in awe at the fact you'd just taken out a third of the enemies around them with one throw. Cassian chuckled and relished in tearing the rest of the males limb from limb whilst Azriel nodded to you, asking if you were alright and only waiting a single beat for your confirmation before he continued on his onslaught.

There would be time to reunite later.

The war was bloody and horrible, you had never enjoyed killing anyone, but you were a ruthless and formidable opponent, no one could have tore you down when you had met Mor on the battlefield and made fast work of clearing the area.

You continued to fight, you continued and fought with every ounce of energy you could spare. You fought through the cauldron breaking and Rhys dying, you fought through the last remaining minutes before the surrender.

You fought until you realised that you couldn't feel him.

Stopping dead in your tracks, you dropped your sword and glanced around, noticing that none of your friends were on the battlefield, you dropped you sword and ran. Struggling panting breaths flew from your lips as you ran, hurtling over piles of bodies and around healers scouring the grounds for souls to save.

The camps were brimming with bloody males and females, all being tended to, some happy and others in shock. You tugged on the bond. Silence. You tugged on it again. Silence.

A clearing appeared and you saw them, you saw Cassian with his head in his hands, you saw Rhys leaning against Feyre and her red puffy eyes. The skimming of rocks alerted them to your presence and Rhys darted to you, "Where is he, Rhys?"

Your thick braid waved around as your head whipped across the clearing furiously, "I can't feel him. Where is he?"

Rhys grasped your arms then, forcing you to look at him. The entrance to the tent flapped in the wind and you could faintly see the drooped wings trailing off the table. Rhys was struggling to speak, he was taking in your furrowed brows and wide eyes, the parted lips and the softly shaking head, "No. No," you said to no one in particular as you took a step to the side.

You reached for the bond again only to feel nothing on the other side and you gasped, taking a tentative step toward the flapping entrance of the tent and inhaling deeply, faded cedar and night kissed air.

Your heart had registered it before your mind had, it was shattering in your chest and you grasped your stomach as it swelled in pain, gasping as it settled. Cassian cradled you in his arms, not being able to say anything, but looking up at him confirmed it and you burst into the tent without a second thought, clasping the entrance closed behind you.

Light floated through the tear in the far corner, slicing across the floor and over his figure, but you couldn't move, you couldn't breathe.

"Az?"

Nothing.

"Azriel?" You took a step toward him, praying that he was just injured and asleep, but as you took one glimpse at his face, you crumpled to your knees.

There had never been pain like it, you clawed at your chest and crawled along the dirt to the hand that was outstretched to you, like he had reached for you just before he left. You nuzzled your cheek onto his palm, begging for warmth, for some form of life.

Cold greeted you and you screamed, you screamed a strangled cry and sobbed, pulling on his hand and cupping it over your face like he was going to wake up and curl his fingers around your chin and kiss you and cry with you.

But he wasn't.

You grasped onto the edge of the table where he lay and drank in his pale face, his body void of dancing shadows, and you crawled into the tiny space at his side, curling onto his chest and rubbing your cheek against his leathers, "You promised," you cried, muffled into his icy skin, and at the words, you felt a searing pain spread across your body, one of broken bonds and promises as your tattoos began to vanish one by one.

Only in death will you be free of our promises, my little dreamer.

"Please, please, bring him back. Give him back to me. I can't live without him. Please." Craning your neck, you peered up at him, at his closed eyelids and peaceful smile, like he had drifted off into slumber and was dreaming of you. "We had it, Az. We were there. We're having a baby. You need to come back to me."

Silence.

Heart breaking sobs flowed through you, so painful that Nesta had to enter the tent, a sob escaping from her own lips at the sight of you curled into Azriel's lifeless size, you had draped his arm over you, you were pressing your lips to the space below his ear, you were begging the Mother to bring him back to you.

"I was going to tell you after this, after we'd won. It would have made it all worth it, Our own little baby, our own little dreamer. Come back to me," your face crumpled, "You promised you'd never leave me."

Nesta approached, fingers outstretched to you and she placed a hand on your shoulder, watching painfully as you turned Azriel's head and placed your lips on his, sobbing against them and clutching your stomach, "I'll see you on the other side of the stars. I'll come back to you even if you can't come back to me. I'll dream of you every day. I love you, Az. I love you."

Mor refused to leave you, she cradled you as you cried and rocked you to sleep, she listened to your fearful sobs of going through your pregnancy alone, and she cried with you. They all cried harder, like air didn't deserve them when Nesta had told them of your condition, of losing Azriel and carrying his child.

Mor had continued to hold you as your body finally gave in and sleep confused your soul, carrying you to the place where the Mother knew where you needed to be.

Warmth floated over your figure, and your weary eyes opened, wincing at the light flitting through the open windows. Coffee and cedar clung to the air, and you shot upward, searching the landscape for the person you were breaking for.

"Hello, my little dreamer," his voice was like a symphony and you exhaled, straining your sadness in the action, and turned to the side to see him sat to your side. Azriel smiled sadly at you and thinned his lips, "I missed you."

A sob thundered through you and he was on you in an instant, cradling you to his chest and stroking your hair, "You left me."

"I know. I'm sorry, y/n. I'm so sorry," he pulled away and rested his forehead on your, tips of your noses touching and eyes scanning your face like they always did.

He was there but he wasn't, a symphonic figment of your imagination, or the Mother's final gift to you, to let you have him mentally if she couldn't allow you to have him physically.

"We're having a baby."

Azriel smiled, doing his best to contain his tears for you, he had to be strong for you, he was the one who had left you in the world of the living without him, "I heard you."

"You did?"

Azriel hummed, looking at you with adoration and wonder as his hand drifted to your abdomen, "You can do this," tears threatened to spill down his cheeks and he blinked them away furiously, "I know it's hard, and I know you feel alone, But I will always be here, you'll always be able to find me in your dreams."

"It's not the same," you strained, clutching hold of him like your life depended on it, which in that moment, it did, "I need you. Come back."

"I can't, my little dreamer," he caressed your cheek, stroking the reddened puffy skin with the pad of his thumb, "I'm too far gone. But I can stay here, on the edge of life and death with you until you want to send me away."

"I'll never send you away. I'll never let you go."

"We're having a baby," his voice cracked and you knew he was breaking, breaking at the thought of not being able to hold you during your labour or go to the bakeries to pick up your favourite sweet treats, of not being able to sing your babe into rest with his melodic voice, "I'm going to be a dad," you nodded, on the edge of breaking with him, he lowered himself to your barely there swell and ran his fingers over the surface, "You be good for her. She's the best thing that the Mother ever made. I'll meet you one day, when the time is right," then he moved back up to you, sketching your face to memory like he always did.

"On the other side of the stars?"

"On the other side of the stars," you confirmed, pressing you lips to his and letting him hold you in his ghostly embrace, allowing your two hundred years worth of love to consume you, "You'll be waiting there for me?"

Azriel ran his fingers down the slope of your neck and shoulder and pressed his lips into your hairline, "Oh my little dreamer, I'll wait a million years for my soul to dance with yours in the stars, and that day will be the best day of my existence."

Authors Note

I cried all the way through this, I broke myself oh my godddd

[azrielbrainrot]

I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You - Part 3

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Description: When your own identity is challenged you're forced to find an ally in what you thought was the most unlikely place.

Warnings: Angst, Memory loss, mentions of death

Word Count: 5950

Notes: Sorry for the wait but I had to map things out to answer all the questions I started in the previous chapters (set myself up there) and lack of motivation was kicking my ass. Still, I hope you enjoy!

Part 2 ○ Part 4

You were picking at the food on your plate as Azriel stared at you, looking like he'd rather feed you himself. As hungry as you were, everything was hard to stomach. You tried to tell him as much but had only been met with a scolding, he seemed extremely interested in your health. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was content with watching you even if you never actually gave him anything. It seemed like the spymaster wasn't too preoccupied with the fact that he had caught you stealing from his High Lord.

Following your sudden breakdown, Azriel had managed to calm you down enough, insisting that you didn't talk about anything else until you ate and were ready for it. Your eyes still hurt and were probably puffy from the tears that had flowed not even an hour ago, and your head still ached, even if it didn't come anywhere close to the excruciating pain you felt before.

The same feeling as before still crawled under your skin, the same questions swirling around in your mind, but you managed to find your composure after the ache had transformed into something manageable and the tears had dried. Admittedly, you were a bit scared of prying into your mind and triggering the same reaction as before - it really had felt like your brain was trying to forcefully escape your skull.

You were still trying to make sense of everything, denying that you were missing important information wouldn't help you. There was no way Azriel was confusing you for someone else, not with the way your body reacted to him and the dreams you've had for far longer than you've been here. There was also the problem of you being a prisoner in this room, as nice and attentive as your prison guard has been there has to be a punishment waiting for you.

When your head felt like it was going to burst, you could swear someone else had barged into the room but you couldn't stay focused on it or hear what they were saying through your own desperate screams. You think you saw something red glinting, but didn't even make out anyone's form, your vision was too blurry. You're not even sure how many of them walked through the door. By the time you came to and calmed down it was only you and Azriel in the room again, and all you could feel was his arms around you, grounding you.

You bite down on another small piece of sausage, arranged as if they were meant to feed a child - you hadn't seen him cut them but you know it has to be his work - as you remembered how desperate he sounded in that moment. You're not sure if the soothing words he whispered in your ear were meant for you or for himself, he was just short of begging you to be okay. It was a little embarrassing to think about how fragile he had seen you in that moment but it was even worse remembering how intimately he held you.

Looking up at Azriel, you're not surprised to meet his eyes, they haven't left you for longer than a second, it's like he's scared you'll disappear if he looks away. You can still see the concern swirling in the beautiful hazel.

You had so many questions, knew he had even more, but you weren't sure where to even begin. Any hope of him starting to talk was evaporating faster with every second. He had told you he wouldn't bring anything up until you were ready but you thought he'd at least ask about the robbery, start off easy. You couldn't push your doubts aside any longer, it felt like you were both playing a part, ignoring the elephant in the room.

“Azriel?” His name triggers the same reaction every time you say it. You might have to go to a healer if you survive this, having your heart fluttering so often can't be healthy.

“Yes?” He leans closer letting his wings pull in closer to his body, ready to give you his undivided attention.

You've noticed how his wings move with him and can give you small clues on what he might be feeling sometimes, like a cat's ears, perking up or dropping with his emotions. The same happens with his shadows really, moving towards you when they're interested, like a tail you suppose.

“There's something wrong.” His eyes open wide and he's on his feet before you can even blink, standing over you and reaching out for your hand. That might not have been the best way to start.

“What's wrong?” He holds onto your wrist, feeling for your pulse. “Does it hurt again?”

“No, nothing hurts,” you try to calm him down, cheeks slightly flushed. “I mean this.” You gesture between the two of you, hoping he's aware of the terrified expression on his face. “You're worried about me.” He visibly relaxes at that, understanding you're not physically hurting again.

“Of course, I am.” He sits on the side of the bed, never letting go of your wrist but holding onto it a little softer, drawing circles with his thumb over your skin. You're not even sure if he's doing it on purpose, or if it simply comes naturally.

“Why would you be?” You have an idea of the answer, he's already made it more than clear that he knows you very well. “I thought you'd be guarding me to make sure I didn't escape but you've been taking care of me instead.”

His eyes roam over your desperate face, taking notice of every expression you make. He's probably scared of saying something that will send you into the same state as before, clawing at your head to stop, but you can see how much he wants to tell you, to stop pretending.

“You're my wife,” he admits, a small smile playing on his lips right after, like saying the word is enough to make him happy, and looks down at his hand still wrapped around your wrist, running his thumb down the veins to the palm of your hand, loosely holding it instead.

“I don't…” You thought there had to be some sort of romantic relationship between you and him, or the person he thinks you are, but you didn't expect him to say wife. “I've never been married.” You never even thought it would be a possibility with your job.

Him thinking you're his wife definitely answers a lot of questions, mostly the reason why you aren't in a dark dungeon after what you've done to them, but it just opens up a whole other box of chaos.

You set the plate aside, knowing you can't keep any more food down with the way the conversation has to go. You wish you could just crawl into your own bed, in your own home and wait until all of this mess passes. Running a hand down your face, you steel yourself, recognizing you need to get to the bottom of this, not only for your sake but his as well. Whatever was at play here was larger than you could have imagined.

“I don't remember you at all, Azriel,” you admit. He just nods, almost pouting, without looking away from your hand still clutched in his. “But I've dreamt about you.” He perks up at that, surprised eyes darting up to meet yours.

“I dream about you almost every night,” he admits softly, a reddish tint covering the tips of his ears.

“If I'm supposed to be your wife, should I be offended that it's not every night?” The lame joke does nothing to ease your nerves, as you intended, but the blinding smile he rewards you with certainly makes the next words easier to come out.

“What you called me before… that's not my name,” you continue slowly, “My name is Maya.”

“Maya,” he tries it out but the discomfort is obvious on his face. To your surprise, you don't like how it sounds coming from him either, while every other word he utters sounds like honey.

“I know that's my name. I know I'ver never been here or met you before,” you explain, “I know I never married you either. I can account for every year of my life, there are no gaps in my memories. You're not in any of them, neither is this house,” you look into his eyes the whole time, squeezing his hand slightly, wanting him to feel your sincerity, “but there's something wrong.”

He studies your face with an unreadable expression. If this whole situation is hard for you to wrap your head around, you can't imagine what it is like looking in from the outside. The only reason you believed him was because of your body's response to him, but all he can see is a female who looks just like his wife yet doesn't recognize him.

His hand leaves yours as he takes the ring he was wearing off slowly, taking your hand and depositing it on your palm gently.

“What's this?” It's a simple silver ring, worn out from what you assume is years of training and fighting while wearing it. Your heart palpitations come back the longer you study it, you know it.

“My wedding ring,” he almost whispers, “You had yours when…” You look up at him and he shakes his head almost imperceptibly, “I don't have it.”

You nod and let it fall on your finger, in place of where your own wedding ring would be. It's too big on you, it would likely be too loose even if you had put it on your thumb, but you almost don't want to take it off. Goosebumps spread all over your body, your heart rate picking up.

“Do you feel anything?”

“I'm not sure I can explain it,” you breathe, not fully understanding the reaction your body has to him.

“Try me,” he insisted.

“Ever since I heard about this mission and stepped foot into this city, it feels like my brain is screaming at me to remember something really important but I can't,” you say, watching the way the wedding band hangs around your finger, “and when I put this ring on just now.” You hold up your hand for him to see, the light catching on it.

You look up at him before continuing, “When I first saw you. When you told me your name. When I… When I stabbed you.” Your eyes travel to his stomach, where an open wound had been just a few hours ago. “I feel a pain in my chest.” It makes itself known again as you think of the way his blood had dripped down your hands. “Holding the ring feels right. Saying your name feels right. But hurting you… didn't.” You take a deep breath in, knowing there's no going back, “So, as insane as this whole situation is, I think I believe you, Azriel.”

The admission lingers in the air as both of you feel its weight. Acknowledging the particular situation you've found yourselves in is only the beginning. Now you must try to understand what happened and how to fix things, if you want that. Part of recognizing what Azriel told you as the truth comes with accepting that some of your life was a lie, and, at this moment, you have no tangible evidence for what is real or not aside from the goosebumps you get when the male in front of you touches you. You don't even know who you truly are.

“If you say I'm your wife then what made me leave?”

“You didn't,” the hesitation is almost tangible in his tone, “I thought you were dead.” Your hand immediately shoots up to your neck, feeling the softened scar under your fingertips. The movement seems to break the dam holding his emotions in check, making everything flow out at once.

“I don't know what happened,” he lets go of you and stands up, running a hand through his hair and pacing around as he explained with an anguished voice, “It was a simple mission. We never found out how exactly but it looked like you were taken by surprise and attacked by bandits. My shadows told me they couldn't sense you so I went to meet you but when I got there all I saw was blood. There was so much blood.”

When he meets your eyes again you can clearly see the tears gathering in them, the pain that still lingers from recalling that moment.

“I looked for you. We all did. We searched in every corner of the world, I sent spies everywhere. We found the bandits and made them talk but when they left your body was still there and your throat was cut.” His wings droop, the bottoms of it touching the floor. Azriel looks defeated. “We thought you were dead. I tried denying it for a while but it came to a point where I couldn't anymore. But now you're here and I- Fuck. I should have kept looking. I shouldn't have given up so easily.”

“Azriel,” you call for him, bringing his attention back to you. The desperation and raw pain in his voice were breaking your heart. “Whatever happened wasn't your fault.”

“I should have found you,” he whispers, completely contrasting with his tone mere moments before.

“You thought I was dead.” The words are hard to form, and you can't linger on them too long. You always knew the injury you suffered was severe, that it had been near miraculous that you survived but finding out there were people out there that truly believed you were dead was chilling. “This whole situation still feels impossible, there's no way you could have known I was still alive.”

He nods at you, but you can clearly see he can't let go of it. The attentiveness and overprotection he's been showing you makes much more sense now. Azriel sits on the chair he has barely left since you were brought to this room. He seems to try to regain his composure, combing back the hair he had tousled and bringing his wings up closer to his body again. But his eyes don't meet yours like before.

You fall back against the headboard, the impact softened by the pillows he fluffled out for you, picking at his wedding ring still on your finger. You feel like you're going insane. Maybe letting the guild find you wouldn't be so bad, at least they'd put you out of your misery. Though it's hard to ignore the fact that they seem to be the ones who put you in this situation, letting you live a lie for almost a century.

“It's been a century since then,” you repeated aloud, “And you still…” Love me? You wanted to say, but that wasn't really you, not for now at least. You don't remember anything of your time together, or about yourself. Maybe the only thing that survived was your body. There's a possibility that the female he loved had actually died, that he'll never fully get her back even if you regain your memories.

“I told you,” the smile you witnessed earlier comes back to his face, even if with only half the prior intensity, “I dream about you almost every night.”

“This doesn't make any sense.” You had moved to sit cross legged over the covers, tired of laying in bed when your body wasn't even hurting. Nibbling on a chocolate cookie the House, who Azriel told you is sort of sentient, gave you.

“I know.” He had calmed down since his outburst, going back to what you assume is closer to his usual demeanor, though he might not always act the same as when his dead wife is sitting across from him. His shadows seemed to have relaxed as well, most of them had left him in favor of swirling around the room like smoke. “When I saw you in the living room, I thought you came back.”

“But I came to rob you instead.”

He lets out a chuckle, “I couldn't have imagined that in my wildest dreams.” His gaze turns a bit more serious before he adds, “my High Lord and High Lady want to speak to you.”

“I figured as much.” You were actually surprised they hadn't shown up yet, the sun was already close to setting. “Did you tell them you think I'm your wife?”

“They know. You and Rhys were friends too.”

The thought that you could be friends with a High Lord is almost laughable, but so was being married to his shadowsinger and yet the fluttering of your heart every time he speaks to you in that deep, soft voice of his doesn't lie.

You think for a bit, remembering the information you had been granted before coming on your mission. Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, the most powerful one in history and the bearer of one of the most sought-after and frightening abilities - daemati. It's said his mate, the recently turned fae, Feyre Archeron, shares the same talent.

“Is it true that he's a daemati?” He simply nods, knowing you're following his train of thought.

“You want him to look into my head.”

“He might be able to find out what happened to you,” he nods, “the reason you forgot me, forgot us.”

“And you're sure he'll want to help me after what I did? He looked pretty mad when I saw him last night,” you say as you chew on your lip.

Granting him passage into your mind might be more than a leap of faith. You've found it easy to talk to Azriel, to trust him, but you haven't met anyone else, and can't trust they won't want to hurt you. Azriel seemed to not care much about your initial reason for coming to the court or even what you did to him but you can't expect everyone to feel the same, even if they had been your friends a century ago. And a daemati could break you beyond repair, even just seeing their abilities in action has always left you unsettled.

“Rhys won't hurt you,” he tells you, his face showing he has no doubts about his words.

“It's not like I have much of a choice anyway,” you brush the crumbs off your nightgown, stretching your legs and moving until you are sitting at the edge of the mattress. It brought you closer to him, your knees brushing his, the feeling of the leather feeling oh so familiar against your bare skin, making your next words come out breathier than you wanted them to, “You can call them.”

Something flashes across his tantalizing eyes when he looks down at your bare legs, noting the change in your tone, but it disappears when he looks back at you, nodding softly and letting his eyelids shut as if to level himself. Some of his shadows come back to him and, as his silence prolongs, you realize he must be speaking to them in his mind, calling his High Lord just as you asked.

The pressure in the room changes as soon as he opens his eyes, the air getting harder to breathe. It's not as strong as what you'd felt the night before but the tamed magic is enough to have the hairs on the back of your neck stand, and a shiver to run down your spine. You truly hope Azriel is right about them.

Azriel stands just as the door opens to reveal his High Lord followed closely by his mate. His unreadable purple eyes study your stiff form, walking inside the room and letting Feyre close the door behind them. She seems more serene, not showing any obvious hostility towards you but you know not to underestimate the human who freed the fae of Prythian.

You stand when they stop in front of you, not letting fear make you appear weak. If they chose to hold you accountable for your actions you would accept their punishment head on.

The first word out of the High Lord's lips is the same name Azriel had called you before, and the same feeling of deja vu consumes you once more.

“Maya,” you correct. His head tilts to the side briefly, before looking over at Azriel who is watching the scene unfold warily.

“Well Maya,” his eyes meet yours again, “Are you going to explain why I've found you lurking around my house?” The venom was clear in his voice, but you expected as much.

“I was sent here on a mission,” you say as emotionlessly as you can, just like the guild taught you, “I was supposed to find an ancient book with a particular set of runes, it seems it belonged to your grandfather.” You hope the lack of information doesn't make you appear suspicious because it truly is the only thing the guild had deemed enough for you to be able to complete your mission. “Since I failed the mission, they've probably already sent assassins after me, in case I tell you or anyone about them.”

“No one is going to hurt you,” Azriel promises, anger rising at the mention of someone wanting to kill you.

“You were in the wrong place for that,” the High Lord responds after a moment, and watching Azriel's reaction. “The book is in the library under this House.”

“It doesn't matter now.”

“You're right, it doesn't. What I want to know is where you've been all these years and why you attacked my brother.”

The pressure in the room increased again but you could now see it was the result of him trying to hold his power down even though his temper was rising.

“Rhys,” his mate warns, but it falls on deaf ears, his striking eyes never leaving yours.

“I don't remember you or him,” you admit.

“So he's told me.” Rhysand didn't sound too convinced. “You won't mind if I check for myself right?” He barely made it sound like a question but you nod in answer all the same.

Black talons scrape along your mental walls as soon as you give him permission, you lower them for him, pushing everything the guild taught you aside, inviting the enemy straight into your mind. If they could see you now you would definitely be mocked and executed on the spot.

His presence is barely felt in your mind before a sharp pain takes your senses, similar to the one you'd felt before. You squeeze your eyes shut, hands moving to hold your head. Scarred hands are on you immediately, holding you up against a strong body before your knees meet the ground. As the talons retreat from your mind, the pressure lessens and you take a few deep breaths before opening your eyes.

When you manage to blink away the wetness making your vision blurry, you find the High Lord looking at you with wide eyes, remorse clear on his face and his mate holding onto his arm.

“What did you do to her?” Azriel's voice was rough with barely restrained anger.

The High Lord ignores him, looking into your eyes as he explains with a notably softer tone than earlier, “There is something blocking your memories. When I tried to bypass it… It hurt you.”

“What does that mean?” Your voice was scratchy, a dull ache lingering in your head. You lean away from Azriel and sit back on the mattress. No use trying to act tough, you're truly at their mercy.

“It means I can't access your memories for the time being,” the change in his demeanor would give you whiplash if the pain you were feeling gave way long enough for you to focus on anything else, “I've never seen anything like this, there's no way of knowing what it can do to you.”

“I think your memories aren't only being blocked,” he's still speaking directly at you but you can't really wrap your mind around anything at the moment, letting them discuss amongst themselves. “They're being overwritten at the same time.”

“That's why she forgot Azriel but remembers her life at the guild?”

“I've never heard of anything like that,” Azriel's voice sounds further away, you almost want to reach out and pull him back to you.

“Me neither,” the High Lord admits, watching your crouched form warily. “We'll have to ask Amren and research it in the library but it's the only explanation.” You find yourself nodding, even if you don't know Amren you understand the ancient creature might be able to help, if she wants to that is.

“At least your mental walls are still intact. They're the same ones I taught you to build.”

“No, I learned at the guild,” you finally look up at him, sweat still covering your forehead.

“There's still an open channel, like an open door for me to be able to talk to you.” So I can do this. You can't help but jump slightly at the sound of his voice in your mind, and the promise of a smile twitches on his lips. It doesn't go unnoticed that the talons moved a lot more carefully in your mind, almost tenderly.

“You're staying in this house until we can be sure you're not a threat.” His eyes move to Azriel's, an unimpressed look taking over his face at the scowl the shadowsinger sends him. “In the meantime you can fill Azriel in on everything you can about the guild. I want to know if there's a chance they'll try to attack us again.”

“We'll try to find any information on what is blocking your memories and keep you safe from the guild in exchange,” the High Lady adds, “It's a fair trade for both parties.”

You can't tell if she's saying it to convince you or her mate but appreciate the sentiment nonetheless. Also noticing how she omits the biggest reason for this mutual cooperation - the shadowsinger standing by your side.

⋆｡°✩°｡⋆

His hair was still wet when he started dressing himself, not wanting to leave you waiting for too long, as much as he hated to admit it he wasn't too happy about leaving you with Feyre either. He can tell everyone is still suspicious of you, even after Rhys tried to read into her memories to find nothing, stuck between their memories and stories they heard about you and the image of you stabbing a knife through his stomach.

Azriel knows his High Lady, his friend, wouldn't hurt you, but you're in a complicated situation at the moment and he doesn't want to find out what that guild has taught you to do in cases such as these, doesn't even want to think what Feyre would do to stop you. She didn't know you before, meaning she wouldn't have any reason to hold back if not for his sake - something he knows she wouldn't put above saving Velaris, he would never ask that of her either.

It's hard to accept he doesn't know how you'll react in certain situations, there was a time he knew you better than he knew himself. Now, he can't even begin to understand what you must have been through working for a world known assassin guild.

He'd obviously heard about them before, he wouldn't be a decent Spymaster if he hadn't. There wasn't much information on them, no one knew how large the group even was since there were rumors other groups were actually integrated in the guild. Names for it vary as well.

Even if you hadn't tried to steal from his High Lord, he knows he'll have to try getting as much information about them from you as he can, for his court's sake, and he can only pray you'll give it to him willingly or he'll have to let go of his position.

He doesn't know how you've been able to bear the guilt a job like this brings. As much as you've forgotten, your personality didn't seem to change a lot. You always reminded him of Cassian at times like these, gratuitous killing had never been for you. He hopes you don't have to deal with the torment he had been through in the first decades of working for the former High Lord, his soul had never recovered from everything he'd seen and done during that time.

Noticing his shadows reach up his shoulders, he physically shakes the dark thoughts out of his brain. Everything has been going better than expected, not only did you agree to cooperate but Rhys had given you the benefit of the doubt. You also agreed to have dinner with him so you could talk more.

He just told you he'd be joining you for dinner, omitting how excited, downright giddy, he felt at just the idea. It had been so long since you two shared a meal, talking for hours while enjoying the tasty food the House prepared for you.

He couldn't recall the last time he'd been this nervous for an outing, even if it wasn't exactly that - it was simply a trip to one of the House of Wind's guest rooms. Going as far as picking clothes in your favorite colors on him, letting the top buttons on his shirt undone because he knows how much you liked seeing the beginnings of his swirling bargain marks.

All of this could be for nothing, you don't remember him after all, but, he was almost certain your body did in some way and it gave him hope. You calmed down in his arms just as you did a century ago, said his name in the same sweet cadence and never shied away from his touch, from his hands. His shadows told him as much. Sang to him about the way goosebumps rose in your skin at his touch and attentiveness, how your thoughts and intuition warred in his favor. He refused to let his thoughts deter him.

When he gets to the room he sees you and Feyre standing by the dresser, almost wanting to apologize for winnowing in instead of knocking first, but he can't seem to find any words as he sees you've changed as well, ditching the nightgown in favor of a sleeveless dress that went down to your knees. The cobalt blue was as striking against your skin as he remembered, the garment in itself was simple enough yet in his eyes you had never looked so stunning.

Feyre must have been the one to give you the dress, he was only surprised it had taken her so long to meddle in your relationship. If there were any doubts, they were quickly answered when she threw him a knowing smile before excusing herself from the room.

“I'm guessing the blue is supposed to match those gems you wear.”

“Siphons,” he offers, entranced by the way you walk closer to him, the silky fabric moving with your body and giving you an ethereal glow.

“Did I used to do that a lot?”

“Yes.” He observes the way your eyes run over his body, lingering on the unbuttoned shirt. Seems like his old tricks still work. “I always loved seeing you in blue.”

You tilt your head to the side slightly, biting the inside of your lip the way you always did. He tries to stand as still as possible without appearing too awkward, making sure you knew it was alright to do with him anything that crossed your pretty brain. You seem to make up your mind as you walk closer to him.

“Can I see them?” You hold up your palm and he holds his hand over it without hesitation, letting you grab onto his hand to study the glowing siphon. The swirling light shone in your eyes and he can't help but be reminded of the first time you asked him to do the same exact thing shortly after meeting him.

“All Illyrian warriors have them,” he explains, “They're used to help us control our powers.”

“It's beautiful.” He tries not to let his wings twitch as you now hold his hand with both of yours. “I don't think I've seen anything like this before.”

“You have,” he can't help the somber smile that crosses his face. The reminder makes you look away from his hand to watch him, a conflicted expression falling over your pretty face. “You always liked them.”

The abrupt change in the atmosphere has him asking the house to get the room ready for your dinner. Not being able to hide the smile as he watches your amazed expression at the table that pops up beside you, full of delicious looking food and decorated with candlesticks, the faelights around the room dim in favor of the candlelight.

“I only asked for the food,” he admits with a bashful expression. He's glad you can't tell that, aside from the candles, the plates were also some of the fanciest ones. The House was going all out for the two of you.

He uses the grip you had on his hand to guide you to the chair and help you sit before making his way to his own seat, settling down and giving order for the House to serve both of you. Letting himself enjoy every little expression you made as you eat and listening to anything you felt like telling him, also answering all your questions about the House and the food.

He knows this doesn't have the same meaning to you as it does to him, knows that, as much as you don't seem to hate his company, you're more interested in finding out more about the version of you in his memories, trying to make sense of your own identity. It's hard to imagine how this whole thing must feel for you, finding out half of your life was made up and that you forgot such an important part of it. Still, this must be the best night he's had in a century.

You set your elbows on the table and rest your face on your hands, watching him with undivided attention as he tells you about his sparring match with Cassian. Your eyes don't leave his face after he finishes, appearing lost in thought. He lets you gather them, relishing in the comfortable silence. He'd be content with simply watching you for eternity.

You let out a soft sigh and lean back against the chair, closing your eyes for a few seconds before meeting his gaze again.

“What happens if I never remember you, Azriel?” Your voice barely above a whisper.

The question and the uncertainty in your voice as you asked it make him pause. He keeps trying to push back the thought that you won't regain your memories but it seems you were having the same doubts.

Just last week, he wouldn't have believed having you back was even a possibility, so getting your memories back can't be out of reach, it just can't. He was ready to give his life to make it so.

Still, he witnessed how painful it had been for you when Rhys simply tried to access your memories, he'd also told him trying harder, forcefully, could break your mind completely. If their research doesn't go well, if they can't find who did this to you, there might not be another way of bringing your memories back.

But he'd sooner die than live another day without you, whether your memories come back or not.

“I'll make you fall for me again.”

taglist: @thisblogisaboutabook @chessebookgirl @going-through-shit @starcrossedsan @macimads @janebirkln @dr4g0ngirl @harrystyles2686 @tothestarsandwhateverend @queensl1234 @lisanna2000 @starryhiraeth @shadowsaz @sakurafrost3-blog @evergreenlark @sisterjuliennes @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @historygeekqueen @abysshaven @pablopascal @writingcroissant @that-girl-reading @naturakaashi @tenshis-cake @sharknutz @isa1b2h3 @thehighlordishere @tarathia @sfhsgrad-blog @acourtofbatboydreams @starsandnightmares @cuethedepession @emryb @mybestfriendmademe @fxckmiup @adharanotfound @b0xerdancer @ervotica @aria-chikage @serendipityx150 @fanboyluvr @rogersbarnesxx @that-one-little-soybean @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @saltedcoffeescotch @astarlitsoul @just-a-social-casualty-1

(for some reason I couldn't tag some of you. check your settings because you might have tags disabled.)

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You — Part 18

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: pls trust me that some things will be explained in chapter 19 🙇

word count: 7,003

-Part 17- -Part 19-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Sharp, amber eyes pierce down into the male, despite having less than an inch’s difference in height. 

Lucien keeps his surprise under wraps as he greets his oldest brother, stood before the slightly dilapidated building he and his companions have taken up in, a few boards nailed over one of the upper windows that had broken during a particularly vicious storm. He recalls how Jurian had scavenged some of the plain silverware and they’d drawn spoons to see who would have to climb the roof and patch it up before the autumn chill hit. It’s a fond memory, in spite of his loss. 

“Eris,” Lucien greets shortly, holding position in blocking the male from strutting straight into his home as he knows the male would, given the chance. Not the building itself, exactly, but the people hidden away inside it, and he’d rather not subject them to another visit unless absolutely necessary. Neither of them are particularly well-equipped against Eris’ kind of verbal espionage, how he hunts the information he seeks and so effortlessly riles them up. Vassa is particularly prone to bursting into a flaming temper whenever the male pays them an unpleasant visit. 

“It’s rude to keep a guest waiting, Lucien,” Eris drawls from overside the threshold. Even after all this time he can’t help the instinctive part of him that cringes at the razor sharp tone used to cut into his name, carve it into something jagged and serrated. Perhaps when he was younger he might have returned with ‘it’s rude to show up without invitation’, but he learned long ago it’s best to avoid any kind of verbal conflict with the male. Ultimately it’s tiring and a waste of energy, so instead Lucien offers a mildly withering glare, and asks, “What are you here for?” 

Eris’s features remain sharp but blank, unshifting and drawing a clear line in the sand. Another silent demand he’s more than accustomed to, and wishes he wasn’t. “You can’t just show up without prior notice and expect to be escorted in. There are humans inside and you’ll scare them off.” 

“That’s fine by me,” Eris replies, his amber eyes silently simmering with inherent arrogance. “Step aside.”

“Don’t order me around,” Lucien replies evenly, not a note of sharpness to be found, but firm and unyielding. “You’re in their lands. Besides, they’ll be leaving shortly. You can wait a few minutes.” 

“It’s time sensitive,” Eris replies smoothly, neither having broken the eye contact. 

“You can wait a few minutes,” Lucien repeats.

Silence stretches, Eris’ brows narrowing ever so slightly in a frighteningly scathing glare that would have sent him sprinting to his room a few centuries ago. But he’s a grown male now, so he weathers the simmering look, keeping his feet firmly set on the ground, unfaltering in his stance. 

Within the silence, both can pick out the shuffle of human footfalls, the conversation that floats throughout the house, only detectable to fae hearing and each brother picks out as they trail further. It’s not until a latch clicks and a bolt is slid into place on the other side of the slightly wrecked estate that either of them shifts, and to Lucien’s invisible astonishment it’s Eris who looks away first. Even if it is to glance at the approaching Vassa over his shoulder, he notes it. 

“What’s he doing here?” Vassa questions, a derisive sneer in her tone as she pins the male darkening their doorstep with a look that could turn steak to coal in seconds. Lucien glances to Eris, wondering the same thing—wondering if he’ll answer now the humans have left and he’ll inevitably be allowed in. Sharp amber eyes slice to his own russet one, cutting and demanding, and Lucien bites back a sigh at his oldest brother’s incessant insistence on being obeyed. Even after all these years he’s just as controlling as he always was, though Lucien shouldn’t be surprised—Eris practically thrives in the cutthroat coliseum of the Autumn Court. 

Lucien steps aside in the doorway and Eris enters, bringing with him the harsh bite of the cold that’s sharper than it should be in the human lands. The distinct crispness that passes him as Eris strides past the both of them, removing his surprisingly plain cloak in one swift movement and chucking it over one of the hangers without looking. “I have news,” Eris replies vaguely, before striding further into the heart of the house and disappearing out of sight. 

Vassa shoots a fierce glare his direction, a slight scowl between her brows. “Did you know he was on his way?” She asks, already looking about ready to try smacking the male across the jaw. But Lucien shakes his head, already resigned to the evening being ruined, knowing her impatience isn’t directed at him. “I’m sober, aren’t I?” He replies wryly, a twist of a demeaning smile on his mouth to cool her flammable temper. 

After a long moment of pause, she huffs a laugh, low and raspy, some of the tension relieved from her rigid posture, fiery coloured ringlets jostled slightly from the tremble in her full shoulders. “We’d better go after him,” she says, a little more amused than she was previously, though that amusement dims swiftly at the thought of having to deal with more of the male’s unnecessary and underhanded jabs. Lucien nods, sighing once more before steeling himself, knowing he will inevitably end up in the position of mediator as he always does when people lose their calm, following after her. 

“And just when the cards were finally about to come out,” she mutters under her breath, and Lucien can practically see the scowl that has already worked itself back between her fiery brows, “I was looking forward to wiping the floor with Jurian.” 

The comment has his nostrils flaring delicately as mirth curves his mouth, lips twitching faintly. Between the three of them, Vassa is almost constantly on a losing streak, while Jurian frequently takes them for all they’re worth. He supposes it shouldn’t be as surprising as it is—Jurian’s mortality is debatable at best, an unverifiable grey area at worst. 

“Maybe we can fit in a few rounds after,” Lucien suggests as they make their way through the hallways, headed to the sitting room where the meetings most frequently take place. “The mood will probably be in need of some friendly competition.” 

“Friendly?” Vassa repeats sardonically, pausing just outside the door to the living room. “Those games are nothing short of bloodthirsty. Treating them so lightheartedly is why you never win.” 

Lucien refrains from reminding her that she has yet to go on a single winning streak against either of them. 

————

You shift uneasily in your seat, pulling the silk of the scarf a little tighter, making sure no patchy flesh will slip out from beneath the fine covering. Especially not over a meal. 

The comment springs to the forefront of your mind, rising like the sediment that’s stirred up upon a stone being dropped into the murky bottom of a lake. You know you’ll never be first choice. You’ll never have someone who’d choose you over everyone else, and if you’re honest with yourself it wouldn’t be that bad. You’ve survived this long without being someone’s first choice, so what’s changed? 

What’s changed?

A cold feels skates delicately beneath your speckled flesh at the imposing question, impossibly vast and inconceivably nuanced. So much has changed in the past two years it would be unreasonable to try and tackle it now, without even a paper and pen to aid you in the coherency of your thoughts. But maybe it’s a place to start—some small ideas to help take those opening steps, like how freshly born deer totter around on their delicate hooves, on thin, gangly legs before learning to leap and bound. 

So, you ask yourself again: What’s changed? 

Had it bothered you before that you weren’t first choice? Had you known you weren’t anyone’s first choice—yes, somewhere, but you hadn’t figured it out yet. Perhaps that’s why the comment stung, that you were robbed of making the discovery yourself, red-painted nails having clawed over the stone, carving scratches into the previously smooth surface, permanently tarnished and disheveled. 

No, thinking back, you’ve been first choice before. When you were eight, nine-ish, when you’d run down and about in the garden with Feyre who at that point couldn’t keep up with you yet. When you’d leap over tree stumps and balance on fallen trunks, sticking your arms out unevenly and watching with a strange sense of pride as Feyre doddered behind you, mimicking your stance and holding her own arms out as she made the trek over the mossy trunk. 

Then you’d gotten older, and left Feyre to play in the gardens, in the forest, by herself. Then you’d become closer with Elain a bit before your teens, the two of you often joined at the hip at parties, Nesta bearing down on the few who tried to approach, warding off any unwanted company with her fearsome countenance. You think you’d been one another’s choices then, when your mother would dress you up in complimentary fabrics, selecting patterns that would work well with one another, with little regard for the young girls she was dressing up—her own daughters. 

You like to think it had been you and Elain sticking together, in those last few years when your mother was around. 

That’s what’s changed. 

You’re surrounded by people who have found one another. 

And now your loneliness is starker than ever, yet you hadn’t even really realised it. How Feyre has Rhys and Nyx, Nesta has found Cassian, and even Elain is finding her way with Lucien. They’re the closest you’ve ever been with other people, and the closest you’ll get to other people. But they’ve all found someone else now, and you’re the odd one out. Of course you’d be the one without a mating bond, or whatever the special connection is that they were all afforded. 

You’re reminded of the confession you’d let slip in the midst of your fumbling mouth back in the library all that time ago. How you’d thought maybe…possibly there was a reason you’d felt a click with him. But you suppose you should have known better. You can’t even pretend that he was leading you on, in hindsight. It was obvious he was interested in Elain, and yet you’d thought… How stupid. And to tell him, too. To want something so sacred to them, and to wish it between yourself and him. All from wanting to be first. 

It shouldn’t matter to not be first, and yet it’s starkly painful. You can’t help but want that place. Wanted it so desperately you’d fooled yourself into seeing interest when in reality there was, just none for you. 

Your eyes traitorously stray from the small details on the rim of your porcelain plate—tiny ink drops of blue, red, and orange dotted about the edge—to the empty seat to your left, at one head of the table. 

Why had you ever made the mistake of opening up to him? Hoping for a gentle touch when your body feels like it was hewn from the most unloveable stone. The most unforgiving rock, and the coldest ice. So cold it would peel skin from flesh, so harsh it would be impossible to touch, so utterly unbearable there would be no choice but to remain alone.   

“Will you pass the potatoes?”

You’re drawn from your spiralling thoughts by the golden voice, meeting twinkling amber eyes as Mor watches you with a familiar expression. Warm and welcoming despite how you’d last seen one another. 

Swallowing, you nod. “Yeah, sure,” you reply as normally as you can, hand clutching the orange silk of your scarf to keep the material from sliding up as you carefully grip the lip of the ceramic bowl, passing it to her open hand. “Thank you,” Mor smiles, and you blink before remembering to retract your hand. She seems as she was before…back to the female you’d known her as. Is this…does it mean she’s accepted your apology? She’d seemed convinced of what she had told you, so you can’t quite trick yourself into believing that. But maybe civility? 

Right, you can understand it now. No matter how upset or hurt she might feel, she must not want to make it other people’s problem. Causing a scene over a dinner, one of the rare moments everyone’s together—most of you, anyway—isn’t worth it. No matter how your relationship might have soured, there’s no need to make the people around you miserable, too. 

Amber eyes gleam beneath the warm light, and you feel as though you can come to an agreement—one you’re ready to accept. You can both silently agree not to make it an issue for anyone else, a small kernel of warmth daring to flicker to life in your chest, the sense of connection that comes from mutual understanding despite a disagreement. For everyone else’s sake, the two of you can put everything aside. Even if it might only be temporary. 

“I like your scarf,” Mor says lightly, scooping the jagged, crispy roast potatoes onto the side of her plate, setting the bowl down in a spare space, “it suits you.” 

Again, you blink, caught off guard. You swallow thickly, managing a nod of your head, chest swelling as you eagerly take on the compliment, content to pretend even if it’s only for an hour or two. “Thank you,” you reply, keeping your voice steady, “I love your necklace.” Which is true, though in honesty it wouldn’t be difficult to find something compliment-worthy about her. She’s beautiful. 

Mor hums, glancing to another bowl, before settling on the reasonably sized boat of sauce, creating a small pool at the edge of her plate. You’re a little too occupied with watching Mor to notice the wary glance sent her way by Amren, or the warning one delivered from the High Lord himself. The tiny flicker of hope that maybe things could be patched up blocking out the rest of the picture as you gaze longingly at the female diagonal from you. 

“I suppose with the autumn chill in the air yours is a little more practical than some flimsy jewellery,” Mor replies lightly, plucking a cut of bread from the wooden board, drawing the butter closer to slather the fluffy and crusty slice. “Where did you find it? I should fetch one for myself.” 

“I’m sure you have more than enough scarves, Mor,” Rhys interjects smoothly, the serrated blade of his knife slicing effortlessly through the sinew of meat, slowly dissected into politely bite-sized pieces. “Any more and you’ll struggle to shut your wardrobe properly.”

Mor smiles icily, meeting his gaze with a cold look on her beautiful face. “Just stocking up before we have our eastern visitors.” 

Tension crackles across the table, so acute even you realise something strange is happening, watching nervously, and feeling somehow responsible for the perceived fallout. Eastern visitors…? People from the continent? Eastern…eastern…oh. Feyre had mentioned briefly the deal that had been struck between the High Lord and the Lord that reigns over his Court of Nightmares—Mor’s father. The permitted invasion of her safe haven. The slight fissure that had been opened raw between them—one you’d forgotten about, and had assumed had been fixed. 

“How is—” You fumble when Mor’s sharp eyes cut into you, caught off guard by the fierceness held within them. “…How is he?” You manage to ask, unsure whether you should even be interfering or whether you’re just putting your foot in it. Your hands shake under the table, heart pounding but you keep from shifting in your seat. 

“Who?” Mor asks blandly, ignoring the sharp glare Amren’s pinning her with. Disregarding the hard look on Rhys’ face, slight disappointment. Possibly wholly unaware of the grip Feyre has on her cutlery, head cast downward, brows pulled together. Your throat rolls, not wanting to say his name. 

It would be wrong. 

“Who else?” Nesta asks from across the table, her voice singing with the clean cut of steel as it slices through a silk ribbon, a whisper of anger hissing beneath her tone. Sharp amber eyes clash with cool silver, glinting like mercury and ice in spite of the oranges and yellows filling the room to give the allusion of warmth and familiarity. Tension simmers just below the surface, crackling like a metal weather vane struck by lightening, sizzling with barely restrained power. 

“Azriel,” you say quietly, hurrying through his name in less than a breath, feeling it brand your tongue, tingling at the roof of your mouth. Dispersing some of the charge. “How is he?” 

Amber and silver eyes remain locked for a little while longer, a pause stretching across the table and even to fae hearing there’s hardly a sound being made save for the strain of metal as knuckles strangle and warp the handles of fine cutlery. 

At last Mor looks away, dragging her gaze back to your own, the fire dimmed and smothered. 

“Well enough to be drinking again,” she answers, and that seems to be the end of the conversation. 

————

It’s a little difficult to dry the plates off with the scarf tied at your front, hiding your arms, but you manage. 

A cluster of small, iridescent bubbles float past your nose, wafting by, and Elain laughs as you step back suddenly in surprise, having been zoned out. 

There’s no need to be washing up anymore, not with the aids of magic, and if you’re honest you aren’t entirely sure how the two of you had ended up coming to the same wordless agreement, but here you are. Elain’s at the sink, bubbles frothy and foamy as she scrubs at the crockery and cutlery before depositing them on the side for you to dry with a towel. You don’t think the soapiness would agree with your skin.

The quiet settles between you, comfortable and without strain, two people sharing a space, and the apprehension you’d had before the dinner begins to slowly mellow, ice thawing out over a chilly night. 

Despite the slightly rough start, the night had progressed surprisingly smoothly, with you content to sit quietly while the others discussed various matters: Amren’s recreational studying of the Old Language; Nesta’s progression with swordplay, having begun wielding ataraxia during training; a discussion lead by Rhysand about wards that you’d partially tuned out, thinking of the crater you’d blasted through the House of Wind—at least it sounds like something that can be fixed. They aren’t permanently broken, just temporarily disabled. 

“Feyre’s birthday is coming up,” Elain says, seemingly out of nowhere, and you glance at her questioningly, humming in acknowledgement. “What are you thinking of getting her?” You ask, curiously content to follow along this path and see where she takes it. Elain sighs faintly, “I was thinking of making some herbal teas, actually…not many, but a few different ones to see if any help with stress, or sleeping, or the like. Generic benefits.” 

You nod your head slightly—it’s a thoughtful gift, bespoke and personal, too. She’s always good with presents. 

“You?” Elain asks, glancing at you lightly, speaking only loud enough to top the gentle babbling of water and splashing of suds. You glance down at the stack of dried plates, reaching for the wet cutlery to start on. “I haven’t thought of anything yet,” you answer honestly, considering, “it’s still a couple of months away, so I guess I hadn’t started thinking about it yet.” 

Elain’s quiet for a bit, and you get the sense she has something to say but is unsure how to bring it up. You wait patiently, preoccupying yourself with the cutlery, careful not to accidentally carve a chunk of flesh from the heel of your palm. 

“I think…Feyre would like to do something with all of us,” she says quietly, a little absently. “Perhaps not on the actual day, but sometime nearby.” 

“She would?” You ask, slightly surprised. Elain doesn’t meet your gaze this time, continuing to focus on washing up, giving her hands something to do, and you copy her after a moment, carrying on with the drying up. “She hasn’t said anything explicitly, but it’s the impression I’ve gotten,” Elain says faintly, then pauses again. “I think…I think it would be nice, too.” 

There’s a tremor in her fingertips, but she pushes them below the warm water, out of sight as if reaching for a fork or spoon beneath the frothy surface. 

“Particularly, after…” Her throat closes up, and you hesitantly reach out, gloves temporarily discarded while drying, bare fingers grazing the soft skin of her forearms, unable to feel the gentle tickle of tiny hairs anymore. “I’m sorry…” you murmur uselessly, watching helplessly as a droplet falls from her eye, splashing through into the dishwater below. But Elain shakes her head, hands raising from the water to continue moving, absently washing the last plate from the dinner. 

“I’d like to see more of you, too,” Elain says, swallowing thickly as she scrubs at the gleaming porcelain, clearing her throat. “So would Nesta. I think we’ve all been a bit distant lately, with one another I mean, and with Feyre having Nyx, and Nesta off in Day… We should spend more time together, and see each other more often, and speak more, just in general. And then there’s also Starfall, and we can see each other then, and celebrate, and—”

“Elain, Starfall’s months away,” you say gently, fingers shifting so they’re lightly gripping her wrist, pausing her motions, pulling her eyes to lock with your own. Wider than they should be.

You look at one another, watching silently, and you can feel the flutter of her pulse beneath your fingertips, erratic enough for even your own damaged hands to pick up on. 

“You’ll be there, won’t you?” She whispers, eyes hot and wet. 

You blink, grasping the heaviness of the question, then nod, unable to make your throat work, lower lip trembling a bit. “I’ll be there,” you manage to get out, feeling the familiar pressure behind your eyes. 

She nods back, before finally handing over that last plate that has been clean for a while, but between the soapiness of the dishwater, and the trembling of both your hands, the plate slips, and smashes on the floor. The pale fragments split and shatter, spraying across the cold tiles, and both of you jump at the startling noise, before looking at each other again, and laughing. Gasping, ragged breaths that have both of you leaning for support, tears welling in eyes as each of you are split between crying from desperate, manic humour, and dreadful, fearsome sadness. 

Neither of you can find it in yourselves to care about the shattered porcelain, the jagged fragments with blue, red, and orange ink drops dotted around the utterly broken rim of the plate. 

“I…I need to find something…to clean that up,” you gasp through laughter, wiping away the tears. Elain just nods, still heaving ragged breath into her lungs, eyes squeezed shut, ringlets of hair jostling with each shudder of mirth as she grips the edge of the sink, expression torn between sobbing laughter and wrecking grief, and you don’t think you can stand to be in the same room for much longer, subject to the violent turbulence. 

The light from the kitchen dims but your eyes adjust swiftly as you walk unevenly out into the dark hallway, rounding the corner to go look for a brush, or duster of some kind, even a cloth or a rag would do—

Both of you freeze as you round the corner to see one another, Mor’s figure losing its rigidity much more swiftly compared to your own that will remain locked up for the following few minutes. 

You swallow thickly, eyes wide as you take her in: the dimmed gold of her lustrous hair; the bare expanse of her elegant neck; the tray held in her red-tipped hands, those long, slightly rounded nails gleaming a deep rouge. “Mor,” you greet, a touch quieter than usual, “I didn’t see you there.” 

“Nor I, you,” she replies, watching you. A beat passes, and you swallow again, eyes flicking down to the tray in her hands. “Azriel’s?” You ask through the tightness in your throat, gently probing to see if she’s open to a conversation. You’ll leave, if she’s unresponsive—you know now what it’s like to be on either end of this strange dynamic. Mor nods her head once, still watching you silently, and you look elsewhere. Then nod your own head. “Nice seeing you,” you say quietly, then move to walk around her. 

“Wait,” Mor whispers at the last second, holding the tray in one hand and gripping your wrist with the other. You recoil sharply when her fingers squeeze your arm, and her hold lightens significantly, but she doesn’t immediately let go, digits stuttering away a second later. “Sorry,” she murmurs, stepping back by half a pace. “It’s okay,” you reply hastily, looking away as you pull your hand back to your body, “you didn’t know.” 

The words hang between you, and silence stretches in the relative darkness of the corridor.

When you manage to raise your gaze to glance at her, you nearly regret the choice—she’s making no effort to conceal the fierce defence in her sharp amber eyes. You’re about to turn to try and leave again though, when she speaks, and the tremor in her voice is pronounced enough to root you to the spot. 

“Tell me why you went to Eris.” 

————

The expression that was on the commander’s face had been enough to set the two of them on edge, Jurian offering Eris one of those slow but rare, slightly insane half-smiles he can make, that often has the spiralling effect distinctive to falling down through a nightmare on whoever’s unlucky enough to have it turned on them. It doesn’t come out often, but that it’s made an appearance this evening is a dark sign, and Lucien silently prays he will not be forced into a position where he will have to default to Eris’s defence in attempts to calm the potential ire that could catch in either of his human comrades. 

The day has proven to be tricky enough on its own—none of them need this added abrasion. 

Vassa strides across the room, taking up in the seat closest to the crackling hearth, the flame making her hair blaze brighter than natural, her already sharp eyes glinting in the firelight. 

It seems he’s the only one actively trying to avoid the conflict that’s brewing in the air, the other two appearing ready and more than content to fight fire with fire. He knows there’s no use explaining the redundancy of wielding that tactic against the male across from the human queen, with fire burning in his very blood. 

“You said you had news,” Vassa demands, charging straight to the point before Lucien’s even had a chance to seat himself on the other end of the sofa, opposite from Jurian. Between his chosen family and his blood-given one. But Eris won’t be rushed, and instead turns his attention to his youngest brother, the fire doing nothing to thaw the cool ice in his amber eyes. “How is your mate, Lucien?” 

Lucien allows himself the space of a blink to recompose himself, vaguely trying to hide his suspicion. It’s never good when he can’t see the end Eris is pursuing, but he’s used to being left in the dark when it comes to the male’s schemes—he just can’t help the instinctive aggression that prickles up the back of his neck at Elain being brought into this. 

“You aren’t one for idle chatter,” Lucien replies, calming the flame that had begun sizzling in his blood, “why don’t we skip ahead and get straight to the point, as this is such a time sensitive matter?” A sinister gleam appears in his oldest brother’s eyes, and he braces himself for whatever whip is about to lash into his skin. “Very well,” Eris says instead, leaning back into his chair, practically sprawling across it, dominating the space he takes up in his typically uncaring, arrogant fashion. But then the air shifts, his expression becoming serious. “How well-informed is your mate of Night Court affairs?” 

“Enough with this evasive subterfuge. What news do you bring?” Vassa demands harshly, Jurian seemingly agreeing with her anticipation to have the male rid of as soon as possible, a disagreeable look simmering in his rough features. But Lucien levels his brother with an evaluating glance, mechanical eye whirring faintly against the dim heat of the fire. “We each have our distances,” Lucien replies evenly, yielding a vague answer. He’s getting the distinct feeling something large has happened, or is about to. Maybe even happening as they speak—slabs of rock knocking into one another, having already been pushed into motion. 

Does this have anything to do with Elain’s visit being postponed? She had been supposed to arrive two days ago, but had had to change their meeting to a later date as she’d had a family matter to oversee. Lucien hadn’t tried to pry. 

“But you’re aware that Nesta Archeron and the General took a vacation to the Day Court?” Eris questions, and again Lucien has the distinct sense he’s missing a piece of the puzzle. A very big, very crucial piece of the puzzle. 

He nods, and braces himself. 

Though even foresight wouldn’t have been enough to prepare him for the news Eris had brought. 

A warning that shook him to his fae bones. 

————

You swallow thickly, frozen stiff as her truthful eyes bore into you. 

You open your mouth, lips ajar, but your throat is much too tight to release any sort of sound. 

Mor doesn’t shift, holding your gaze with a steadiness and conviction you can’t look away from, bound to her by an invisible tether that’s keeping you from hiding or running how you’d like to. “Surely you know…” she whispers, taking in a shallow breath, her lashes fluttering with an almost imperceptible shudder. “Surely you know what he did to me.” 

You give a faint nod of your head. 

Her amber eyes sharpen, and your stomach clenches beneath the look. “So explain yourself,” she utters lowly. “Don’t leave it up to me to pry the answers from you.” 

A seed of fear plants itself in your throat, something cool and slimy rinsing gently down your spine and you’re worried sweat is dripping down your ribs, rolling in salty droplets down the soft inside of your arms where the skin hasn’t yet grown dehydrated and flaky. Fingers tighten absently on the silk of the orange scarf banding around your upper body, tugging at the folds to try and hide the tremor of adrenaline that’s filtered into your bloodstream. 

You swallow thickly, but your throat won’t clear, and you realise that’s because there’s nothing there—no matter how much it feels the opposite. 

“I didn’t…” you clear your throat again. Rip your gaze away. “I didn’t want to disappoint any of you,” you force yourself to answer, voice catching at the pitiful excuse. 

Mor’s silent. 

Silent for long enough you nervously look at her. 

You flinch internally at the expression of horror on her features, shoulders bunching with shame as your brows curve, silently begging for a reply, and not this awful quiet that’s slowly gutting you. 

“You chose…” she swallows past a lump in her throat, and her scent has shifted but you can’t understand what it means, the minute changes that occur within fae bodies. “You willingly went to him? He didn’t even have to try and persuade you?” 

“Mor it wasn’t like that,” you try to clarify hurriedly. “I just—…I just thought it would be—”

“Easier?”

“No! I just thought it would— I don’t know… It would’t cause trouble! I just wanted to do it by myself so I wouldn’t have to bother any of you!”

“Wouldn’t cause trouble?” Mor repeats incredulously, a look of disbelief on her features, like she can’t grasp what you’re saying. “We were ready to help,” Mor bites back sharply, “all you had to do was ask for it. You could have spoken to Feyre, or any of your sisters about your magic. Any of us. You could have come to me, even—but you went to Eris.” Her voice is taut, rife with anger and hurt, but even in the dim light there’s a faint shine in her eyes, belying their wetness. “What made you think that we weren’t enough?” 

“I didn’t want to bother you!” You say back, matching her volume. 

“We’re your family! You’re supposed to bother us!” 

You take a small step back, fighting the humiliating wobble of your lip before you shake your head, fingertips tingling. “No. You’re— You’re Feyre’s family.” 

“Feyre’s your sister,” Mor emphasises, knuckles pushing up from beneath the smooth softness of her skin, pronounced from her bone-white grip on the tray that’s beginning to splinter. “Or is she no longer part of your family either? It seems the only person you even bother to speak to is Elain nowadays. Her and Azriel, anyway.” 

“And what does that matter?” You bite back, hands itching. “What does it matter if I only speak to Elain? Would you prefer I start speaking to you, Mor?” 

“Why not?” She nearly spits, energy being drawn out from the cave where she’d tried to smother it over dinner. “Why not?” You repeat, neither of you completely aware of how your voices are beginning to rise incrementally, ignoring or oblivious to the faint, sickly green light that definitely isn’t coming from the kitchen. “You’d like me to speak with you when this is the kind of conversation we’re having? You want me to be emotional, or vulnerable with you, or ask you for help when you shut me out the moment I do something wrong? When I fail?” 

“I might have shut you out but you didn’t even open up. Didn’t even give us a chance in the first place, don’t pretend otherwise,” Mor spits back. “If you can’t understand the pain you caused me, fine. I can’t help it if you won’t allow yourself to think of us as family. But what about your actual family? What about them?” 

“Don’t you dare try and talk to me about my own family Mor,” you grit out, nails digging into the flaky skin of your palms, heart pounding in your chest. “Haven’t you pried enough?” 

“Did you even think to consider how it would make them feel?” Mor jabs, barrelling ahead. “Can you grasp how hurt Feyre was that you didn’t go to her? Three sisters, and you decided that none of them were good enough? Just because you aren’t their first choice doesn’t mean they can’t be—”

“Mor.” 

Utter silence falls throughout the hallway at the barely restrained interruption. 

Both of you freeze at the sound of the third voice, filled with hissing winds and rasping shadow. Managing to stay calm despite the tempest in her blue-grey eyes. 

Before you, Mor blinks, and you’re unsure if you imagine the way colour drains from her features, still watching you. Further unsure if the faint green light was smothered of its own accord or the dark shadows that seem to be heavier now Feyre has appeared. Now the Cursebreaker has entered. 

Mor turns on her heel, shifting to meet Feyre’s eyes, but quiet stretches between them, and you get the impression a conversation is being had, though not through daemati powers. A single lock of golden hair shifts over Mor’s shoulder, falling out of place, though you can no longer see her expression. And then she nods. Just once, hardly perceptible, even to fae eyes, and you watch with a still pounding heart as the tray vanishes from her hands a second later, heels clicking softly across the floorboards as she wordlessly takes her exit, leaving you and…Feyre, alone in the hallway. 

You shift anxiously on your feet, swallowing thickly. 

“How much of that did you hear?” You ask quietly, looking away again, all the fight drained from you after the brief altercation. You’re entirely unaccustomed with those open arguments, haven’t had one since—well, since that last one with Feyre, that had the sound ward placed on your room. 

Feyre watches you, the previous storm quietened, but her eyes aren’t sparkling as usual. Instead she looks drained. Drained, and tired, and a little wary. “Enough,” she answers.

You shift again, a little begrudging she saw fit to interrupt, like you needed her to intervene. “It was fine, you know…” 

Feyre’s quiet, and you’re unsure if she’s angry. Angry at you for speaking to Mor that way. Angry at you for speaking so loudly when Nyx is probably asleep. Angry at you for not speaking to her first. Angry at you for the long, long list of reasons she should have by now. 

“It did hurt,” she says quietly, and you raise your gaze to meet her own, “that you thought you couldn’t come to us. To me.” 

Your lips purse, and you look away. 

“I was upset with your choice. Disappointed a little. Confused,” she continues in that quiet whisper that could carry with ease across a cavernous hall. “But what Mor said wasn’t true. Not in the way she phrased it.” 

“Feyre, it’s fine,” you say softly. “You don’t need to—”

“Mor knows that’s not true either.” 

Your lips purse again, that quiet stretching between you. 

You want to disintegrate on the spot. 

Fabric rustles slightly, and it’s the only clue you have to Feyre shifting. Then, “it’s late,” she says, moving away from the open wound of a topic. “We should talk more about this in the morning. When Madja comes round too.” She nods her head toward the corridor, but you look at her a little apologetically. “I was supposed to find Elain a brush,” you say, feeling embarrassed, “we broke a plate.” 

“The kitchen will clear it up,” Feyre replies, leaving no room for you to skate back to your older sister. 

So you end up walking with her back to your room. 

It’s dark out, and you can’t help but look forward to settling into bed, even if it hurts sometimes to roll over beneath the covers. That it hurts sometimes to lie on your sides, when your arms press into the sheets, with your weight resting atop them. At least you’re beginning to get used to it, the pain much more tolerable now, despite it having not decreased. 

You’ve both reached the top of the stairs, turning down the hallway that will lead to your bedroom, walking close enough together to make up for the fact your arms aren’t linked—Feyre guessing correctly it would probably hurt—when Feyre speaks. “Are Eris and Azriel the only other people who’ve felt your magic before?” She asks tentatively into the darkness of the house, seemingly having cooled off now you’re further from the spot of altercation. 

“Yes, I think so,” you answer in an equally soft voice. 

“Have either of them every commented on what it feels like?” She asks, and you’re aware how she’s keeping her gaze ahead. You move your eyes to look in the same direction, spotting your bedroom door on the right not far ahead. “Not that I can think of,” you reply, before adding, “though it’s never been…going, for as long as that.” 

Feyre’s silent, and you glance at her through the shadows, wondering what she’s thinking. You can’t read her expression, so resume your looking ahead. 

“When I was in autumn, though,” you begin hesitantly, hardly louder than a whisper, worrying who might overhear the unpleasant reference, “my magic almost…I don’t know…burst? It came through me very suddenly, and forcefully.” You recall the frighteningly large creature that had charged at you while in the woods, how your magic had melted the skin from its flesh. “We were both sick afterwards.” 

“Azriel was sick a lot when he first woke up,” Feyre says faintly, and your stomach clenches with guilt. 

You try to swallow past it, but it seems to remain lodged in your throat, unpleasantly settling in your stomach heavily enough you’re thankful when you reach your door, the evening nearly over with. 

“Why did you ask, by the way?” You question before slipping away into your room, paused over the threshold. 

Feyre glances at you, turned to leave but stopping. “Your magic…I could feel it in the hallway,” she answers, a wary note creeping into her voice. 

She seems disinclined to give anything else, so you again shift awkwardly in the doorway, before gathering the gut to ask, “how did it feel?” 

Something passes behind her blue-grey eyes, shuttering briefly as they close, before reopening. “Like I was dying again,” she answers quietly. 

You stare at her silently, the threshold of your room between you, the silence heavier than it was before. You don’t even know what to say to that. 

She doesn’t give you the time to think of a reply, however, as she releases a sigh. Her throat rolls as she meets your eyes. “Sleep well,” she says, and you catch as her attention dips to your hands, like she wants to take them, to hold them. 

But she doesn’t, instead looking back at you again, throat rolling for the second time.

“I love you,” she says hoarsely, speaking those words that are so sparsely exchanged between the four of you. 

You stiffen, emotion of a different kind tightening your throat, and you nod faintly. 

“I love you, too. Sleep well.”

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria @nighttimemoonlover

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut @vickykazuya @starlitlakes @kksbookstuff

cbmthy taglist: @impossibelle @naturakaashi @fae-glamour-petrichorus @ficienjoyedrbspot @azriels-shadowsinger @marina468 @misstea12 @going-through-shit @fussel9913 @minakay

[illyrian-dreamer]

Overwritten – Part 8

Azriel x Reader

Summary: After months as his prisoner, Hybern has hijacked your mind, turning you into an enemy of your home, your family, and your mate, Azriel.

Warnings: None

Words: 2,156

--------

Part 8 ∇

Azriel’s scent hit you the moment you opened the door. It was fresh, yet primal, laced with sentiment that you couldn't yet remember.

Triggered by smell alone, the voice in your mind woke. Be it Hybern or someone else, you didn't know – but it cleared it’s throat, readying for it’s part. You swallowed quickly, layering your will on top, smothering that voice with sheer stubbornness. It would not have a hold on you any longer.

Azriel stood the moment you entered. His hands were clasped in front of him in a forced manner, but his eyes – oh his eyes – they swirled with longing, more golden than any of the lights in the room. Your gaze latched with his, unable to break away. Kill him, the voice sounded in your head. You squashed it with your foot.

It was a wonder how you made it to your seat across the Shadowsinger, neither of you breaking your stare. But here you sat, your hands folded in your lap, Feyre at your side as promised. Rhys leaned against Azriel’s chair, his arms crossed against his chest. You were glad for the casualness he was able to fake. No one dared to say anything, and you looked across them before realising they were waiting for you.

With a gentle clear of your throat, you took a small breath. “Hello,” was all that came out.

Even at those words, you saw Azriel’s tension ease, his eyebrows pulling slightly upwards, the hint of a smile at his lips. “Hello,” he responded back, his voice smooth and sweet like honey, sending a shiver down your spine.

This is a trap, the voice said again. You stiffened at how close it spoke in your ear, and moved your hands slowly to grip the arms of your chair, grounding yourself.

Azriel noted your tension, his head dropping in a quiet display of sympathy. “How are you feeling?”

Well, that was a difficult question to answer.

“Alright, I suppose.” A beat of silence. “How are you?” you asked shyly.

Another soft smile found his lips. Gods, he really was beautiful. “I’m much better seeing you.”

A blush tinted your cheeks then. You hadn't realised how awkward and unnatural this encounter would be, it was as if he was courting you for the first time. In a way, you supposed he was.

“I want to apologise,” you said, eyeing the Shadowsinger up and down. Azriel quirked his brow at you, confusion racking his handsome features. “I heard that flying with Cassian had caused some… tension. And I’m sorry, I know this is hard for you too, and it was never my intention to hurt you.”

Azriel dropped his head to his hands, pinching the bridge of his nose as he shook it from side to side. Attack now, while he’s not looking! You gritted your teeth, swatting that voice to the depths of your mind. Fool! it spat from much further away.

“My mate, as selfless as ever,” he said without looking up. You cast your eyes to Rhys, who offered you a sorry smile.

Azriel looked up then, his eyes finding yours, his expression serious with one hand braced on his chest. “It is I who should be apologising to you.” You frowned in response. “Being taken and brainwashed, the pain and your torture you have endured… it happened because of me.” Azriel was gently shaking his head, his shame evident through the hunch of his shoulders.

Is this what he thought? Did he truly blame himself? “I don't believe that’s true,” you said softly.

“You are my mate, and it is my duty to protect you. Not only did they take you from me, but I was unable to find you in time to stop…,” Azriel took a breath then, choosing his words carefully. With a quick clear of his throat, he continued. “To stop them from hurting you.”

You caught the hint of tears in the Shadowsinger’s eyes, his face twisted and tortured. It was one thing to know he was hurting just as much as you, but it was another to see it displayed in all his earnest.

“I don’t blame you Azriel. Not for one part of it.”

“Of course you don’t. You would never.” Azriel’s assurance of how you would respond was so strange, he knew you better than you knew yourself. “But I will never stop being sorry that you were hurt in so many ways, it is something I cannot forgive myself for.”

You watched him carefully, the pain that bought his brow to clench is such a way, the quiver in his lip, the way he moved his scared hands, one always on his heart, sincerity pouring from him as he gave the apology he had waited months to say. You took him in – how different this male was from the version Hybern had created in your mind.

“I only blame Hybern,” you said stiffly, your jaw clenching as a migraine brewed at his mention. It was still hard to talk about him.

Azriel’s eyes darkened in response as he nodded tightly. “He will pay for what he did. And then some.” His voice was dangerous now, predatory even. You clenched the arms of the chair tighter, unable to help the skip of your heart. Azriel, attune to the slightest of your behaviours, immediately softened as he watched your knuckles turn white.

You took a deep breath in, looking through the window that faced the city of Starlight. Dusk had began to set, and the lights of Velaris twinkled in the distance.

“I’m trying to remember our life together,” you spoke, your gaze unmoving from the movement of the city beyond.

“What do you remember?”

“Nothing,” you said flatly. “I only know what happened.”

“And what is it you know?”

“I know I was taken by Hybern on a mission, or a trap rather – a plan he had all along. I know his intention was to use me to hurt you and our family, he told me that himself many times. He said that he would ruin the Night Court from within, and that I was his weapon.”

Azriel’s frown deepened, his own knuckles turning white as he clasped his hands tighter. Feyre’s hand was on your shoulder then – a gentle, reassuring touch.

“It’s alright Y/N,” she spoke softly. “We got you back.”

You nodded tightly, unable to stop the twist of guilt in your stomach. In many ways, Hybern had already won. You had torn the Inner Circle apart from within – it was just today that Azriel fought Cassian because of you.

Suppressing your thoughts with the slight shake of your head, you continued. “I also know we had a life before that, here in Velaris. I know that you are all my family. And that we were happily mated.”

Azriel nodded with a soft smile. “That’s right.”

“I’ve learnt to trust that you have my best intentions at heart. But regardless, I don’t remember my life, who I am, let alone our mateship.”

Azriel leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he levelled a look at you. “Y/N. There is no expectation to remember–”

“I want to,” you interrupted him, biting the quiver on your lip.

“I know,” he sighed. “And I’m beyond grateful that you are trying, I know it’s exhausting. But look at how far you’ve come. I am proud that–”

Azriel was interrupted by a small shriek on the other side of the library doors, before a small flurry of night began to swirl in front of you. You all jumped to a stand as Elain burst through the doors.

“Nyx!” she called in a panic.

You stared with wide eyes as the swirls of night revealed the blue-eyed child before he ran to you, clutching at your legs. “Aunty Y/N! I missed you!”

Your body turned to stone, freezing so still you didn't dare to even breath.

It was as if the sequence of events that followed unfolded in slow motion.

Rhys had leapt from his position, one hand outstretched as he reached for Nyx, his eyes wide in shock. Azriel’s shadows raced the High Lord to his child, the Spymaster eerily still as he eyed you intensely. Elain was running across the room, racing to the child who still clung to your leggings and had obviously escaped her. Feyre stood frozen, her hands over her mouth, the beginnings of maternal instinct brewing behind those grey-blue eyes.

Behind you, Mor and Cassian burst into the room, the tinge of Cassian’s dried blood hitting your nose as his injuries healed. You could hear Mor gasp, both of them halting by the doorway.

Every one of them stopped a steps distance away from you, halting to see what you would do next, too afraid to come any closer. Instead they watched, waited, as if you were an rabid animal in a cage.

Nyx’s tubby hands still clung to your calves, his face buried into you as he squeezed you tightly.

You stared down at the child, your fists clenched and jaw so tight it ached. A dark voice snickered in the back of your mind. No! You would not lose yourself, not now.

“Aunty Y/N?” Nyx looked up at you, black curls falling loosely, his sapphire eyes as innocent as they come.

You allowed yourself one short breath. “H-hello Nyx,” you managed to say without frowning, and without losing yourself all together.

Feyre was on him then, her movements swift as she pried her sons hands from your legs, eyeing you with every move that she made. Your heart sunk at the way she looked at you – someone, no, something vicious, unpredictable, not to be trusted. There was not a hint of kindness in her face, and it broke your heart.

“That’s enough Nyx, Aunty needs to rest.” Feyre hauled a protesting Nyx into her arms, winnowing out of the room before he could cry.

There was a beat of silence in the room after she left, no one daring to move.

“I am so sorry,” Elain whispered from behind you. “I turned away for one second and–”

Rhys raised his hand. “It’s alright Elain, no harm, no foul.”

But you stared straight ahead, your body rigid, nails pressed so hard into your palms you felt the familiar wounds reopen. Tears brewed in your eyes, and you blinked to release the well that had built.

“Y/N,” Azriel said, his voice cautious. He didn't dare reach for you.

“I would never hurt a child,” you breathed, your voice shaky. To see how quickly Nyx was taken away, how everyone eyed you like an untamed animal. Did they truly believe that you would hurt something as innocent as that boy? You were devastated.

Blinking more quickly now, you tried to catch yourself before you truly started crying. “Please, please. I would never harm him, or any child. You must know that.” You glanced around the room, pleading to the rest of your family for them to see the good in you. But they kept their distance, their distrust as evident as ever. Though so different from the months of loneliness you endured in Hybern’s cell, somehow this was equally as isolating.

“Y/N,” Azriel said again, his voice more gentle, as if asking to approach.

“Please. I-I couldn’t, I would n-never hurt him.” Your words were stuttered as panic rose within you. What kind of monster had you become?

It was Rhys who said “We know, Y/N. We know.”

And that’s when you fell apart, crumpling to your knees as sobs racked through you, your body shaking uncontrollably. It took every ounce of willpower you had to not change back, that vicious, hideous voice cackling in the back of your mind, delighting in your misery. Torn apart from within. Hybern had truly won – you knew that now, and hated yourself for it.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you said over and over again, holding your knees to your chest as you rocked on the floor of the library.

Azriel’s shadows reached you before he did, curling around your body as they provided a blanket of cold comfort. Azriel placed a gentle hand was on your back, and despite your wince in response to his touch, his face was assured, certain of what you needed as he felt for you through the bond. The two sides of the tether finally touched, warming and twining together. You hadn't realised how much you called for him within, but now that he was here – it all made sense.

He crouched next to you, encompassing you in his arms. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he murmured, pulling you tighter as he sheltered you from yourself. And to everyone’s surprise, even your own, you let him.

Through your tears, you didn't notice the library fading as Azriel winnowed you away.

————

Part 9 >>>

AN: Did someone say angst? Because there’s more where this came from too... Thanks for reading, I LOVE hearing your thoughts and feedback, so drop a comment anytime. And also to join the tag list. MWA ❤️

Tag list: @hyacinthoideshispanica @kennedy-brooke @cosmic-whispers @jazmin2211 @psychobookaholic @fieldofdaisiies @marina468  @itscaitymoore @timecharm @icey--stars @lucyysthings @valeridarkness @alw-aysjanuary @brekkershadowsinger @ladygloucester @ciannemar83 @wiitchkiller @xtreme-shipper @thorslonglocks @im-bili @kexrtiz @shadowcrowsworld @lillithathecat @marina468 @aroseinvelaris @cynicalpotato95 @goldentournesol @maddithefangirl @holywolfsstuff @banasheefan56 @banasheefan56 @im-bili @v1olentdelights @cardanenthusiast @mandarin-lmao @humanpersonlasttimeichecked @ttreader @shadowsingersmate24 @auggiesolovey @percyjacksonspeen @starxqt @reiincarnatiion @thefandomplace @highladyofillyria @ariels-thingamabobs @optimisticbabydreamer @feyretopia @marina468 @kingshitonly @v1olentdelights @123345566 @reiincarnatiion @bookish-dream @azzydaddy @venussdovess @kristeristerin @xtreme-shipper @needed-as-a-grace-note @answer-the-sirens @and-i-swear-we-are-infinte @reareaikea @maddithefangirl 

[inkedinshadows]

Play It For Me

Pairing: Azriel × reader

Summary: You hear music coming from somewhere in the house, and when you go to investigate, you find something completely unexpected.

Warnings: none

A/N: you're free of course to imagine whatever songs you like for this, but while writing I was listening to "River Flows In You" by Yiruma for the first song and "A Thousand Years" by Christina Perri in the second part.

Word count: 1.9k

You were curled up in the armchair in your bedroom, your mind lost in the haze of romance and adventure provided by the book you were reading. The rest of the Inner Circle had decided to spend the night at Rita's, but you had stayed at home, opting instead for a quiet evening of relaxation.

The story was so enthralling that it took you a few minutes to notice the soft music playing from somewhere in the house. You frowned, unsure of who it could be since everyone was out.

Putting down your book, you got up to check on the source, and once you were in the hallway, you realized it was a piano playing. The melody was sweet, beautiful, but almost sad. You felt a wave of melancholy as you followed the sound.

You knew where the piano was — in one of the sitting rooms just downstairs, where you had probably been only once or twice. It was a small room, and since the House of Wind was equipped with many larger spaces, your family usually gathered in other rooms when you all came together.

Despite the short distance, you took your time walking there, letting the music wash over you, the sound growing louder with every step.

You didn't know anyone in the Inner Circle could play the piano, but as you reached the open door, you saw who was playing so masterfully and stopped in your tracks.

Azriel sat at the piano, his fingers dancing over the keys. His eyes were closed, and he was so absorbed by the song that his body swayed slightly to follow the rhythm he was creating, his shadows doing the same around his wings. You had never seen him so relaxed, his face free of tension. Instead, his features were calm, captivated by the music, a hint of smile playing on his lips, and you thought that he had never been more beautiful.

Not wanting to interrupt him, you stood in the doorway. You felt like intruding on a personal moment, but you couldn’t bring yourself to walk away. You wanted to watch him, and you wanted to hear him play. And so, you stayed.

The music grew louder and faster as you stared at the swift movements of his fingers, his skill enough to match a pianist in the orchestra of the Grand Hall of Velaris. You didn’t know the melody, but it spoke to you of loss and love. Memories of your family and the friends you had lost over the years flooded your mind, and by the time the song slowed again into the last few gentle notes, you had tears in your eyes.

After so much beauty, the silence felt wrong. You took a step forward and said softly, “That was really beautiful, Az.”

Azriel flinched. The Shadowsinger, the Spymaster, the one who was never caught off guard, flinched. You thought his shadows had warned him of your presence even as he played, but apparently, they, too, had been too lost in the music. Shadowsinger indeed.

“Y/N.”

You offered him a small smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

He turned his head to face you, studying you as you took a few hesitant steps into the room. “I thought everyone else was at Rita’s,” he finally said.

“I thought so too.”

Silence stretched on, and you weren’t sure exactly what to say, feeling like you had ruined one of the few moments Azriel had reserved just for himself. You had known him for two centuries, but never once had he mentioned that he could play the piano. You had wondered why the instrument was in the sitting room in the first place, but just assumed it was one of the many hobbies Amren had picked up and abandoned over the years. Maybe Azriel had put it there instead.

“Why didn’t you tell me you can play?” you asked eventually, just as he said something that you didn’t catch over the sound of your own voice.

You exchanged sheepish smiles before you looked down at your feet. “You first.”

Azriel's smile turned soft. “I didn't know you were home. I hope I didn't disturb you while you were trying to sleep.”

“No, don't worry,” you were quick to answer, shaking your head. “You didn't. That was amazing. I just… didn't know you could play the piano.” You watched him closely, taking another step toward him. “Why didn't you say anything?”

He shrugged slightly, and his shadows began to swirl around him again, free of the trance of the music. Some floated closer to you. “You never asked,” Azriel replied with a smirk.

You huffed a laugh, but you couldn't argue with that logic. Instead, your gaze landed on the piano, then settled on his beautiful face again. His expression was soft as he looked at you, and you felt a fluttering sensation in your stomach.

“Will you play something else?” you murmured, suddenly not knowing what to do with your hands, how to stand normally, how to look at him without blushing. “Please?”

Azriel blinked, seemingly caught off guard by your request. “I've… never played in front of people before.”

“Oh.” 

Of course he wouldn't want to. If in all the years you had known each other he never once mentioned his talent, then he had his reasons. He didn't want people to know. And here you were, sneaking up on him while he thought he was alone, asking him to share something that was obviously personal as if it meant nothing.

You began to retreat toward the door, an apology about to roll off your tongue, but Azriel gently grabbed your wrist to stop you.

“I didn't mean it like that,” he said, his hand sliding lower until it was holding yours. He smiled as he tugged you closer to him. “I’ll play for you.”

Your heart did some acrobatics in your chest, your eyes lingering where your hands touched. You finally looked at him again. “Yeah?” you whispered.

Azriel nodded and squeezed your hand once before sitting to face the keys again. You just stood in front of him, leaning against the piano, almost holding your breath as you waited for him to start.

The first few notes were higher than the previous song and you smiled at the sight of Az's shadows dancing to the rhythm around the two of you.

And then Azriel began to sing.

Your eyes shot to him as his smooth, deep voice filled the room. You had never heard him sing before, nor had you known he could or liked to. But he was incredibly talented, and you were so mesmerized by this new discovery and how he held your gaze that it took you a few moments to actually understand the words of the song.

It was about confessing years of pent-up feelings, about finally finding the one person you'd been waiting for your entire life. Azriel’s eyes bored into yours, never wavering as he continued playing and singing. Your breath caught, your heart fluttered in your chest, and time itself seemed to stop just for the two of you. You were so glad you could lean against the piano because you were fairly sure your legs wouldn't be able to keep you up.

The song was about you. Or maybe not about you, but for you—it didn't matter. Azriel was singing it to you, and you knew it was his confession. All the glances, the lingering touches, the vulnerability you both showed only to each other… it all made sense now, all the things you had always played off as being really close friends because you didn't dare hope it might mean something more to him, as it did for you.

Azriel's voice blended with the melody of the piano in a wonderful mix that had tears running down your cheeks by the time his voice faded and his fingers played the last notes. But you never looked away, never broke your connection.

And when the song was over and the music gave way to silence, Azriel slowly rose from his seat to stand in front of you. His hands came up to cup your cheeks and he gently wiped your tears away with his thumbs.

“That was the most romantic declaration I have ever received,” you whispered, looking up into his golden eyes with a smile. “The most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me, really.”

He smiled back at you, still cradling your face in his hands. “I figured I could tell you it was just a song if it didn't mean anything to you.”

You couldn’t hold back any longer, then. You leaned in and pressed your lips to his. It took Azriel a split second to react, but then his hands held you tighter and pulled you closer, and he kissed you back fiercely. Your head spun, your own hands coming up to cover his as you got lost in the moment.

“It meant everything to me,” you said softly when you finally broke the kiss, your forehead resting against his. “I'm terrible at singing, but if I could, I'd sing it right back to you. Because I love you too, Az.”

He closed his eyes, a relieved sigh escaping his lips before he murmured, “Say it again.”

You smiled and poured your whole heart into your next words. “I love you, Az.”

A few seconds of silence followed your declaration, and then you watched as his face lit up with the most beautiful smile you had ever seen. His golden gaze met yours once more. “I’ve loved you for so long, Y/N,” he said and kissed you again.

You melted against him, content to spend the rest of your life like this. But too soon, Azriel pulled away.

“Can this be our little secret?” he asked in a hushed voice. “For now, at least.”

You frowned. “The piano or the kiss?”

“Both. If you're okay with it.”

You thought about it for a moment. If he didn’t want the others to know about him playing the piano, it was his choice, and you would respect it. As for the kiss and your feelings for one another… you didn’t want to hide them, but at the same time, it was all so new that you wanted to cherish it, to keep it between the two of you for just a little longer, especially since your family was made up of busybodies.

“I will be if I can get more of both,” you finally answered with a sly smile.

Azriel chuckled softly, wrapping you in his strong arms and kissing your forehead. “Of course you can, Y/N. Anytime you want.”

You hugged him back, your face buried in his neck, his chin resting on your head. As you just stood there, bathing in his closeness and breathing in his scent, you could feel his shadows lazily moving around you and brushing against your hands on his back, just below the base of his wings. Everything about this moment was so calm and soothing that, even standing, you could have fallen asleep.

You didn’t know how much time had passed when you eventually stepped back to look at him and asked, “Can I get another song now, please?”

He smirked. “Only if I can get another kiss first.”

You laughed at his quick answer, but it was only fair. A song for a kiss—you could do that till the end of time without ever getting tired of it. You drew him closer and brought your lips to his, giving him the kiss he’d asked for before you pulled away and looked at him with expectant eyes.

Azriel caressed your cheek and stole one last little kiss, then he sat at the piano again. He began playing another song, his eyes never leaving yours as his voice soon joined the sweet melody.

This was for you. Only for you.

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @andreperez11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh0127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate

[sarahs-library]

Forgotten: Part Two

Azriel wakes to find himself with everything he'd never allowed himself to wish for. Now, faced with the reality of all he thought he wanted, he must come to terms with his desires and the unexpected direction his life had taken.

Word count - 3564

A/N - Thank you all so much for reading the first part of my little story and for all the lovely comments and words of encouragement. I'm still learning how to post and interact on here, a few people asked to be added to a taglist which I've tried to create but I'm not sure if it actually works.

Part One ☪ Part Three

Forgotten Universe: Pretty Eyes

Azriel

Azriel was still under Madja’s knurled fingers as they palpated his temples, the soothing chill of her healing magic drifted over tender, swollen skin. Her copper eyes assessed his face closely and he schooled his features into a blank mask. His gaze drifted over the curve of her shoulder to meet Rhys as he lingered by the open doors of the balcony. The bland smile, the loose set of his shoulders, and the hands that hung casually in the pockets of his trousers irked Azriel. After so many years it wasn’t difficult to read this feigned nonchalance, the worry it masked beneath.

“A lingering effect of the head injury, exacerbated by the bloodsbane.” Madja’s fingers continued to probe as Azriel returned his attention to her. Thickness lingered on his tongue; left over from the medication she’d administered on her arrival to reign in his fever. His head felt clearer now, where his shadows had been silent before they sang again, murmuring of the almost imperceptible anxious shift of Rhys’ weight on the floorboards. Elsewhere the House of Wind was quiet and empty, Elain having fled into Rhys’ arms with a demand to be winnowed home without sparing a glance in his direction. Azriel had been left to stew in solitude until his brother had returned with the ancient healer tucked in his arms, greying spindrift hair windswept, her face lined with wrinkles and kind concern.

“Some amnesia isn’t uncommon with an injury like this,” Madja continued finally pulling her hands away from his face. “Though to ascertain its true extent you must tell us what you remember shadow-singer.” She retreated from him into the chair Elain had occupied earlier, righted by Rhys, and slowly lowered herself on creaking joints. Azriel balked a little under the attention as he tried to force himself to recollect. Pain brewed between his eyes. He remembered the visit to Hewn City, the scheming; the gifting of Nesta’s made blade to Eris. He remembered the solstice party, the disaster of his foray with Elain afterward, and his brother’s wrath. The ensuing weeks had been busy, his mornings occupied with training the Valkyries and concocting obstacle courses modeled after the Blood Rite qualifier. The afternoons and evenings spent keeping tabs on Eris and following up on the dead leads from whispers and fables of high-fae women bearing winged babes. Everything after was hazy, difficult to hold, and worsened the pain in his head if he tried to focus for too long.

“Feyre,” he said, and Rhys cocked an eyebrow, his face encouraging him to continue. “We were following leads on the delivery of winged babes.” The darkening of Rhys’ features filled Azriel with a sense of foreboding. “Feyre,” he continued, “is she…Is the babe...” He trailed off, unsure of how to broach the topic. Rhys’ features softened, understanding his brother had misinterpreted the emotion to be driven by his grief and loss and not for the male before him. Shoulders pulled forward in a rare display of vulnerability, scarred fingers clasping his knees for stability, Rhys struggled to recall a recent memory of seeing his brother so open, so vulnerable. He hadn’t seen him this lost since their youth in the war camps.

“Feyre,” Rhy drawled, fixing Azriel with what he hoped was an abating expression. “And the babe, we named him Nyx, they’re both well. Perfect.” Rhys watched his brother process the information, the small twitch of the corner of his mouth the only sign of his surprise. Watched as Azriel came to terms with the missing months in the timeline, Feyre still had half of her pregnancy to go during the solstice. How would he even begin to broach the missing years? “You don’t remember anything about the attack?” Rhys probed, Azriel bristled under the line of questioning.

“No.” His fingers danced over his injured abdomen and trailed the bandages before climbing up to rub over the empty feeling in his chest, worse than any wound he’d ever gotten. It left him feeling cold and empty. The glint of his rings caught his eye. The signet on his little finger embossed with the Night Court symbol, a gift from Rhys centuries ago declaring him part of his found family, rubbed against an unfamiliar band of gold.

Feyre

Feyre locked eyes with Nuala as she crouched over Nyx playing with his toys on the carpet. The shadow-wraith stepped silently over to them and greeted the young heir to the Night Court with a small smile, producing a plate of homemade biscuits warm from the oven and smelling of cinnamon. Nyx fixed her with his cerulean eyes and toothy smile, cheeks chubby from the lingering fat of youth. Reaching out to fist the crumbling treat in one hand he thanked her, proceeding to get more crumbs in the creases of his clothes than he did in his mouth. Feyre’s heart swelled.

“I’ll be back soon,” she reached out to stroke his midnight hair as his arms waved, one brandishing a small wooden figure and the other his half-eaten treat.

“Okay, mama.” His eyes were drawn to her briefly before he returned to his imaginary world, moving his wooden figure into position to conquer the high ground of his drawing table, covered in drying paint and charcoal pencils.

“You’ll behave for Nuala won’t you?” Nyx nodded eagerly in agreement and proceeded to clash the figurine in his hand against a triangle formation of his enemies with a sound of delight. Feyre rose, leaning close to thank the shadow-wraith on her way to the door. After taking an indulgent glance backward she stepped into the breach, winnowing to a familiar path on the outskirts of Velaris.

Well-manicured grass thick with morning dew poked through the paving stones Feyre stepped between on the way up to the front door. The lower level was in darkness, the windows blending into the dark stone and winding vines. The second level blazed, fae light seeping out of the floor-to-ceiling windows though Feyre saw no movement.

The dark wood of the door opened on a wind under her fist, poised to knock, and Feyre took the invitation to enter. The foyer offset the chill of the early morning air and she made a beeline towards the dark staircase. The open door allowed a beam of sunlight into the sitting area, dark with the curtains drawn, illuminating the comfortable leather chairs perched around the large fireplace.

Feyre eyed the portrait hanging above the mantle, a solstice gift to Azriel the year after his mating ceremony, her heart ached. Depicting the moment after the vows had been said and the food exchanged, hands clasped between them bound by thick dark ribbon, Feyre remembered agonizing for days over how to properly encapsulate onto the canvas the shared look of love and adoration. Feyre couldn’t imagine how you had coped over the last few days, in the last months of pregnancy sitting vigil at Azriel’s bedside wondering if he would wake up. Presumably elated to hear he had awake, only to find him in the arms of another woman, one with whom he shared such history.

Continuing up the stairs to the second floor Feyre followed the fae lights towards the front of the house. The door to the nursery was ajar and she stopped short of the threshold. Your back was to her, one hand tracing the soft carved wood of the bassinet Azriel had spent every spare moment painstakingly crafting. The scent of fresh paint hung in the air, leftover from a few weeks ago when the pair of you decorated the walls with murals of snow-capped mountains, lush forest greenery, and frolicking animals.

Suspended over the bassinet in a sea of miniature stars hung multicolored globes, each spinning on their invisible axis. The spiraling constellation, you’d called it a galaxy, held all the planets known to your people. Feyre wondered how many you’d seen in your trips across the stars as you reached up into the field of magic closest to you to trace your fingers over a small planet of russet brown cratered with darker swirls.

“Rhys told me what happened.” Feyre watched as you continued to agitate the floating sphere. You didn’t turn. She crept closer into the room, torn between giving you space and reaching out in comfort. She waited with bated breath to see if you would respond before continuing. “It’s the head injury, he doesn’t remember.”

“He had no idea who I was.” The hand that hung in the stars moved to cradle your abdomen. “He would’ve…” You trailed off. The posturing, the aggression, there was no doubt at that moment Azriel viewed you only as a threat, a stranger, someone who had invaded his home. That was not the male who had doted on you only a week before, hands cradling you gently as his lips brushed your soft skin singing low lullabies to your unborn babe.

“Elain was at the River House earlier,” Rhys had dropped her there with a rushed explanation before disappearing again. “She feels awful, she wanted to come and apologise.” Feyre wasn’t sure why she brought up Elain, as soon as the words were out of her mouth she realised she’d made a grave miscalculation.

“I don’t care what Elain wants right now Feyre.” The temperature in the room plummeted as you finally turned to look at her. For a moment the air in the room thinned and Feyre struggled against the pressure of the vacuum that forced her to exhale. As quickly as it came the atmosphere in the room returned to normal and she sucked in a shaky breath through her teeth.

“I know, I know. I didn’t mean it like that.” Feyre tried to keep her voice low and soothing, pinned under your gaze as she edged closer, reaching out to place an open palm on your arm. “Madja’s with him now, she says that all this is to be expected. When Rhys spoke to her earlier she said these things usually resolve themselves with time.” Your thumb traced gentle circles on your swollen belly.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a little short on that right now.” The anger in your tone was undermined by the tears threatening to spill. Realising there wasn’t anything she could say Feyre moved to pull your body against her own. Arms encircling you in a comforting embrace, she rubbed her fingers between your shoulder blades. You moved to hold her back, resting your face in the space where her neck met her shoulder as you let the tears fall. “What am I going to do?” Your voice was thin and watery, in the time Feyre had known you she’d never heard you speak with so little conviction.

“We’re going to figure this out.” She pulled away slightly and clasped your face between her hands, forcing you to meet her gaze. “I promise. You have all of us, you’re not alone in this. We’ll do everything we can for you, both of you.” Nodding you sniffed, pulling away. Feyre let you go as you turned your attention back out to the window, eying the gilded disc of the sun as it rose across the Valaris skyline.

“I’m heading to the House of Wind,” Feyre continued to observe you as you tracked the ascent. “Would you like to come?” You moved closer to the window. On the opposite side of the city you could see the grand mountain range and it’s carved residence. Through the morning mist blanketing the base a large, winged figure rose, angling to land on one of the balconies.

“I don’t think I can look at him right now.” Feyre acquiesced her desire to push you to come with her.

Azriel

After Madja had left Rhys with strict instructions regarding Azriel’s rehabilitation over the next couple of days, he’d supported his brother’s weight while they made slow progress to the bathroom. Azriel’s limbs felt stiff, uncharacteristically uncoordinated and he concentrated on remaining upright and shuffling one foot in front of the other.

Steam rose from the bath the House had prepared, swirling to meet the shadows that seeped down his arm as Azriel braced one hand on the edge of the tub. Using the other he edged the loose cotton trousers down over his thighs until they pooled at his feet. Fingers tugged at the cotton on his abdomen to find purchase, loosening and unwinding until the bandaging fell away to reveal an angry pink scar, jagged and stark against tanned skin.

“Want me to wash your back?” Rhys shot him a cheeky grin, but the mirth in his voice didn’t reach his eyes. Azriel appreciated the effort, this small attempt at normalcy. He shot his brother an obscene gesture before raising one leg to step into the tub, thigh muscles twitching as he shifted into the hot water. Using his arms to brace his weight he started to lower himself in, descending too quickly they struggled to hold him up causing a wave of bathwater to soak the floor. Azriel sunk under the warmth of the water, allowing it to soothe him.

“We’ll be in the dining room, come down when you’re ready.” His shadows had already informed him of Cassian and Nesta’s arrival, he assumed the rest of his family wouldn’t be far behind. Azriel nodded, avoiding Rhys’ gaze, pretending to study the shadows roiling over the water. In the mirror on the opposite wall, Azriel watched Rhys’ reflection as he opened his mouth as if to speak, no sound coming out as he considered, before closing it again and disappearing through the doorway.

Dressing had been an arduous process, though no longer stiff and painful his muscles had a weakness that he wasn’t used to. After struggling into the tight second skin of his fighting leathers he felt more himself. Finding truth-teller laid out in its holster on the dresser he strapped it to his thigh. His shadows, now a fuller cohort with the effects of the bloodbane leaving his system, were a thick tangle of moving darkness, sour and agitated in solidarity with their master.

Despite his interrogation, they hadn’t offered him any useful information, it caused Azriel great frustration when they took the stance of purposeful vagueness or outright ignored him. He sent them ahead down the corridor to scout out the dining room only to be turned around by a shield of impenetrable night. Whatever conversations were going on in that room, Rhys did not want him privy to them. His own family, keeping secrets. It left a bad taste in Azriel’s mouth, a sense of betrayal in his chest that sat next to the empty feeling he was growing accustomed to, a limb he didn’t know he had until it was missing.

Azriel reached the closed door, the thick night dissipating as he progressed, the sound from beyond the door returned but he heard no voices. Just the sound of breathing and the clink of porcelain as someone set a cup on a saucer. Rhys must have informed them of his impending arrival. He pushed the door open and took in his family.

Cassian, Nesta, Rhys, Feyre and Amren all sat at the table which had been used for family dinners before the River House was built. Their faces were carefully blank as he assessed them all. Mor was notably absent, information Azriel tucked away, either her efforts across the continent were still ongoing or some other manner of business had her attention. He hadn’t expected to see Elain, not after her spectacular display of anger, but he couldn’t help the feeling of unease and disappointment it left in his gut.

“Finally, the invalid graces us with his presence. Took you long enough,” Cassian sent him an easy grin, arms folded across his stomach as he lounged in his chair. Azriel scowled in response which only made his brother’s smile wider. This had always been Cassian’s modus operadi, an invitation to be provoked into a physical outlet if that’s what was needed, thinly veiled under jibes he rarely meant at heart. For a moment, Azriel considered taking up the unspoken offer, if only to delay what was undoubtedly going to be an uncomfortable conversation.    

“Azriel,” it was Feyre who spoke, offering him a small smile, “Why don’t you join us?” Azriel understood that it wasn’t an invitation and slid into the seat next to Amren. His eyes met Nesta’s who sat across from him. They’d reached a tentative understanding, perhaps it could be considered a friendship, in the months he could recall. He remembered her joy at receiving the solstice gift he’d gotten for her, the resulting rare display of physical affection.

Looking at her now, face resolute and stony with blazing anger behind her eyes, barely contained, he had the sense that something had damaged the dynamic between them. He purposely looked away, instead fixing his eyes on Rhys; then Feyre. He waited for someone to speak, break the almost oppressive silence. He half-expected it to be Cassian again, with some throwaway comment or badly timed joke, but it was Rhys who cleared his throat.

“Azriel, thank you for joining us.” Azriel raised an eyebrow at the formality but stayed silent. “There are some matters we need to discuss.”

“Clearly.” He trailed his eyes over his family again, they all seemed uncomfortable to be here, to be around him. As if they knew he was going to react badly to whatever they were going to say. Rhys let his remark go, seeming resolute to power ahead with the conversation.

“What you showed me of your recent memories,” he continued, eyes drifting to Feyre who gave him an encouraging smile. “Lead us to believe that the memory loss is more extensive than we originally feared. Azriel, what you showed me – it was more than five years ago.” Azriel barely seemed to move under the scrutiny of their gazes. He’d lost years of his life. In the grand scheme of his immortality it felt like nothing, but looking at his family and realising that they lived in a future he didn’t remember left him feeling sick.

Azriel tried to find some rational thought to hold onto as he spiralled. He fell back onto the only thing he could rely on, his role as the Night Court’s spymaster. “Was it the work of the Queens? The attack?”

“The debacle on the continent has been resolved, for the most part. It was only supposed to be a routine investigation, nothing too strenuous or time-consuming given your current…” Rhys paused. “Situation. You were gathering information on some remaining rebellious factions, we didn’t anticipate that you would meet that kind of resistance, that they would have the resources. We’re sorry Az, we never meant for any of this to happen.”

“And what exactly is my current situation, Rhysand? What do you have to apologise for?” Azriel’s voice was low and dangerous. Amren snorted at the display, reaching for her wine glass. He expected a scathing remark, but it never came as Rhys shot her a look, and in a rare moment of deference she adhered as he implored her to remain silent.

“The female that was in the house earlier-“

“The thief.” Azriel interrupted.

“No,” Feyre cut in before Rhys could continue. “Her name is Y/N, and she’s your mate Az. The situation,” Feyre seemed to find describing it as such distasteful, but she continued. “Is that she is pregnant, with your child. That’s why we’re sorry, if we knew how dangerous it would be we never would have asked you to go alone.”

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Three brothers for three sisters, that was what Azriel had always thought about, always dreamed. The cauldron blessing him with undeniable proof that, though not blood-related, he and his brothers were three equal parts in the eyes of fate. He’d wanted that, seeing how happy they were in their relationships filled him with bone-deep envy. Observing from the sidelines as Rhys and Feyre prepared for the new addition to their family with vigour, as Cassian and Nesta had danced around each other in slowly shrinking circles. The other halves of their souls. That should have been him and Elain, never mind the mockery of the bond Vanserra thought they had. Azriel knew it was a mistake, a sick joke that would all work out in the end because there was no other way it could be. Three brothers for three sisters.

He wanted it all. A house on the outskirts of the city, filled with the sweet scent of Elain’s baking and made beautiful by the flowers she cultivated in their gardens. Filled with sunlight and happiness, somewhere to retreat from the darkest corners of his life. He’d dreamed of that life in the secret hours of the dawn, of a future where the issues of Feyre’s pregnancy had been resolved and perhaps their home was filled with the noise of children.

Now he had awoken in a future where he had those things, a mate, an unborn babe on the way, only to find it wasn’t with whom he desired. Elain, whom he had woken in this world for, who had been so tender in his first moments of consciousness, who had kissed him back. Azriel couldn’t imagine choosing to build that life with anyone else.   

A/N - Phew! I know, the angst was real. I promise it will get better, but there's definitely a long way to go here! Part three is in the works, not sure when it will be finished but hopefully it won't be too long.

Tag list: @kalulakunundrum @impossibelle @we-were-beautiful @going-through-shit @mulansaucey @sv0430 @naturakaashi @amygdtjhddzvb @airstrip-0 @acourtofsmutandstarlight @myheartfollower @whyonearthisyourusernamethi-blog @valencia-rou @amysangel @furiousbooklover @phoenixgurl030 @imnotsiriusyouare @i-am-infinite

[azrielsdove]

Love and Loss: Ch.5

Warnings: Angst, Suggestive, 18+

Ch.4 Here | Ch.6 Here

***

As if Rhysand couldn’t get any more insufferable, he was refusing to get rid of the marriage bond. You had taken to wearing long sleeves, covering the tattoo that symbolized your love for so many years. He was doing it to further upset you, annoyed that his brothers came to your aid. In his mind, everything he did was justified and as their High Lord they should have been on his side.

It took you a week to recover from his attack on your mind, plagued with awful nightmares whenever you tried to sleep. Madja had ended up giving you a sleeping daught, knocking you out for two days straight. You welcomed it, wishing you would never wake.

Azriel and Cassian had decided that one of them would remain by your side at all times. You were getting tired of their constant protectiveness, but you appreciated them more than they would ever know. They could have allowed you to die at Rhysand’s hand that night, standing by their brother as always. Instead they went directly against him, saving your life in the process. You knew they were being punished for their actions. Cassian had told you how he was trying to send them away on different missions, missions they both refused. On more than one occasion they had come back bruised and bloody, a sign of the High Lords anger.

Azriel was sitting with you in the private library, the two of you reading quietly. He was surprised you wanted to return to this room, that you still took comfort in it. You had explained that you refused to let Rhysand take all joy away from you. So he sat in the armchair across from you, a shadow whispering over your skin from time to time.

Your eyes were focused on the book in your hands, but your mind was lost in the memory that had been pulled from you the night of the attack. When you told Azriel about Rhysand, and the strange way he reacted. You had been replaying that afternoon over and over, remembering the way you he avoided you for months after that. It left an uncomfortable feeling in you, like there was something you didn’t know. Rhysand had been ever more charming after that, finding you that night to press harsh kisses on your skin. He left countless marks over you, claiming you as his. Then you thought it was endearing, romantic. Now, you weren’t so sure.

You weren’t sure if anything Rhysand ever did or said was real. As angry as you were at him, you struggled to believe your entire marriage had been a lie. A lie to, he said, ‘dangle over Azriel’s head’. You were beginning to understand there had always been more at stake, and that maybe you chose the wrong male all those years ago.

Your gaze moved up from your book, looking to the male sitting across from you. You took in the way his leg was propped on top of the other, one large hand resting on it. Your eyes traveled up his massive arms, focusing on how tiny his book seemed in his giant grip. His eyebrows were furrowed, hazel eyes moving as they read the words in front of him. You stared at the sharp angle of his jaw, the lip he was biting on as he read. The shadows swirling around him sped up, running through his hair and down his neck at the notice of you. You were overcome with desire for that to be you, to run your fingers down his neck. You imagined the sounds he would make as you touched him, the way he would moan your name when you sucked-

“Hello? You okay over there?” His words broke you out of your heated daydream, your legs squeezing tight together. You couldn’t help the low blush the covered your cheeks, coughing slightly.

“Uh, yea. Sorry. I was just, thinking.” You got out, shoving your face back into your book. You were confused by the sudden lust for your friend, and embarrassed that he had caught you staring at him.

“Okay,” he chuckled, sensing your lie. He turned back to his book, but your eyes didn’t dare move up to him again. What was going on with you?

***

Azriel’s POV

Fuck, he cursed, watching the blush spread over her cheeks. He shifted slightly, trying to cover his hard-on. He hadn’t excepted her to be looking at him like that, pupils blown wide and mouth slightly open. It took everything in him to not jump across the coffee table and take her on that sofa, make her cry out his name for everyone to hear.

He pulled his eyes back to his book, trying to push the filthy thoughts away. He was used to thinking them about her, he would admit. However, he was not used to her thinking them about him. He knew exactly what was going through her mind while her gaze roved over him, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. He couldn’t help but think back to all those years ago, when he should have stopped her from going with Rhys.

He had a bad feeling when she had told him Rhys was courting her. Something stirred in his chest, a warning to protect her. He knew his brother was aware how he felt about her, and yet he still chose to peruse her. It seemed most unlike Rhys at the time, to be so blatantly disrespectful to him. The words on the page blurred as his mind went back to that day.

He flew directly to Rhys, certain that she had to be misunderstanding his intentions. He rushed into his study, pulling him out of whatever important documents he was reading. “Az!” Rhys greeted warmly, smiling at him.

Azriel did not return the warmth.

“What are you playing at?” He demanded, shadows flitting about anxiously.

“Excuse me?” Rhys asked, expression turning cold.

“You’re courting her now?” Azriel’s voice was hard, barely keeping his anger in at the wicked smile Rhys threw at him.

“Is that a problem, brother?”

“You know that it is.”

“Do I? All you said is that you think there is something between you. If she wanted you, why would she choose to go with me?”

Azriel’s temper flared, his wings spreading as his anger ran through him. “Why go after her, Rhys?”

He took in the cold eyes and cruel smile on the High Lords face, unable to believe this was the same male he had called his brother all these years. “I like a challenge, Az.”

“She isn’t a game, Rhysand.”

“Not her. You. How far are you willing to go to get the girl?” Azriel glared at the teasing look on his face, wanting to rip it off.

“I will not interrupt her happiness with you. If you truly love her, I will stand down.”

Rhys laughed. “Ever the gallant male.” He stood, walking around the desk to face Azriel. “I don’t love her yet. I do, however, love making you mad. I love the sounds she makes when she’s under me, I love the way she moans my name. Would you like to see, brother?”

Azriel’s mind was blank with rage. He hadn’t even realized he had lunged at the other male until the two of them tumbled out the window, wings beating furiously as they fought in the air. “You are a dirty bastard, Rhysand!” Azriel bellowed, the wind whipping between the two of them wickedly.

“You can do better than a little no-one fae!” Rhys yelled back, laughter on his lips.

“I won’t let you treat her like this!” Azriel went for him again, missing by an inch as Rhys dodged his grasp.

“I treat her wonderfully. She feels loved and happy, does she not? She’s certainly beautiful enough to be the wife of the High Lord, wouldn’t you agree?”

“You disgust me.”

“Ah, but do I? Would you not do anything to have her as your own? You understand the draw she has, the desire to taste her.”

One of Azriel’s shadows hit Rhys square in the chest, causing him to fall back in the air. “You don’t deserve her.”

Rhys flew back up, annoyed at this argument. “Are you going to be the one to break her heart? Tell her i’m just playing her? You can’t deny her happiness is real, you know I will keep it that way. Do you really want to destroy her perfect little world?”

Azriel paused, the words ringing true. There was no way to prove how Rhys was acting now, especially not when she believed him to handpick the stars in the sky for her. She was in love with his brother, and he couldn’t stop it. “You think you could love her one day?” His question came out hoarse, emotion taking over him.

Rhys looked almost pityingly at his brother, flying back to land on the window in his office. “I could,” he said honestly. “What may have started as a way to get under your skin is turning into something true. She really is quite amazing, Az.” His voice was softer now, a vulnerability shining through. Azriel hovered in front of his brother, a pang in his heart at his words.

“Promise to make her happy. Don’t ever let her find out why you went after her in the first place.” Azriel said, crossing his arms. If his brother was going to act in this way, the least he could do was try to preserve her peace.

“I will. Always. Don’t ruin this for her, Azriel. I need a strong female behind me, but also one who respects and listens to me. She’s proven to be that. She’s perfect for what I need. Letting her become unhappy would destroy what i’ve created.” Rhys said, leaning back on the window frame.

Azriel nodded, still uncertain about this situation. “I will be close by if she needs me.” He said, a threat to his words.

Rhys gave him that horrible wicked smile, a tease in his eyes. “She won’t. She will be too busy screaming my name whenever you’re around.”

Azriel shook his head, forcing himself out of the memory. He was a damn fool for letting Rhysand manipulate him like that all those years ago. He had still believed he wasn’t worth anything back then, that no one would ever love him. It was only rather recently he had begun to think otherwise. He was ashamed of his past self, regret flowing through him. He wished he could go back in time and take her far, far away from this court.

Maybe it wasn’t too late for that.

***

Reader POV

You laid awake that night, staring at the high ceilings of your room. The shadow Azriel kept with you floated about, twirling delicately through the air. You felt a crushing sadness, the truth about everything taking over you. You hated how much you missed Rhys. He was always so in tune with your emotions, knowing the exact perfect thing to say in any situation.

You couldn’t help but wonder if that was all part of his horrible game.

The tears slid down your face, silent and full of pain. You had never imagined a life without him. To you, Rhysand had been your everything. He was your husband, your High Lord, the joy of your life. You two had been discussing children before he was taken Under the Mountain, ready to take that next step together. You couldn’t tell if you were sad or happy that your attempts hadn’t yet succeeded by the time he was gone.

The little shadow came down, sliding across your damp cheeks. You knew it was alerting Azriel, letting him know something was wrong. You didn’t have the energy to wave it away. You were drained, tired. Your anger overshadowed your pain most of the time, but when night came the ache in your chest made itself known. You felt as if your heart was ripping itself in two, screaming at the hurt of it all.

Your bedroom door burst open, Azriel rushing to your side. You didn’t even move to look at him, having no will to do so. He silently slid into the bed with you, wrapping his arms and wings around you. He kissed your hair, a murmur of “I’m so sorry” falling from his lips. His embrace reminded you of how it used to be, before you got tangled up with the High Lord. The two of you used to fall asleep close together nearly every night, finding a comfort in each other you hadn’t had before.

You began to drift off at his soothing presence, tears slowing. The thought you’d been having too often lately circled your mind, leading you into sleep. You wanted to ignore it, the implications it held too frightening for you to deal with right now. Had you overlooked what had been right in front of you this whole time?

***

Ahhhh I love this chapter!!! Please let me know what you think <3. Thank you for all your love and support on this story, it means so much that so many of you wait for each chapter to come out !!

Taglist: @amara-moonlight @tothestarsandwhateverend @onlyangellh @hnyclover @greenapplesaucepi @just-a-social-casualty-1 1 @heyyitsnat21 @mirandasidefics @bubybubsters @mybestfriendmademe @thaynarajejheje @brujitafantomatico @justdreamstars @thisblogisaboutabook @lees-chaotic-brain

[shadowandlightt]

Of Nightmares and Memories /two/ Azriel X Reader

Series Warnings: Kidnapping. Mistreatment. Cursing. Pining. Violence. Depression. Talks of suicide. Eventual smut

Part one Part Three

You dream of the blue of his siphons. The hazel of his eyes. You see him every night, whether you’d like to or not. He seems to invade everyone of your senses, always. Even from miles away. Even if he was dead. But you swore you’d know if he perished when Amerantha took over. You felt as if you would’ve felt his loss deep within your gut. 

But there had been no word of Velaris, or the people inside it. Had your brother truly been able to hide it all of these years? He’d been stripped of so much of his power, but did he have enough to keep your beloved city safe? 

“He wants you in the dining room for dinner.”

“And if I say no?” You question the red haired fox. 

His eyes, one golden and mechanical, narrowed on you, “He’ll drag you down by your hair.”

“I’d like to see him try,” You bark out a laugh, knowing you could shred him in a moment if only you had use of your power. 

The faebane they kept you full of made sure you were just a sliver of who you once were. Your skin was dull and lifeless, gone was the wondrous glow of immortality. Because you might as well have been mortal, plain and easy to kill. But you still had the self defense that your brothers taught you. You still had the ability to fight back. You were weak now, yes, but you could still just as easily use one of the butter knives on Tamlin. 

“Please,” Lucien begged, “Don’t be difficult. It’s been a hard day.”

“He lost another, then?” I question, head cocking to the side. 

“Don’t bring it up or he’s likely to skin you alive,” Lucien warned you. 

“Again, I’d like to see him try.”

Lucien’s eyes seem tired as he looks at you. Your fight seemed to dissipate as you looked at him. You knew time was running out, far too fast. Soon enough Amarantha would take control over every Fae, no matter where they lived. Tamlin was the only one keeping her at bay, and his power was almost hers for the taking. Then what would become of you? When her goons came for Tamlin and ransacked the house, surely they’d find you and drag you before her. Then you’d just be a tool to further your brother’s pain. 

“Ah, I can see it now,” He sighed, “You’ve realized your fate, if this doesn’t work.”

“He’ll never convince a human to love him,” You shake your head, “No matter how charming  he can be.”

“For your sake, you best hope he does.”

You follow him from your room, or your cell, whatever seems to fit one day to the next. The manor house is quiet as you make your way through it, servants not sparing you a second glance. They all knew you were being held prisoner, yet they could do little to change it, without incurring the High Lord’s wrath. 

For once in your life, you were helpless, and had been since that day in the clearing.

“It would’ve been so much easier for him,” You mutter, “Had he just let them kill me that day. Instead he had them spare me and now I stay a constant headache.”

“More like a constant thorn in his side,” Lucien smiled slightly.

The thought brought a sly smile to my face. You prepared your stone mask as you grew closer to the dining room. Lucien was the only one you allowed to see a sliver of who you were. You allowed him to see more of yourself than you should, because he saw someone who was a little more delicate, a little more capable of love and sadness. Not the stone exterior of the Night Court that we worked so hard to maintain.

“Play nice with him tonight,” Was Lucien’s last warning before we reached the golden doors. 

You schooled your face into a bored mask, as if all of this was beneath you. For centuries you’d been playing this part. Without so much as a break from it. Only when you were sure you were alone in my rooms did you let the mask fall. Only then did you cry out for my family, for my home. 

“Glad you decided to join us,” Tamlin’s voice carried from the end of the table. 

Your eyes roll, “As if I had a choice.”

A snarl escapes from Tamlin, claws slowly growing. You smile sweetly at him for a moment, before throwing out what little power you had left to reach into his head. Just enough to let him know you were there, just enough to be a pest when you wanted. But it wasn’t without difficulty. Sweat beaded on your forehead as you strained against the confines of your power. 

“Enough,” He yelled, slamming his hands down against the table. 

You flinch back, seeing the beast start to emerge. For a moment you allowed yourself to feel the slight fear that crept in. You were weak now, unable to protect yourself as you used to. He’d taken your power, your freedom, and your strength away from you. Stripped it away as if it were nothing. He should have just killed you in the forest that day. 

“Where is the little human?” You question, sniffing the air, “Her…stench is hard to miss.” 

“She’s getting cleaned up,” Lucien spoke up, “Might be best if you eat before Alis is finished with her.”

I turn slowly to glare at him, before turning back to Tamlin, “Still keeping me as your dirty little secret then?”

“She doesn’t need to know about you.”

“You know, I hope you can charm this one,” You snarl, “Because time is running out. Soon enough we’ll all be-”

“Enough!” He roars, “I know how much time we have left. I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

“Oh, you still have the chance, but the second he finds out I’m still alive,” You can’t help but laugh as you shake your head, “Well… then you’ll really wish you allowed them to kill me.”

“If she finds out you're alive…” Lucien trailed off with a look from Tamlin. 

I flop down into a chair and scoop up a glass of wine, “Well, this is going to be a fun couple of months, then, won’t it?”

“Behave,” Lucien snaps. 

“I am behaving,” I reply sweetly. 

“Eat, before I lock you up and forget about you.”

“Now now,” I sigh, “It’s been centuries, surely we can be a little more civil than that,”

“You’re too much like your brother,” Tamlin sighs, leaning back into his chair. 

“You almost sound sad about that,” You note, “Regretting crossing him?”

“No.” 

You hum and drink your wine before tucking into the food before you. Despite knowing there was faebane in it, you couldn’t stop eating. You hardly ate anymore. Just enough to keep you alive, but today you were starving. 

“Slow down before you make yourself sick,” Lucien said slowly. 

You growl at him before slowly down slightly. If only your brother could see you now. See what you’d become. If only Az and Cas could see you, what would they think? Or Mor or Amren. You weren’t sure what they would say if they could see you now. How different you’d become. 

Time passed slowly. The weeks dragged on, as you were only allowed out of your room when Feyre, the human, wasn’t around. Tamlin was doing well with dancing around your existence. Firenight was quickly approaching, and you felt the excitement deep in your bones. If there was one night that you would beg to be released it was Calanmai. 

“You know you can’t.”

“Please Lucien,” You all but beg, “He’ll be there, I know it.”

“Which is why you can’t leave the manor,” He explains.”

“I just want to see him for myself,” You whine, “I need to see him, just once before the fifty years is up. Just once.”

“He’ll know.”

“Tamlin will be too caught up in the rite to notice,” I remind him, “And you can manage a convincing glamor.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Just this once,” You say softly, “I wouldn’t ask if time wasn’t running out.”

“I know.”

“Just, please.”

“You stay next to me the whole time,” He explains, “Running off could get you killed.”

“I know.”

“Thirty minutes, that’s all you’ll get.”

“It’s more than I thought I’d get.”

Your heart hammered in your chest with the prospect of seeing your brother again after centuries of being apart from him. You knew you wouldn’t be able to tell him who you were, you wouldn’t be able to leave with him. Or speak with him. But you’d be able to lay eyes on him, and know that in whatever capacity, he was okay. He was alive, even if he was a slave to the bitch under the mountain. He’s still alive. And that’s all you could ask. Even if the rest of your family was dead, at least he lived on.