#Morrigan’s means her Court of Nightmares family | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fanttasttica · 8 months

Text

Shy priestess

Rhysand x reader

You were shy priestess working in the Library in Velaris who became friends with Morrigan. One day, she decided to became matchmaker and you became her first client.

warnings: smut (only indicated)

words: 3456

You loved working in the library. Maybe a story about why you got this job and how you got to Velaris isn't that nice at all, working here bringed you peace you never thought you wanted in the first place. You were growing up in one of the Illyrian camps and all you knew your whole life was work. Now you also had plenty of things you had to do, but you still had some time you could spend by doing something you enjoy, like reading and painting, chatting with some other Priestess. For the first time in your life, you had someone you could call your friends. Most of them were quite shy at first, but you couldn't blame them, since you were practically the same. But after you warmed up to each other, becoming friends was easy with them. And that's how it exactly was with Morrigan. You knew who she was, a rather important person for your court. One time, she visited the Library looking for some old books and maps she promised to bring to the High lord and she met you, asking for help. She was very friendly and very talkative, so it was easy to spend time in her presence. She was asking you questions but wasn't pushing you to talk, she herself managed to ensure that there was no awkward silence.

One day Morrigan once again visited you, only for a chat, when she dropped a bomb “I almost forgot! Rhysand will come tomorrow. He is again looking for some old books about Prythian, I don't honestly know why, nor that I care“ she shrugged. “But last time, he was very happy with the books you helped find me. So I told him your name and he will come to you, so you can help him” you were just sorting books on the shelves, and after this information, you nearly dropped them all. Turning at her with a nervous expression on your face. “High lord? High lord is going to come tomorrow expecting me to help him? Are you kidding?” As much as you loved her, you wanted to punch her right now. “Oh don't worry, Rhys is maybe a pain in my ass, but he is a really nice gentleman to ladies. He will be happy with any advice you will give him” it was easy for her to say that and you knew that she didn't mean any harm, but you were scared. He was the most powerful High lord in Prythian and a man you have never met before, this didn't help your shyness and nervousness. “If you say so..” you mumbled to yourself, turned back at her and continued to stock books on the shelves. “Hey.. don't worry. I already told him about your shyness, he will not push you into talking much.” your cheeks were red as tomatoes, not liking that Mor was telling High lord about how much shy you are. It was a pure fact, but you still weren't comfortable with it. “I am not here for that long.. I am sure there is someone better than me, who would be happy to help him.” You argued with her, knowing in advance, that this was a lost fight. Morrigan grinned at you. “Don't be so insecure. You are working really hard and know probably more things about this Library than other Priestesses, which are here for many years.” this was complimenting you, you couldn't lie. “And beside that.. They are not as beautiful as you..” she winked at you and you laughed, thinking that she was flirting with you for a joke. “Oh Mor, thank you, but I am not interested..” She shakes her head. “I am serious. You are very clever and beautiful, give yourself a little credit. And I would love to have you in my family.” After this sentence, it finally hit you. “You cannot possibly be serious! Don't even try to say that the reason why you are sending the High Lord to me is in hope that you will get us together!” Once again, you wanted to punch her and then run into your room and cry. This was a nightmare. “No! I really think you are very clever and will help him.. Possibility of matching you two together is just another dream of mine. You know, I love Rhys, but he needs someone who will put him in his place and also help him with his responsibilities. And if it helps with your nerves, you are not the first, I am trying to set up with him. I have been doing this for a few years now.” She smiled at you innocently and You rolled your eyes at her in response, not believing this audacity of hers. “Yeah.. that's definitely something you should be proud of..”

The next day came too quickly. In the morning, you were deciding if you should get up or fake some terrible illness to avoid meeting with the High lord. You would be probably the first woman ever, who would do something like that. And it would not help anything.. Morrigan was way too stubborn for that. She would drag you to the House of wind, where she, High lord and other members of Inner circle live, only to introduce you two. Or she would drag High lord here another time, this time not giving you warning before head. Both scenarios seemed more embarrassing than meeting the High lord today, so you forced yourself to get up and get ready.

You weren't sure when the High lord would make his appearance. Secretly you were still hoping that Morrigan was maybe just joking with you and he wasn't coming. Your hopes were getting bigger and bigger with the evening coming. You were finishing your work, only being maybe half an hour to retiring to your room, so you could have a free evening, when you suddenly heard steps coming your way. Sounds of confident footsteps were echoing loudly, since no one but you was in this part of the Library. The voice in the back of your head was already telling who it is. Maybe it was because of how powerful his aura was, but you knew, felt, that it was no other than the High lord himself. Once the footsteps stopped, you turned to look at him and oh boy.. You were stunned. It was the first time you saw him. Of course you heard that he was supposed to be incredibly handsome, but this? He was big, obviously very strong, his hair was perfect, eyes were addictive to look at and his smirk.. He made your legs weak. For the first few seconds you were looking at him quietly and he was doing the same. The look in his eyes with which his eyes were scanning made your cheeks red. “It's nice to meet you, High lord.” You bowed lightly, finally remembering some manners. He nodded, “The pleasure is all mine.” Shit, even his voice was sexy. How can you survive this without embarrassing yourself? “As you know, I am looking for something about Prythian, the earlier history, the better.” His kind eyes were smiling at you, as you nodded and gestured behind him. “The oldest books we have on this topic are right behind you.” You said and walked past him to the shelves, picking up some books and turning to face him. “There is something about the foundation of Prythian and the next book is about the first High lords.” You said and gave them to him, his fingers brushed softly yours, which made your heart beat faster. “Thank you, Y/N.” You looked down on your dress. “You are welcome, High lord.” You said respectfully and you two fell into silence. He cleared his throat. “Mor told me a lot of things about you.” He continued this awkward conversation, you wanted to end this, it was weird. “Yes, I believe in that. She can be very.. sharing.” He chuckled at these words. “Well, I would use other words, but yes.. She is very sharing. I don't want to know anything she said about me, but be sure that she speaks very highly about you.” You knew Morrigan wasn't telling anything bad about you, she wasn't like that, but you still planned on cursing her the next time she will come to visit you. “I have no doubts about it.” Single sentence as response, but it still took a lot from you. “Well.. I should probably take my leave now. Thank you for your time.” He smiled at you and you did the same. “It was no trouble, don't worry.” After that, he left you all alone. You were looking at the place where he was standing only a few seconds ago, not looking away for several minutes, as you were in trance. This was the most embarrassing and awkward conversation you ever had. And yet.. you somehow still enjoyed it? High lord seemed really nice and was trying to start a small conversation with you, it was a shame that you didn't make it easier for him. Shaking head, you returned to your work, but you couldn't focus on it anymore.

And you couldn't focus for many days after the meeting with the High lord. Still thinking about it, daydreaming about him. You didn't know what he had done to you and you felt stupid. You spent hardly five minutes and you developed a crush on him. What was maybe even worse is that you knew you were not the only one who had a crush on him and you knew that you weren't any more special than the other girls he had met. Nothing, this was nothing, it couldn't be. You were being stupid. “Y/N? Helooo?” You heard Morrigan behind you, you turned, so you were now facing her. “Yes?” Morrigan put her hands or her hips, shaking her head at you. “What's wrong with you girl? I was shouting at you like crazy for a while now. Are you okay?” You inhaled deeply, blinking fast. “I am okay, don't worry. I was just.. thinking, lost in my thoughts.” You admitted, praying that she will not ask anything more, but it seemed that she didn't have to. Her lips turned into a smirk. “I wonder who you were thinking about..” She grabbed your arms and led you to the chairs, which were in the middle of the room, next to a table. “So, tell me everything about your meeting with Rhysand. I already heard his point of view, but I want to hear yours.” You placed your head into your hands. “Mor.. Please.. This is just.. weird. I don't like this.” She pursed her lips, not taking this as an answer. “Oh please! Don't tell me he isn't your type. I am not judging his appearance, because it would be awkward, but I know that many girls are throwing themselves on him. So, talk.” You groaned and tried to sort your thoughts. What should you tell her? “It wasn't a long conversation. He came, I gave him books, he told me that you are talking about me often and in a good way. And that's practically everything. Nothing more, nothing less.” You shrugged and stood up from your chair, walking back to the table where you were working before. She was still sitting in the same spot, watching you. “My dear Y/N.. I already knew that. And I also know that you know that this isn't the answer I was looking for.” You rolled your eyes at her, nor that she could see you. “Okay.. Okay.. He is handsome. And he was also very nice, I suppose. Are you satisfied now?” She squealed and pulled you into a hug. She was happy, at first you weren't sure if she heard you right and didn't imagine something else. “Calm down.. I only like him. It's not like I am telling you that we are dating. There is.. nothing. Nothing, you understand? Maybe he is nice, but that doesnt mean I will do anything about it.” She was clearly disappointed in your words and was going to take this. Not giving up, she winked at you. “Maybe you won't, but I will.”

Morrigan fulfilled her promise. The very next day, she came again and she was not the only one, she dragged Rhysand with her. The same scenario repeated the next day, the day after and after.. This meetings were embarrassing at first, but after some time, you warmed up to the High Lord, talking with him more comfortably, asking him questions and at one point you start forgetting Morrigan was here too. Of course she didn't mind. She was sitting quietly as a mouse and listening to you, most of the time smiling happily as she watched you two together. And one day? Rhysand came again, but this time without Morrigan. At first, you thought that she had more important work than being a matchmaker, but the next day, Rhysand came again, without her. “Is Morrigan ill or does she have so much work?” You asked him. Rhysand was sitting at the table with you, doing some paperwork, while you were looking at one book Clotho had given you, so that you can find some important information for her there. “She is perfectly well, why are you asking?” Rhysand looked up at you from his paper. “ You shrugged “Everytime you came, she was with you. I was just wondering if she is alright. It's a little bit weird that you are here without her.” You admitted to him. It was still unusual for you to talk with Rhysand as if he was a friend. Well.. in your mind, you were wishing that he could be something more than a friend, but you kept that to yourself, still thinking it was stupid from you. “Perhaps that's true.. But you know that I am not here because she forced me, right?” You raised your eyebrow. “You are not?” He once again managed to make your heart beat faster. The feeling as if you have butterflies in your stomach has also been added recently. “No, I am not. I.. to be honest, for the first time, I was here because of her. The next time, I took her with me for support and for you.” You didn't understand this right away. “For me?” He sighed and leaned back comfortably in the chair. “Yes. She told me that you were really shy and I saw that too. I wanted you to be more comfortable and well I thought that maybe with Mor, it would be easier for you.” Your cheeks were red, but you smiled at him. “That is so thoughtful and nice of you. Thank you.” He waved his hand, not wanting to take extra credits for what he did. “It was the smallest thing I could do. Nothing special, really.. But.. When we are already talking about this.. We both know why I was here for the first time. She tried to set us up. And I don't know how about you, but it worked for me..” He winked at you, a devilish smirk was on his lips, which you wanted to kiss so desperately. “So I would like to invite you on a date. As you know, Starfall is coming and I was wondering if you would like to join me and my family. It's probably also time for you to meet them. Cassian is already very impatient and so is Azriel.” You were thinking for a while, before you finally nodded lightly, not knowing what did get yourself into.

“What I am saying is that you picked the wrong one for us. Little Rhysie is maybe a High lord, but I would be better. Just look at me!” You were after dinner in the house of Wind, on the night of Starfall, currently sitting on the couch with Cassian, who was already a little bit drunk. It was clear that he was saying those things to piss off Rhysand. And it was working. The male appeared next to you in a few seconds. “Cassian, can you go bother someone else? Azriel is having a calm evening, you can ruin his mood and not Y/N´s.” Rhysand was smirking at his brother, then he turned at you and his smile turned into a more honest one. “Who said that he was ruining my mood? And beside that, I think Cassian is a really good companion.” You decided to have a little fun with the High Lord. It worked, you saw change in his eyes, now they were challenging. “Oh my darling, I can show you that I am way better companion than he is. I only need to be one minute alone with you.” You pressed your legs together, as you felt your core throbbing. It was only one sentence, but it had a big impact. High Lord took your hand and helped you to stand up. “Come with me.” You followed him obediently, ignoring Cassian, when he was shouting at you to at least try to be quiet. You were glad that Mor wasn't here so she didn't see that, she would laugh at you and then she would celebrate more than when she found out you were coming to the Starfall as Rhysand´s date. Rhysand led you to the small balcony on the other side of the house, so you could have some privacy, for the first time in this night. “You look breathtaking tonight.” Rhysand complimented you, still holding your hand, as you stood at the edge of the balcony, where there was a wonderful view of the city. “Thank you, you don't look bad yourself.” Every time you saw him, you thought the same thing, that he can possibly look better than before and yet.. It was true. You fell into comfortable silence, during which many stars appeared and started falling across the sky. It was amazing, you felt like you were dreaming. Feeling like a princess in this dress, standing next to your prince, who has now hugging you tightly. You weren't sure when he pulled you into his embrace, but you weren't protesting. You leaned your back against his strong chest and felt a little kiss on your exposed shoulder. You turned your head, so now you were facing him. His face was only centimeters from yours. You looked into his eyes and then on his lips. He understood what you were thinking of and leaned closer to you. He brushed his lips softly against yours, tasting you for the first time, but it wasn't enough for either of you. Your lips finally met, kissing properly this time, suddenly lost in each other. There wasn't anything but you two. Two souls, which had finally found each other. Two halves that came together.

“So.. I am waiting for your thanks.” Being woken up by Morrigan saying these words wasn't something you needed to experience, since you were in Rhysand ́s, your mates, bedroom and covered in nothing else but his white sheets. You groaned at her, burying your head in Rhysands chest, still half asleep.You had to catch up on your sleep, since Rhys decided to keep you awake for most of the night, pleasuring you, making you his. “We are grateful for your matchmaking skills, dear cousin, but I believe that this conversation can wait till later after we put some clothes on us.” She giggled happily, told you to take as much time as you need and left the room. “I'm wondering what clothes I am supposed to wear when you tore the only dress I have here last night.” You mumbled softly and sat up, while his sheets fell from your body, which was now exposed to him. Maybe you should cover up, but he already saw everything, so why bother. “Hmm.. “ Rhysands hand traveled from your bare back to your breast, finding one nipple and squeezed it. You bit your lips. “Today? You aren't going to put anything on yourself, because I am not going to let you get up from this bed, my darling. And tomorrow? I will buy you every dress in Velaris, if you wish.” You giggled “I think there is no need for that. I only need one.” Rhysand pushed you into the mattress and leaned over you. “If you think that I will allow you to leave the store with only one dress, you are pretty naive.” He started planting wet kisses on your neck, which already bore his marks from last night. “I am planning on spoiling you and there is no point arguing. I can be very convincing..” He licked his lips and let's say that you were convinced by him many times that day.

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar imagine #acotar series #a court of thorns and roses #rhysand imagine #rhysand fanfic #rhysand x reader #rhys x reader #rhysand #morrigan #cassian

248 notes · View notes

arlathavellan · 1 month

Text

The Silence Left in My Wake

Fandom: ACOTAR

Pairing: (past) Rhysand x Reader, Azriel + Reader, Morrigan + Reader, Cassian + Reader

Reader: she/her, High Fae, Y/N used

Genre: Angst, fluff

Word Count: 3.6k

<<request>>

For a while, you had convinced yourself they would come for you. Cassian, Azriel, Morrigan... Rhysand. It was the one hope you held onto over the years. But fifty years is a long time to hope for something that will never happen. || The world keeps spinning when we're gone. Unfortunately for you, that means when you're finally free after over fifty years of captivity, nothing is the same. Once told you would marry the love of your life and become his Lady of Night, you come come face-to-face with your new reality, and reunite with the family you had been waiting on to save you.

The Court of Nightmares was no place to dream. You had no hopes, no freedom, no choice in the life you would live.

Then came the High Lord; Rhysand. A dark force of nature, who came into your life like a terrific storm and upended everything you thought you knew. With Rhysand, you let your walls crumble, let yourself imagine a life outside of that mountain. There were politics to navigate before he could steal you away, of course, but he assured you that one day he'd sweep you off into his City of Dreams and make you his wife, his Lady.

But The Court of Nightmares was no place to dream.

Rhysand had the perfect story to spin for your father; a proper marriage alliance with the High Lord himself. Your father was not the ambitious fool your lover took him for. He knew there would be no true alliance, that marrying you off would be no better than sending you away to never hear from you again. After all, Morrigan was at his side, and Keir was no better in his good graces for it.

Cassian and Mor both advocated for taking you anyways, but you agreed with Azriel when he argued all the ways that could end badly. As much as you wanted out of that mountain, you wanted to truly be free from it. So, Rhysand continued his painstaking negotiations, with his patience whittling down to nothing. Compromise seemed impossible between the two bull-headed fae, and you began to wonder if the end was in sight.

Then, the worst came to pass.

Amarantha, who you had been carefully hidden from upon her visit to Hewn City (one of the only things Rhysand and your father could agree on), forever changed the the course of fate in one fell swoop.

It was Azriel who had visited you that morning, half-hidden in the shadows in case your father or one of his servants entered your room. He told you of the meeting Rhysand had been invited to with the other High Lords, Amarantha hoping to “make amends” for her actions during the war. He told you of Rhysand's plans to finally take you to Velaris, father be damned, before she was made aware of your existence.

"Pack only what you need," Azriel had said. "If Rhysand doesn't make it, I will come get you myself— Mor and Cassian have been preparing for you all morning."

You had laughed, sending him off with a chaste kiss on the cheek as he melted back into the darkness, his shadows curling around the hand you’d held against his jaw.

That was the last you had heard from them. For the next fifty years, you were well and truly alone.

-----

That night, your father had stormed into your room while you were getting your bag together. Grabbing it and you, he dragged you down to the dungeons and threw you in a cell with a simple “be quiet, and stay safe.”

It wasn't often that your father came to visit you himself. His visits became more and more scarce over the first few years, until you would go years before seeing him again. He looked more haggard every time. You were so lonely that you started to miss him.

You took solace in the darkness at first, but it soon became your greatest torment. Something would move in the corner of you eye and your heart would soar, thinking maybe—just maybe—those familiar shadows had found you. Maybe you would soon be free.

The wraith servants who brought you your food were your only company, and they barely said a word. The room was smaller than your bedroom, not much more than a cell with a bed, desk, and bookcase thrown in, and the bathroom had you longing for your carved tub.

No one would tell you anything. Screaming yourself hoarse got tiring after a while, and your father remained outwardly unmoved by your tears. A dread had crept into your chest, wondering if he had discovered Rhysand's plans to take you away to Velaris. He never mentioned it, but the timing couldn't have been more suspicious. No one had come for you, not even Azriel. How had he stopped even the Shadowsinger from getting to you? Surely the High Lord and his Spymaster had access to the Hewn City dungeon.

You stopped asking questions years ago. Now, you wallow in your monotony, reading every book on your shelf by dim candle light, and occasionally letting those delivering your food know that you needed new ones. They'd always bring you more the next morning, your father's scent, fir and petrichor, faint on the covers and pages. Some nights, when the isolation grew to be too much, you'd hold onto them and cry. You never thought you'd miss the days of your childhood, of him teaching you personally from his own library. You never thought you'd miss your father.

He'd never been like Keir, never treated you the way Mor was, but you'd certainly never have called him loving. And now, he'd locked you in a heavily warded cell and refused to tell you why. You started to feel an odd kinship with the monster you knew lurked beneath the stone, trapped here as you were, only seeing someone when it was time to be fed.

Time blurred together. How long had it been since Rhysand had promised to marry you, since Mor promised a shopping trip, Cassian promised to train you, and Azriel promised to make sure you made it to Velaris? Why had no one come for you?

"Who?" you ask, voice shaking as you sit up in your bed. "Why did you do this to me?"

Then, you’re woken one morning to some answers from your father.

"I'm sorry," he says, sitting on the edge of the mattress with his back to you. "I couldn't let them find you. They would have torn you to pieces just to hurt him."

A tense silence falls on the room. "Amarantha trapped the courts Under the Mountain. Rhysand stood at her side for fifty years, and his Inner Circle were unreachable."

Your heart plummets in your chest at his admission.

"I told Keir you were gone, that they had taken you before they disappeared," he continues, voice oddly soft. "I couldn't reach his daughter or the Spymaster, or even that damned General to take you away from here. He told Amarantha about you, wanting to get in her good graces, and she had that damn Attor tear the manor apart looking for you."

He runs a hand down the wall your headboard is against, and you get a peek at new scars across his skin as his sleeve falls at the motion. "This cell is warded heavily. If Rhysand knew you were in here, he was good at hiding it. But Keir kept sending his Darkbringers to check every so often, either hoping to catch me off-guard or just remind me of where I stand. This was the only place I could think of that even they wouldn’t search."

"What happened?" You finally ask. "Why tell me now?"

"Feyre Cursebreaker," he says with a resigned tone. "High Lady of the Night Court, and Rhysand's mate. She defeated Amarantha, and now we’re preparing for war with Hybern."

Nausea rises in your throat. Out of everything he said, Amarantha, Keir, war—one fact continues to ring in your head. "His mate."

“I’ve tried to get into contact with them since they reemerged, but they’ve refuse to hear me.” He looks back at you, and you wonder if his gaze has always looked so empty. “If Keir knows you are alive, he will kill us both. The High Lord’s lackeys are the only ones who can get you out safely.”

The stress of your situation settles heavily on your shoulders. “So I’m stuck here. Is that what this is leading up to?”

You watch his brows pinch as he considers for a long moment. With a weary sigh, he stands from your bed. “I’ll bring some stationery.”

He drags a heavy hand down his face, but makes no move to deny it.

“Let me write a letter,” you say. “They may not listen to you, but I may have more luck.”

-----

News of the war ending comes long before any response. A letter a month for three months, before they start getting sent back. Perhaps that in itself is a response. The first time he brings a letter back, you let yourself break down. It had been years since you had any hope hopes to crush, but you had let yourself imagine for a moment that it could all be over.

What was even waiting for you out there, now? Your future had been stolen from you the moment the High Lords put their trust in Amarantha, the moment Keir turned his gaze your way. Perhaps it was always supposed to happen like this, with you alone in the end and Rhysand with his mate and High Lady.

In the end, it's Keir who lets it slip and hands you the key to your freedom. Keir, whose mouth works faster than his brain, who looks for any opportunity to hurt his daughter. Keir who sneers, asking how Rhysand’s Hewn City pet felt about being pushed aside for Feyre Archeron.

And it's that daughter who finds you. Holed up in your cell, sitting on your bed and reading anything you can find to take your mind off of your eternal solitude.

It scares you, the way she throws the door open. Her eyes are wide, breath ragged, as if she'd run all the way down to the dungeon instead of the simple winnow she'd more likely done. You hold her gaze, eyes burning as the silent disbelief stretches between you. Setting your book down carefully, you stand from the bed slowly, as if moving too quickly would make her disappear. She stumbles forward, and you find yourself meeting her halfway as her arms wrap around you almost too tightly.

"I thought he was lying," she says, voice shaking. "I wanted him to be lying. I wanted to go back up there and tear his tongue from his lying mouth and—"

"I'm so sorry, Mor," you manage, squeezing her just as tightly.

"Rhys said you were dead, Y/N," she presses. "Your father—"

"Has been trying to tell you all."

A sob chokes its way through her throat, and you're soon joining her. You hear her try to ask more questions, most starting with why, but she seems to find the answers herself before she even gets them out.

"I'm so sorry, Mor," you repeat.

Your reunion doesn't last in peace much longer.

"We have to tell them," she says, face buried in your neck. "Cassian, Azriel— fuck, Y/N, we had a funeral for you. There's a bird bath in the garden with your name carved into it, we thought you were dead. Cauldron, we were just down here, how did we not…"

Pulling from her, you wipe your damp face with your sleeve. She doesn't let you go too far, an arm still wrapped firmly around your waist as she dabs at her own watery eyes.

"I'm getting you out of here." The words you wanted to hear all these years, feeling like a dagger to the heart.

"Mor," you sigh. "I don't know if I can go to Velaris anymore. It's been so long, but I don't know if I can stand in front of him and his mate and say I'm happy for him without breaking."

She cradles your cheek with her free hand, resolute. "Azriel should have taken you with him. He's regretted it every day, leaving you here. We won't make that mistake again. I have a place you can stay at, at least until you figure out what you want to do. But, please, don't ask me to leave you here."

Hesitation grips you tight, the fear of opening your heart up to hope once more. But the look in her brown eyes, her hands warm against your cheeks, has you nodding. "Okay. I'll go."

Her lips smash against your forehead, and you wonder idly if she left a smear of red behind as she pulls away to start grabbing your belongings.

The first time she winnows you into a forest, you cry. Maybe a single tear rolling down your cheek would have felt more poetic, but you're left with the embarrassing kind of chest-shaking sobs.

"It's okay," she murmurs, rubbing your back. "There's going to be a lot of that. Just let it out when it hits you."

Her attempts at lightening the mood are mostly successful, but a lingering dread persists in your gut as you get closer to Velaris. You trust Mor not to drag you there against your will, but there was nothing your mind was better at than exploring worst-case scenarios. The journey thankfully passes without incident, and as you set your bag down on her living room floor you find yourself buzzing with some kind of anticipation.

"Tell them." The sound of your voice has her head snapping to you, eyes wide. "I need a bath first, but… tell them. I can't ask you to lie for me, not to them."

Mor shows you to your room, and you do indeed take your bath. Feeling a little greedy with the hot water, you soak and scrub a little more than usual as you watch the trees outside the window.

A pained expression crosses her face as she takes you into her arms once more. As you wrap yourself around her in turn, you wonder the last time you've ever been held this much in your eighty-odd years.

"Take your bath," she says, voice soft. "There are very few things they'd drop to be here."

How did you ever survive inside of a mountain, never knowing the world outside? Would you survive if you were ever made to go back?

-----

You help Mor set the table. Adjusting plates to hide your shaking hands, rearranging silverware to keep your mind occupied. Eventually, she perks up with a shaking breath.

“Cas and Az are on their way,” she says, slowly sinking into her chair. Relief and disappointment grapple for control at the sound of the short list. The look she gives you does nothing to help.

“Feyre just… had a baby. She and Rhys won’t be leaving Velaris if they can help it.” A baby.

You manage a smile, as painful as it is genuine. “Tell them I understand, please. And that I’m happy for them.”

Her hands reach out across the table, taking yours and rubbing circles into your scrubbed-sore skin. “I’m so sorry this is how things happened. If we knew you were in there—”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything,” you interrupt. “Not really. But I’m out now.”

Squeezing her hands in reassurance, you watch her expression crumble. Desperate to change the conversation, a thought comes to you.

“Could we… eat outside?” Her head lifts at your words, eyes widening slightly. “I saw a table on the patio out back, and as lovely as your home is I don’t think I’ve gotten enough of… outside.”

She laughs, something happy and sad all at once as your words seep in. “Yeah. Yeah, we can eat outside. It’s nice out, anyways. Staying in would be a waste of a perfectly good sunset.”

And just like that, you once again busy yourself with setting the table. This time, however, your guests arrive before you can readjust the silverware. They sound like thunder as they near the patio, their wings covering you in momentary darkness. Then, a literal darkness as Azriel’s shadows swirl around you in a miniature tornado, checking for themselves that you’re you, and you’re alright.

“What the fuck,” Cassian begins, as eloquent as ever.

Mor comes behind you as you turn towards them, placing a grounding hand against the small of your back.

There’s a moment of stunned silence, no one knowing quite where to begin, before Cassian rushes in as he does best and sweeps you off your feet. You can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of your throat, holding him tightly as he swings you around. What feels like a sentient breeze plays with your hair and caresses your cheek, and you find yourself in another pair of arms as soon as your feet hit the ground.

Unspoken words hang heavy as Azriel carefully lowers you back onto the floor. From the lack of questions, you can deduce that Mor had filled them in as much as she could before their arrival. This wasn’t to be an interrogation.

“Who’s hungry?” She asks, pulling out a chair.

-----

Dinner is significantly less awkward than you had feared. Cassian and Morrigan do most of the talking, and a familiar darkness curls comfortingly around your leg whenever it feels you drifting someplace less pleasant.

“I think you’ll like Nesta,” Cassian says. “She can be a viper, but only if you’re trying to piss her off.”

You laugh as you push what’s left of your food around. “I hear she’s quite the reader. We’ll have some common ground at least.”

Mor’s breath hitches and you feel the shadows at your feet twitch in apprehension, but Cassian takes it in stride with a booming laugh. “Cauldron, I’d like to see that. Maybe you could expand each other’s horizons, start a book club.”

The topic dances around what you’re all trying to avoid; the one you’d been waiting to save you for over fifty years. Your head is spinning a bit from all the talking and laughing, but you fear if you send them home you’ll never see them again.

“Do you want to come to Velaris?” Azriel’s voice startles you so badly you nearly don’t even register the question.

“Az,” Mor hisses, all her delicate conversation work thrown out with one question.

You look at him as you consider your answer, and find he has no expectations written on his face. It’s not a probing question, no demand for a response. Just a friend asking where you stand.

“Eventually,” you say, voice quiet. “Maybe not yet.”

He nods, unwilling to press further, and motions for Cassian to continue.

“Not like we’d mind coming out here to visit,” the General says, barely missing a step. “Mor never lets us come around, now she can’t turn us away.”

She laughs, brushing off the earlier upset. “If I want to spend time with you all, I can do it at one of our, what is it, four houses in the city?”

The two continued their lighthearted bickering as you all finished up dinner, acting as if no time had passed. While you had time to mourn your lost future as Rhysand’s wife, you had truly missed the friendships that had been taken from you. Right on cue, as the dark thoughts began to creep in, you were pulled back out. This time not by the shadows lazing about your ankles, but their master himself, his warm hand covering yours on the table. His gaze is soft when you look at him, more vulnerable than you’re used to seeing him.

Mor’s words from earlier swim in your head. ‘He’s regretted it every day, leaving you here.’

Turning your hand over, you squeeze his back with a smile. “It seems we all have some catching up to do.”

“I can go into the city tomorrow and get some stuff for your room,” Mor says, clapping her hands together and drawing your attention. “This place is mine alone, so it’s home for as long as you’ll have it.”

All the laughing, smiling, and talking is starting to make your face hurt, but you can’t seem to stop. “Make sure you stop by a market. I’ve been craving blackberry pie for the last thirty-odd years, and I might just have to make it myself.”

Azriel squeezes your hand. “Elain can make one. I think she’d like to meet you.”

“She needs more friends,” Cassian says. “She might even wander off and turn that weed patch over there into a garden.”

“Hey!” Mor laughs. “Those aren’t weeds, they’re the natural flora of the area!”

You shrug. “They’re pretty to me. But I wouldn’t mind some flowers.”

The blonde smiles with a roll of her shining eyes. “Fine, she can plant some flowers.”

“Pushover!” Cassian shouts with a barking laugh.

In the morning, you��ll wonder if dinner even happened. If you were really free, if Mor, Cas, and Az were really here, wrapping arms and hands around you like the past fifty years had been a bad dream. You’ll lay there thinking about the future, about the one person you had been longing to see most who hadn’t been there at all. You’ll think about how to move forward, how to build a new life, and how to find your place in lives already built. You'll wonder why no one responded to your father, what had happened to your letters, why no one seemed to notice a cell in the dungeons being used for fifty years. Why Rhysand told them you were dead.

But for now, you think only of the people who are there, who are keeping your thoughts light and your glass full. No matter what happens, you know you’ll be able to keep walking forward, in whatever direction that may be in. So for tonight, you let those worries sit in the corner of your mind for another time.

#acotar #acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fic #arlathavellan: acotar #arlathavellan: fanwork

86 notes · View notes

maisonaime · 5 months

Text

Ilithyia's Blessings - Part 2

Warnings: mentions of past trauma, depiction of a panic attack, pregnancy trauma

Part 1

Part 2:

Mor was still on her knees in shocked silence when Amren finally snapped out of the daze of power Feyre had wielded against them. Bad. This was very very bad.

“Up girl, we have to find Nesta.” she snapped. Failing to ignore Mor’s trembling shoulders she added “I’m sure she didn’t mean it Morrigan. Wounded animals bite.”

You couldn’t keep your own from being desecrated. An iron nail, a note fluttering in the crisp Autumn wind, the crunching of boots retreating back through the fallen leaves. Agony.

Mor shook her head, tears falling freely. “I know she didn’t mean it, I could feel that her words — those words — weren’t her true feelings. I just… never thought she could…” words failed her.

Amren sighed and looked at the disarray around them, sniffing distastefully. “It seems we underestimated her. Feyre was raised in a pit of vipers, thrown to the wolves and then made an incredibly powerful Fae. She’s survived this long by the skin of her teeth, they were bound to be sharp.”

Mor wailed “She’s my sister. She’s our sister, Amren.”

Amren ran a hand over her face exasperatedly “And we’ve betrayed her, all of us. Her words were vile and you didn’t deserve them, but they are just words Morrigan. Feyre is wielding your trauma, as I suspect she’ll try to do with all of us, as a weapon to protect her from her own. All we can do is show her that no matter what she says or does, we will still be here waiting for her.”

Mor laughed bitterly, without a hint of humor, wiping at her face and rising to her feet. “I suppose no one knows how to hurt us quite like our own.”

Amren was already moving towards the door. “Yes. And one of our own is going to wipe Nesta off the face of this world when he learns of what happened here, if he hasn’t already. I won’t pretend the bitch deserves our protection after that fucking stunt, but I will not let this court be plunged into civil war because our High Lord mists the sister of our High Lady in a fit of rage.”

“Nesta deserves whatever comes to her.” Mor snarled, rage awakening her features.

Amren paused at the door, then turned to Mor with a determined glare. “Then so do we all Morrigan. I won’t pretend to have been any less a participant in creating this mess, but if we’re going to undo it we can’t hold to the pretense that any of us have acted correctly. No matter our intentions, the results have been disastrous.”

And since Mor could hardly deny the truth in that statement, she set out after Amren into the streets of Velaris. They winnowed along the path of Nesta’s scent as quickly as possible, noting the way black clouds above tracked them, roiling and crackling with the power of the High Lord of Night.

—

The world was cleaving, air would not pass into her lungs, and she was sure that if she wasn’t dead already she would be soon. Panic, cloying and thick, choked its way out of her stomach and onto the pearlescent tiles in front of her.

The thick bands of power pulled even closer around Feyre, blinding her surroundings and pulling oxygen from the air around her, folding the room into her. She could hear nothing above the roaring in her ears, her words played back to her at deafening speed and volume. Nothing made sense, nothing was as it should be.

She could feel the aching spot behind her ribs where the mating bond was smothered away, could feel the last dregs of Rhys tearing desperately across that mind bridge as she slammed the gates shut.

To be served, to be feared. She just wanted to be respected.

The iciness that she allowed to surface for her persona of cruelty. This is not the Court of Nightmares, this is your family. Stop. Stop. STOP.

What the hell had she said to Mor? Invoking her trauma like a dagger.

They lied, they lied to you. And now your child will die, and now YOU will die.

Not their fault, their fault, THEIR FAULT.

Warriors armed with tridents blasted powerful jets of seawater at the black vortex of power that had materialized in the middle of the room, holding it in place. Summer Court officials were already sounding alarm bells across the city and raising flags on the warships in Adriata’s port. Surely this was an attack of some sort.

Tarquin stood from his throne of shells and beachwood, assessing the violent haze of power that stifled the room and peeled through the layers of scent — panic, rage, confusion — until he stumbled across something familiar. With a start, he drew back into himself and sunk deep into the sea of his power. He drifted down and down until like called to like and he opened unseeing eyes to gaze at the pebble of his power, shrouded in darkness.

As if recognizing the soul stare he had pinned her with, the blackness released its protective, suffocating grip on Feyre, dissipating across the floor in every direction like the tide back out to sea. She was hunched over, heaving her lunch onto his floor. As she rose, Tarquin’s eyes widened at the sight of her swollen belly, the scent of new life radiating off of her.

He threw up walls of water around the two of them before the rest of the room could register that the High Lady of the Night Court had collapsed into their court, pregnant and distressed. Effectively sequestering them in a rippling fishbowl, for her safety, for the safety of his court, and if he were being perfectly honest… so that when Rhysand ripped through his mind in the moments before killing him he would see that at least Tarquin had tried to help his mate.

Feyre sputtered and gasped, hand still braced on her knees. “I need… I seek asylum in the Summer Court.” oh so now she was going the diplomatic route. “My life is in danger, my family and Court must not know where I am.” not a lie, just shocking .”Please grant me temporary protection and anonymity in your jurisdiction.”

The language she invoked demanded an answer, and Tarquin shuddered as the weight of her request settled between them.

“Feyre, are you quite su–” He began.

“Tarquin… please.” she met his eyes, he had never seen such despair, and before he knew what he was saying…

“Yes, I grant you asylum in the Summer Court with all associated protections.” he breathed.

He felt a tingling burn creep around his wrist as the promise was sealed in ink. Without another word he approached Feyre and winnowed them both to his office, releasing the walls of water with a burst of magic that would wash away the memory of the disruption before it could reach prying ears.

—

Cassian landed at the River House, wringing his hands as he approached Rhys’ office. He prayed Feyre would be there too so that they might rally Elain to go to Nesta. He had left the House of Wind when he sensed her in the bathroom and heard the tub running. A part of him thought twice about leaving her alone but it would be mere minutes before someone was at her side.

He pushed open the unlocked door to Rhys’ study, finding his brother bent over correspondence, looking older than Cassian had ever seen him as he rubbed at his temple.

“Cassian you won’t believe what these Autumn fucks want– what’s wrong?” Rhys snapped, his eyes narrowing at his brother’s evasive gaze.

“Nesta, she – fuck Rhys I fucked it all. I wanted to know what she would name a weapon and the godsdamned woman is too fucking insightful. She saw right through me and pried everything out about the weapons and the vote we took. I think it undid every bit of progress we’ve been trying to make, and I just… FUCK.” he slammed his hands down onto the desk and then resumed his pacing, tearing at his hair.

Rhys was just about to start dousing this newest little fire with a word to his mate to send Elain to the House of Wind when he felt two sets of wards shattering in rapid succession. A deep tug from behind his navel alerted him to the old wards on the Townhouse tumbling down. The second set of wards fracturing set his skin on fire.

Feyre.

The careful netting of protection he had placed around her the moment he learned of their son, was unraveling. As he shot a frantic message down their mental bridge, he was met with walls of obsidian. Silence stretched and burned down their bond as he felt unholy might smother his connection to his mate. Rhysand clawed his way across the unsteady path toward Feyre’s mind, but each drag forward seemed only to push her presence further away. Moments later he choked on his horror as he realized her couldn’t feel her at all.

The clouds over the River House coalesced into black ether snapping with rabid lightning and quickly spreading out from Illyria to Velaris, blanketing the world in darkness. Seeking out the source of this mayhem for the hunt to follow.

Cassian somehow knew, as he gaped at his brother, that Nesta had most certainly not been in the bath, and was most certainly not going to be found at the House of Wind. His feet were moving before his mind could catch up with the scene around him

He was already soaring through the air towards Velaris when Rhys unleashed his power in a roar that nearly sent Cassian tumbling out of the sky.

As he was rolling through the air on the shockwave, Cassian faced up at the sky and saw the storm clouds of Rhys’ manic power surging in a path over the town. As he shot along their path, he recognized the exact part of town they were leading to.

He knew exactly what – who he would find there.

40 notes · View notes

thesistersarcheron · 1 year

Text

Pairing: Feysand Rating: E Word Count: ~3.7k Summary: Every court has their own Great Rite with unique, ancient traditions. The Night Court’s priestesses have played coy with Rhysand since he inherited the throne last year about what imbuing the land with his power really means; all they tell him is that he is meant to spend the night in the Night Court’s mines while everyone else gets to attend the orgy without him. He doesn’t expect to find Feyre, a faerie made of crystal who leads him on a chase deeper and deeper into the mines as the Rite’s magic overcomes him. ———Check out Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, and Chapter 4 on tumblr, go to my masterlist for more, or read this fic on AO3 here.

“Pick one.”

The hand around Feyre’s waist tightened, and her mate’s lips grazed her temple.

Feyre shook her head, struck speechless, and tore her eyes—wide and awed—from the wall of crowns in front of her to glance, uncertain, at Rhys.

“I can’t just—take one.”

Her voice was breathless. Awed.

And she had been rendered so by the radiant, endless trove of jewels stretching out around her on all sides.

After a week in a palace made of moonstone atop the tallest of the southern mountains, Feyre thought little would have the ability to do that anymore. Jewels rarely impressed, anyway, and after experiencing the mating frenzy…

It had consumed her and Rhysand both, and they had surrendered to the seemingly endless pleasure it wrung from them gladly. The memory of the long, endless nights taking her fill of him left her weak in the knees and wanting.

And although Rhys’s scales and claws had receded back into the deep well of power within him after that first night, he had not bothered to replace the damper on his power. She spent the full week at the heart of it with him, bathed in the night-dark tendrils rippling off him like smoke—dreams and nightmares and lullabies given form. They reached for her, drawing her deeper and and deeper into their embrace, and each new caress of Rhys’s magic against her skin was more silken and decadent than the last.

Those ribbons of dreams were dotted with stars that coalesced into shining diamond cuffs around her wrists. During one of the lulls, Rhys had smiled to see the way they shone against her skin and, with a snap of his fingers, replaced them with the real thing, drawn out of some pocket dimension with half a thought. That brief moment of clarity had faded again into burning, animal desire when he saw them on her.

They ate simple meals while lounging in bed together—roast chicken and greens, creamy soups, richly spiced stews—and swam in a bathing pool cut into the cliffside and climbed to the peak of the mountaintop palace to gaze up at the stars at night from cushions of eiderdown, until the ever-present need roared back to life and Feyre found herself sprawled over the table or perched on the lip of a balcony.

They talked, and Feyre learned more about her High Lord than she’d ever dared to imagine—the models of the stars he built in rare moments of leisure, the artist’s quarter he couldn’t wait to show her in a city called Velaris, what coming up as a half-Illyrian in a war camp had been like, the family he lost and the Inner Circle he would protect to his final breath.

She barely had the presence of mind to have Rhys jot down a note for her sisters to let them know where she was and why she never returned from the Fire Night festivities. Rhys had groaned at the reminder that the world spun on without them, but wrote a second note to that Inner Circle.

“So they don’t get any ideas about interrupting,” he’d murmured darkly, slicing the line through a T with calm, murderous grace that made Feyre’s blood heat again. “For at least a week.”

They barely pulled themselves together when a pair of them finally came knocking the morning after Rhys’s deadline. The roguish, long-haired male and the gorgeous blonde female, Rhys’s cousin Morrigan, who had accompanied him into the cave during the Rite winnowed into the dining room in the middle of the first breakfast they managed to eat without interruptions.

Feyre had to give it to them. Their timing was incredible.

But as Rhys set down the knife he was using to butter his toast, he shot a look like cold death into one of the writhing shadows in the corner of the room, and Feyre realized for the first time that tendril of darkness was not one of his. The shadowsinger’s then. The male Rhys considered a brother.

And in the dining room, Rhys’s second brother took one long look at Feyre, and drawled, “Well, she certainly beats a crate of jewels, Rhysie.”

A snarl ripped out of Rhys, so furious and savage that Feyre dug her fingers into his arm, as if she might have to hold him back.

“Cassian.”

“I’ve never had an oread before,” Cassian went on, tying back his dark hair. His wings flexed, spreading wide.

Rhys fisted his hands on the table and rose so, so slowly from his chair.

Cassian paid him no mind, waggling his brows at Feyre instead.

Gently, Rhys pried her hand off of him. One glance at his face revealed feral, predatory fury.

The wrath of a newly mated male.

Feyre had to avert her eyes to avoid the temptation to drag him out of the room and show him what she thought of the beastly snarl on his lips.

Morrigan, who had been half-hidden behind the hulking Illyrian, peered around the edge of one wing and gasped at the sight of her. She nudged Cassian with a sharp elbow.

“Hurry it up,” she hissed out of the side of her mouth.

Cassian chuckled, rolling his shoulders. “Is it true that her pu—”

Rhys exploded.

Fists flew, teeth snapped, growls cut the air, and Feyre cringed as blood sprayed a pile of silk cushions piled on the floor after Rhys slammed a particularly vicious punch into the side of Cassian’s face. The general gave as good as he got, though, ducking the next blow and kicking Rhys back, gaining a moment’s reprieve to regain his footing before Rhys winnowed behind him and trapped him in a headlock.

“Welcome to the family,” Morrigan said, her songbird voice dry as ash, as she breezed past Rhys and Cassian with so little care that Feyre surmised that their dirty, ferocious brawling was a regular occurrence. She took Feyre’s hand, pulling her out of her own chair and spinning her into a twirl so insistently that Feyre couldn’t refuse. “And, oh, just look at you! Amren’s going to have a heart attack.”

Feyre’s jaw dropped. “Amren?”

The name brought to mind claws so sharp they tore through the very fabric of the world, glowing eyes that peered through the tears to hunt their master’s prey—

“Mor!” Rhys barked. The hold he had on his brother slipped as Cassian dropped to his knees, dragging Rhys down with him. “Fuck, Feyre, don’t—“

Cassian sank his teeth into Rhys’s arm, and Feyre’s horror melted into uneasy concern as Rhys swore filthily.

She took a step toward the brawling males. “Should we…?”

Mor caught her by the arm.

“Oh, don’t worry about those two. Or Amren. Rhys needs to get it out of his system sooner or later, and even if he’s been terribly selfish keeping you all to himself up here, Amren wouldn’t dare take a chunk out of the newest member of our little circle for her collection.” She winked at Feyre, who did her best to forget decades of chilling bedtime stories. “We have things to do, anyway.”

Feyre eyed the wrestling males. “What, like give each other concussions?”

Mor barked a laugh, but Feyre couldn’t look too long; just the sight of Rhys’s shirt riding up and the muscles flexing beneath it as he bared his teeth stoked the fire between her legs—

Her mate stilled, his dark eyes cutting to her.

Mor and Cassian seemed to sense it, too. Cassian took advantage and rolled, pinning Rhys beneath him, and Mor, still snickering under her breath, took Feyre by the elbow.

“You’ll fit in nicely.” She squeezed Feyre’s arm. “Come, let’s polish you up and see if we can’t get Nuala and Cerridwen to scrounge up something for you to wear. They were beside themselves when they heard the news, you know. One of their own on the throne after a Great Rite mating ceremony. It’s like something from a storybook.”

Tearing her attention away from Rhys, away from the sobering reminder of her new place amongst the Night Court’s ruling family, Feyre asked, “Nuala and Cerridwen?”

“The wraiths who deliver the offerings to your people on Fire Night. They’ve been here all week, making sure you two didn’t starve to death while—” Mor cut herself off, and a knowing smirk curled the corner of her red-painted lips. She glanced at Feyre. “Hm. I supposed you wouldn’t have seen them. They’re quite discreet.”

Feyre cast her mind back to all of the meals that appeared like clockwork wherever she and Rhys found themselves at mealtimes—their bedside, the bathing pool cut into the mountain, the wide balconies overlooking the snow-kissed mountain range beyond, and, once, against a wall in one of the wide, endless hallways—and blanched. “No, I suppose I haven’t.”

“Well they have excellent taste. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about.”

And she didn’t. The twin wraiths stepped out of the shadows in the stairwell that led to the High Lord’s suite, falling into step on either side of them.

As they approached the door, Mor made a choked noise. The room was restored to immaculate order, the bed made so neatly Feyre could bounce a copper off of the plush comforter, but even the open windows did nothing to clear the scent of herself and Rhysand, embedded as it was on every surface in the room, from the air.

“Perhaps you might wish to stay here while we dress her, Lady,” one of the wraiths murmured, quiet laughter in that voice. Mor nodded, wrinkling her nose, and Feyre…

Feyre bit her lip to suppress her own grin at Mor’s relieved nod.

She couldn’t find it in herself to be ashamed of thoroughly loving her mate. Already, the bond ached keenly, and all of those years of longing in the mines paled in comparison to the razor-sharp yearning strumming down that line.

“Yes,” Mor said. She was still smiling, though, so happy for her cousin that Feyre couldn’t help but adore her. “Perhaps I might.”

And Nuala and Cerridwen were discreet, just like Mor promised, dressing Feyre in a gauzy replica of the gown she wore for the Rite without a single sly look or snide word. That gown had been reduced to dust by Rhys, as had many of the clothes she’d worn recently, and one of them—Nuala, maybe, but telling them apart was near impossible even after they introduced themselves—only winked when she asked how they possibly could have remembered what she was wearing that night. The dress was a perfect copy; the only difference was the band of diamonds belted at her waist to hold the two panels together and the diamond cuffs they sighed dreamily upon seeing on the vanity and fastened around her wrists.

They didn’t linger, either. One twin brushed her hair into a smooth sheet of gold and the other buffed a cloth over her skin until she sparkled with practiced efficiency, and they handed her back to Mor within minutes.

The fight was over when they reached the dining room. Rhys must have won the fight and healed most of his injuries—the hole Cassian had bit through his sleeve had disappeared completely. His skin glimmered faintly with the residue of his magic under the light, and his wings, drawn out of that secret place where he kept them hidden, were spread wide. So arrogantly wide that Cassian, shuffling about somewhere behind him, was obscured from view.

“You’re a vision, Feyre darling,” Rhys said, at her side in a heartbeat. His eyes flashed, and the heat in them was a white-hot brand against her skin. They should have known better than to put you in that dress today.

She reached out, ignoring the way she was suddenly aware of the weight of her breasts beneath the taunting silk, to graze a sickeningly dark bruise on his jaw that he’d missed. “I wish I could say the s—“

Cassian groaned under his breath. “Oh, blease, fucking sbare be.”

At her side, Mor snorted. “Ego a bit sore, Cass?”

Feyre craned her neck, peering around Rhys’s wings.

Please don’t look at him, the thought that slid into her mind was strained, apologetic, and…

Feyre bit her lip. Those impressive wings weren’t spread out of simple dominance, but as a screen to block Cassian from view. Her view, if the way Mor grabbed a napkin from the table and swanned around them was any indication.

And Feyre couldn’t resist poking the bruise, just a bit. Perhaps it was cruel to test Rhys’s limits while the instincts of the mating frenzy still raged, but she wanted—needed—to know. So she lifted herself onto her toes, peeking over her mate’s shoulder and through his wings…

And found Cassian nursing a crooked nose that seeped blood onto the floor.

“Noses are off libits when we’re sbarring,” he was grumbling, spitting a mouthful of blood into the napkin Mor handed him with a grin. “An’ always hab been.”

Mor lifted a brow. “And biting isn’t?”

Feyre couldn’t help herself. Mor’s poorly concealed amusement was contagious, and she laughed. “Poor Illyrian baby.”

Rhys stiffened, his lips a thin line, and held out an arm to Feyre. “We need to go. Now, please.”

“Such manners,” Mor trilled. She met Feyre’s eye over her cousin’s shoulder, wicked amusement in her warm eyes. “Do try to get yourselves under control before you come back. It would be such a shame to see the Court of Nightmares reduced to bloody rubble.”

Feyre started. “The Court of Nightmares?”

“They’ll love you.” The next look Rhys cast at her promised to devour her, but his eyes snagged on the arm she threaded through his, the facets of her skin glittering faintly in the watery morning light stretching in through the wall of windows to their left. “Though a little bloody rubble might help convince them of it.”

His tone was so flatly serious that Feyre didn’t have anything to say to that.

So she cleared her throat. “What does she mean, ‘before you come back?’”

If he were put off by the abrupt change of subject, Rhys didn’t show it. No, he only shot her a devious grin and said, “Before we come back.”

Magic tugged and wind whipped and Feyre shrieked as the ground fell out from beneath her as Rhys winnowed them into the sky. His wings were already extended, beating hard, and she clung to him as they soared to a balcony twenty feet below.

The shock of falling and landing and throwing a shoe at her mate’s head (“Some warning next time, you prick!”) bled together; it wasn’t until Rhys apologized, brushing a chuckling kiss over her lips, that she relented and allowed him to lead her into another mountaintop palace, this one made of red stone.

Down and down and down, they descended into the dark heart of the mountain as he explained his plans for the afternoon. He spoke until they came to a door sealed by a web of wards and spells that, smiling softly at her, Rhys disabled with a wave of his hand.

The door slid open, and he gestured her forward.

Into a trove bursting with treasure.

She gasped. The collection stretched from wall to wall on either side of them, caskets and busts and mountains of riches fading back into shadow as far as Feyre could see, all of it brilliantly lit with a gentle turquoise light that shimmered off of the ceiling like…

Glowworms. Just like glowworms.

Feyre looked closer, and she could see that the trove was lit by glowworms, the floor formed of glassy obsidian tile that stretched as far as the eyes could see, reflecting the glittering jewels and metals and silks like a night-sky blanket of constellations over still water.

“It’s… Gods, it’s just like the altar.”

Feyre took a step into the room, breathless at the sight of a trunk full of gems the size of her fist. She startled when the floor beneath her shimmered and shifted, skittering backward as if she might sink into it like she might have fallen into the lake under the mines. But when she glanced down, she found only herself, her sparkling, polished skin incandescent, as if she were lit from within by that gentle light from above.

“One of my ancestors must have taken some inspiration from the Rite,” Rhys said, brushing a soothing hand down her arm. Together, they watched the light shatter and refract against his own golden skin until Rhys took a deep breath, cooling the warmth kindling on the bond between their souls.

“Come,” he said, lacing their fingers together.

He drew her to the back of the trove, past countless millennia worth of treasure collected by High Lords who, Cauldron save her, must have magpie blood somewhere in their line. Just one of the many trunks they passed put the small collection of gems Rhys had amassed over the years, Feyre’s favorites, to shame.

But she couldn’t spot any of her jewels in the collection. No, with every step, the heady need thrummed back to life once more, burning hotter and harder than before.

Rhys groaned low in his throat. The sound shattered Feyre’s fragile resolve, but when she turned toward him, he was gone.

“Run, Feyre,” a dark voice rasped into her ear.

A clawed hand traced the edge of her gown from the pulse pounding in the hollow of her throat to the jeweled belt at her hips, rough calluses scraping the skin exposed by the low neckline. He barely stopped to graze her breasts, didn’t so much as weigh them in his palm, and Feyre whimpered with need as his hand stopped by her navel. A long, long tongue licked a hot line up her throat. He gripped her belt, pulling until she felt the hard length of him against her ass.

“I want to chase my pretty little gemstone again.” She was shaking with anticipation by the time his hand fell away and he growled, “Run.”

So Feyre ran, adrenaline pumping fire and ice through every inch of her body. She darted across rivers of sapphire and through forests of emeralds. Rhys nearly caught her beside a small sea of diamonds—a shining glass display laden with bracelets and lavaliers and rings—and she ducked away, laughing breathlessly as she climbed across mounds of intricate, hand-knotted rugs straight from Cesere. A swath of shadow swiped out of the shadows at her; Feyre shrieked, whirling away, but he caught her around the middle, dragging her down to the plush silk beneath her feet.

Their joining was hard and fast. Rhys laid her out on the rugs, dragging her skirt to the side with one hand and freeing his cock with another. Then his mouth was on her, feasting once again, and then he was in her, around her, and the bond became all she knew. All sounds were muted, all colors faded, and all that existed was the feeling of him, falling into eternity beside her. Everywhere she looked she saw him, all scales and claws and rolling muscle, surrounded by twinkling constellations of fragmented light, and he held her, moving in her, carrying her through it, as she shattered for him again and again until he joined her.

They didn’t speak when it ended; no words were necessary. Rhys simply held her, cradling her with infinite tenderness, as if she were the most precious treasure to be found in the trove.

Long moments passed before a cooling wave of magic restored her to perfect order, hair neat and skin shining. The wrinkles fell out of her dress as they stood, his scales melting away, and he cupped her jaw in his hand.

He studied her for a moment. Whatever he was looking for and whatever he found made him smile.

He brushed a kiss over her lips. “My Feyre.”

Feyre brushed back a strand of raven-black hair, watching his eyes flutter shut. The lines of his face softened, and her chest seemed too small to contain the urgent, depthless affection beating against her breast with bruising force.

“Rhys…”

His hand caught hers, and he laid another kiss to the inside of her wrist. “I know.”

Then he guided through the aisles of finery once more to a wall of crowns set into glowing niches. Each was studded with gems so fine that Feyre had never seen their like in all her years in the mines, each different from the last and so brilliant in its own right that they must all be priceless…

And he wanted her to choose one.

He pulled her impossibly closer, murmuring against her temple once more, “Go on, Feyre darling. Whichever one you like.”

“I can’t,” she said again. Still, she reached out a hand to test the platinum point of one diadem crafted to look like a band of stars.

“It will be hard to find one that doesn’t pale in comparison to you,” her mate crooned, nipping at her ear. “None of it compares to you. None of it ever could.”

A delicious shiver raked its fingers up Feyre’s body.

“Choose one, High Lady,” he whispered against her skin.

Fear followed those words—fear and anxiety and dread. What business did she have on the throne?

But a thrum across the bond grounded her, and when she glanced over her shoulder, she found Rhys looking back, solemn and understanding. Another pull at the bond, this time full of promise—to help her, to guide her, and to show her how to rule at his side as his equal.

The Night Court chose you. The midnight voice in her mind was a gentle thing. Fragile. But it is a sacrifice, to accept the magic’s decision. I understand if you don’t—

“No,” Feyre said, reaching deep within herself. Deeper than the connection between their minds, deeper than the bond between their souls, down, down, down to the endless abyss of starlight that had chosen her, revealed itself and opened to her, atop the altar. It was life and death and endless, shimmering bliss, and its lights danced and shone under her attention. “I do.”

Rhys loosed a shuddering breath of relief.

Feyre gripped his hand and reached for the diadem of stars.

#feysand #feyre archeron #rhysand #rhys #a court of thorns and roses #a court of thorns and roses fic #my fics #bejeweled #feyrhys #feyre x rhys #rhys x feyre #acotar #smut #acotar fic #it is what it is and it is finished which is all that matters to me rn #did someone say secret court of nightmares bonus chapter? maybe! but not rn

86 notes · View notes

feysandcracks · 2 years

Text

Hey all!!!!

We’re so excited to finally announce our prompts for Feyre Week! And again, sorry it’s a bit late but thank you all so much for your patience 💕

We also decided to extend the week to 9 days. This is because we wanted to get as much of Feyre’s story here as possible so we can celebrate it all!!

Here’s what these prompts will mean:

Day 1: The Huntress 🏹

We met Feyre when she was just a 19 year old human girl fighting for survival. She went out to hunt and provide for her family at the young age of 14 right up until she was taken to Prythian. We wanted to incorporate Feyre’s skill as a human before Prythian and the Night Court. This is a perfect time to highlight her wounded inner child, the neglect suffered from her family and her brutal living conditions, yet through it all, she never once gave up on herself or her family. A true sister right there!!

Day 2: Cursebreaker ⚔️

We see how far Feyre is willing to go to protect those she loves. This is shown in the first book when she was Under the Mountain fighting Amarantha’s 3 trials as a 19 year old human, so this day will be dedicated to Feyre and her courage/resilience while UTM and her badassery during the wyrm trial!!!!

Day 3: Winter Solstice ❄️

This day is the most important day of the week. Why you ask? Well it’s Feyre’s birthday!!!!! This day will be a celebration of Feyre and her family. You can freely do whatever it is you want to celebrate Feyre’s birthday. Literally anything!! This can be commissioning/creating art of Feyre and her family during her birthday, writing modern fics of Feyre in New York celebrating her bday, OR, making yourself a Christmasy beverage/baking a cake in honour of Feyre. We would love to see it so tag us and we’ll reblog it. This will be an interactive day for all. So don’t be afraid to get creative in honour of our High Lady!!!

Day 4: The Inner Circle ✨

To both old and new members of the inner circle, this day will highlight Feyre’s relationship with her found family. From Cassian and Morrigan’s brotherly/sisterly friendship, Amren and her viper tongued advice, Rhys and his never ending charm, to Azriel defending Feyre during the High Lord meeting. This day is for all who love the inner circle and their importance in Feyre’s growth and life throughout he series. This day will also be dedicated to celebrating Feyre’s new sisterly relationships with Elain and Nesta that none of them ever truly had before. The Archeron’s are just as important in Feyre’s story as the Inner Circle is, so for those who love all the characters, don’t be afraid. This week is for all!!!

Day 5: Starfall 💫

This day will be for celebrating starfall with our High Lady and her family. This can be dedicated to Feyre’s first starfall, the starfall in acosf where a very interesting red star fell through the sky (😉), or the next future starfall where Feyre celebrates with all her family and friends and little Nyx. This day is for you to decide what you want to do!!!

Day 6: The High Lady 👑

Feyre is the first ever High Lady in Prythian’s history. She is also the most powerful Fae in history with all the powers of the 7 High Lords combined. She defended Velaris, the City of Starlight and earned her title as High Lady long before her people knew she was theirs. So this day will showcase Feyre’s powers, rulership, serious side and her place in the Court of Nightmares, but it will also show her soft charitable side as High Lady too!!

Day 7: The Rulers of Night 🌌

Yes this is the moment you’ve all been waiting for. Feysand!!!! This day is for celebrating feysand from the beginning of their relationship to them becoming parents in acosf. Nyx will also be heavily celebrated during this day, so feel free to make as many fics/art as you want of mama Feyre with papa Rhys and baby Nyx. Or maybe you want to do something about older Nyx training with Rhys and painting with Feyre? It’s totally up to you!! It will also be a day to celebrate them as rulers together!! *insert Feysand pov fic at the Court of Nightmares in acosf*

Day 8: The Painter 🎨

Feyre expresses the deepest and sometimes darkest parts of herself through painting. It’s a time where she can be free to express her emotions without having to communicate with others. In the series we see how important painting is for Feyre. It was a safe haven for her in her darkest times. When she was living in poverty, she would try and save as much money as she could to paint on any surface. It was the only time that she got peace in the harsh world she was living in. Her biggest dream pre-Prythian was to have enough money to take care of herself and her father while also having enough to buy paints. That was her biggest dream. And look how far she has come since then. Now she has opened her own art studio for children of war so they can freely express themselves without judgment and without having to verbally communicate it. So this day is dedicated to Feyre’s favourite hobby which has inspired many both in out out of the series!!!

Day 9: Free Day 💜

This is a open day for everyone. You can decide what you want to celebrate on the last day of Feyre week. So be creative and don’t hold back!!

Reminder: this week is for all who love Feyre no matter what side of the fandom you’re on. This is not a week to bash other characters you don’t like or attack fans of characters you don’t like. If you love Feyre and don’t like other characters, just celebrate Feyre. If you hate Feyre and love every other character, simply filter Feyre week content and block my account so you won’t have to see it on your feed. Bullying and offensive posts will not be tolerated during this week. So please act like civil adults and spread positivity instead so all Feyre stans can enjoy this week in peace. Thank you!!!

120 notes · View notes

acourtofbooksandfantasy · 3 years

Text

Starfall - Azriel x fem! Reader

Disclaimer: this is my first piece I’ve ever published. I’m not taking requests but would be open to ideas for new things to write! Let me know what you think. I had this idea the other day and couldn’t stop thinking about it until I wrote it down. I also originally named the main fem! character but decided to make it Y/N at the last minute, so if her name is in there then whoops! Either way, enjoy xx

Starfall. The most beautiful night in Prythian. Souls traveling to a far off place, leaving a blinding beauty in their wake. The Night Court prepared for weeks to welcome their passage.

Each member of the Inner Circle enjoyed this day, but Azriel often used this day to mourn. And to hope. Each year, he would wish upon those flying glimmers of starlight. Praying. Hoping. One day, he would find his mate.

In the past, he used the evening to drink and pray and hope that Mor would realize she was his mate. But when she and Emerie confirmed their mating bond two years prior, Azriel simply used this evening to wish upon the stars for someone of his very own.

This year was not any different, until two months before when a secret Illyrian camp was raided and a young woman was found, wingless. She was battered and bruised, terrified of any male who came near her. Cassian had brought her back to the House of Wind with Feyre’s help, to give her a place to recover and rest.

Over the coming weeks, she revealed to Mor and Amren that her name was Y/N, and that she had been sold to the foul Illyrians at a high price to help support her family. She was used for work, cleaning and cooking, and kept in a small room. She revealed her wings were taken after a visit where Rhysand and Cassian required Devlon to start training all Illyrian females. As she told the story, even Amren shed a tear.

Cassian and Azriel were introduced to Y/N, along with Nesta, to help train her. Even without wings, Feyre believed it would do her much good to know how to protect herself. And Y/N vowed she would never again let someone lay hands on her unless she asked. Over the weeks, Cassian and Azriel coached from the sidelines as Nesta and Mor demonstrated and helped, since Y/N still feared the males being too close. Each day she grew a little stronger, and became more confident. It became evident just how much the training was helping her mentally when she agreed to come out for a night at Rita’s with the Inner Circle. Much to Morrigan’s delight, as she would finally have a friend to dance with who wouldn’t make inappropriate comments like Cass.

Azriel couldn’t help but watch from across the bar as Mor and Y/N jumped and spun, without a care in the world. However, he became alarmed as he noticed two dark males approaching her from behind. Each one reached to grab her arms, and he growled as he flew from his chair. He pushed the men back, scooping Y/N into his arms and winnowing both her and Mor to the back of the bar where he knew no one would be. When he put her down, Y/N stared at him breathlessly. She couldn’t believe it, but when he came out of nowhere to rescue them, she hadn’t felt fear. In fact, she felt a strange pull in her stomach. Deep, aching. Longing. Like, she had known him before, in another time perhaps.

The mating bond.

It caused her to step back as it snapped into place.

But Azriel didn’t seem to notice a thing.

“Are you alright?” He asked, gently brushing a hand to her elbow as she stood, star struck.

“Yes. I’m fine….thank you.” She replied after a few awkward seconds.

Mor gave her a puzzling look, “Uh…okay you two let’s go home. Az…”

He grabbed their hands and winnowed them back to their home.

That night, Y/N sat alone in her room, feeling a pull towards the shadowsinger’s room. She knew she should probably stay, but she couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if she went. Her curiosity got the best of her, and all of a sudden she was stood outside his bedroom. One hand ready to knock, but unsure of what she would say. She stood there nervously until the door cracked open, and Azriel popped his head out into the hall. He was only wearing some trousers, his hair disheveled from the slumber he’d just awoken from.

“ Y/N. Is there…something wrong?” He asked nervously.

“I…I…” Y/N scrambled for a reason to be in front of his door, “I sometimes have nightmares. I can’t fall asleep because I’m afraid of having a terrible dream.”

“Oh. I see.” Azriel said.

Y/N stood there, unsure of what to do next, “I shouldn’t have come. I’m sor-“

But before she could finish her thought, he grabbed her wrist gently and brought her inside.

“You can stay for a little while if you’d like,” Azriel started, “I have nightmares too. About my hands. And my mother. We can watch out for each other. And I can take you back to your room when you’re ready. You take the bed, I can sleep here.” He gestures to the small couch at the foot of his bed.

“Azriel I don’t want to take your bed.” Y/N stated, feeling guilty about coming in the first place.

“I insist.” Azriel gestured to the bed.

She sat down on the edge, as he laid himself on the couch that was barely big enough for him and his enormous wings. Even with them all tucked in, he nearly spilled out the sides of the couch.

She laid down as well, waiting for slumber to set in, but it didn’t, because she could only focus on the tug from her to him.

Close to an hour had passed, when finally a whisper emerged from the quiet. “Az?” Y/N lay flat on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

“Yes?” Azriel replied timidly.

“Can you…can you come up here?” Y/N asked rather calmly.

Silence filled the room, before the tall and dark Illyrian stood from the couch, slowly setting himself down on the other side of the bed. He lay flat on his back as well, as if trying to avoid touching her at all costs.

She reached across the bed and found his hand, interlocking her fingers in his. She rubbed her thumb along the lines of his scars.

“Thank you. For rescuing me. Maybe I can help rescue you from your nightmares?” Y/N said.

Azriel smiled at the ceiling in the dark, “Perhaps.”

________________________________________

Each of the girls from the Inner Circle had gone to the seamstress weeks prior to the event to have gowns made for the celebration. Each of the girls selected a gown some shade of Night Court black, except for Y/N. Feyre and the rest of the Night Court females found a gorgeous silver silk fabric, embedded with tiny crystals. When held up to the light, the fabric twinkled like a sea of stars.

“ Y/N! Since you are our special guest for the celebration, you should have a dress made from this!” Mor shouted, shoving a pile of the fabric into Y/N’s arms.

Y/N stared, mouth wide open, “I’m not sure, I don’t want to…”

Feyre stopped her by gentle placing a hand on her shoulder. “You are not a burden, and no one will be upset if you outshine every one of us. You deserve to have a night as fabulous as you are after all you’ve endured.”

Y/N smirked and nodded. “Okay, you’ve convinced me. I’ll have a dress made from this!”

________________________________________

The males waited, rather impatiently, in the front hall at the bottom of the staircase.

“You all have been getting ready since 10 o’clock this morning, you can’t SERIOUSLY still be primping can you??” Cassian grumbled as he leaned back on the wall.

Morrigan exited her room where they had all been drinking, giggling, and preparing for the evening. “You clearly have no understanding of what getting ready means to females, “ she said as she rolled her eyes at the general.

One by one, each of the girls stepped out. Feyre and Y/N were the last left inside the room. “You look lovely, Y/N. I’m so glad you’ve become one of our best friends.” Feyre gave Y/N a small squeeze. Y/N smiled, still appearing somewhat nervous for this evening.

Feyre studied her face closely, “He will think you are the most magnificent creature in the room tonight,” she whispered with a wink.

All the breath left Y/N’s lungs as she thought of the spymaster.

Mate.

Her heart pounded as Feyre gave her hand a quick squeeze before heading to the staircase. “Come along, Y/N. Let’s show them what you’ve got.”

________________________________________

His breath caught in the back of his throat at the sight of her at the top of the staircase.

The floor length gown had a deep v down the front, with two sheer straps that wrapped over her shoulders and crossed in the back. The silky fabric flowed as she took each step. She shimmered like starlight, and as the shimmering fabric moved it made it as thought Y/N herself was glowing in the night.

“Holy shit.” Cassian mumbled under his breath. Nesta elbowed him in the stomach, causing him to go into a coughing fit.

As Y/N reached the bottom of the stairs, everyone stopped what they were doing.

“Well, shall we?” Rhysand asked with a playful grin, simultaneously locking arms with his mate and nudging his spymaster brother towards the girl in the sparkling gown.

Azriel and Y/N stood for a moment. Y/N’s eyes remained focused on her feet, and Azriel watched as she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. In that moment, when she looked up and locked eyes with him, he felt everything. A rushing of magic, or spirit, or something, coursed through his veins.

“Mate,” he said, so softly that only she could hear.

They remained frozen in time, stood there, taking in one another. As if their souls needed time to catch up on all the time they had been apart.

Azriel extended a hand to her, and their hands intertwined as they left the front hall. As they walked, Azriel leaned in and whispered to his mate, “You know, it might be hard to keep my hands off of you tonight.” Y/N peered up at him through her thick eyelashes. “You are quick to forget, I have not accepted the bond yet,” she replied with a smirk.

“You wound me, my love,” he stated with a look of bewilderment and shock. It took everything in him not to scoop her into his arms and winnow back to his room, to have his way with her right then and there.

________________________________________

They danced most of the night. So much so, that Cassian made several jokes about how he’d never seen his brother dance that much in their entire lives. It didn’t bother Y/N or Azriel one bit.

The couple stopped to sit and watch as the souls began to descend across the sky, traveling to wherever they belong. Azriel couldn’t help but watch his mate as she stared into the sky, absolutely enamored with her.

Y/N could feel the sting of his stare on her cheek. She turned to him, and reached across the table, her hand closed holding an object tightly inside. “I’d like to give you something,” she smiled. Azriel gave her a perplexed look, opening her hands to find a macaron.

He looked at the pastry, then his mate, and back to the pastry. “Are…are you certain?”

“I’ve never been more certain in my life.” Y/N replied confidently.

Azriel forced himself to savor every bite of the macaron, when really he wanted to shove the whole thing into his mouth so he could whisk her away from the party. Once he was finally finished, he stood, gesturing for Y/N to take his hand.

Cassian shouted from across the dance floor, “Hey brother!! Don’t be too loud tonight, SOME of us need our beauty rest!!” Nodding his head towards Rhysand. Feyre smacked him across the back of his head and Rhysand laughed. Azriel let out a low growl, but Y/N placed her hand on his lower back and stood on her tip toes to whisper in his ear.

“Take me home, shadowsinger.”

And they winnowed away into the night, as fast as the spirits had traveled across the midnight sky.

282 notes · View notes

wisteriabookss · 3 years

Text

An Extensive Analysis of Eris

The recent excerpt from ACOSF has got this fandom spinning on it’s head because it includes a feral-smiling Eris waltzing with Nesta. As a result, people have now delved deeper into his character and whether or not he deserves a redemption arc (or an arc of any kind).

So naturally, he has been compared to Rhys, because Rhys also appeared to us in the beginning as a cruel, cunning person, who was eventually revealed to have a bigger heart, and a valid excuse (at least amongst the IC) for his behavior.

I made this post to mainly catalogue all that Eris has done, analyze his actions, see if he indeed can be compared to Rhys, and to determine whether or not he should have a redemption arc.

What We Know So Far

Our first mention of Eris is in ACOMAF, when Rhysand is explaining to Feyre what happened to Mor. I could put the quotes here, but just to save some time I’m gonna make a long story short.

Mor’s father, Keir, declared that she was to be sold in marriage to Eris. Eris is known for being cruel, and Mor begged Rhys to stop it. Rhys brought her to the Illyrian camp for a few days, and she decided to sleep with Cassian in order to ruin her “pure” image. Because she slept with Cassian, Eris refused to marry her. Said, “she’d been sullied by a bastard-born lesser faerie, and he’d now sooner fuck a sow.” Her family, although it’s not said explicitly, basically beat her, and then dumped her body on the Autumn court border with a note nailed to her body that said she was Eris’s problem now. Eris left her for dead in the middle of their woods.

Now, we’re going to look at what he exactly said during this event, given to us from Mor’s POV in ACOFAS:

“Don’t touch her.” Those steps stopped. It was not a warning to protect her. Defend her.

“No one touches her,” he said. Eris. “The moment we do, she’s our responsibility.”

Cold, unfeeling words. “But—but they nailed a—”

“No one touches her.”

A pale, beautiful face appeared above her, blocking out the jewel-like leaves above. Unmoved. Impassive. “I take it you do not wish to live here, Morrigan.”

He must have read it in her eyes. A small smile curved his lips. “I thought so.”

Eris took a step away. Someone behind him blurted, “We can’t just leave her to—”

“We can, and we will,” Eris said simply, his pace unfaltering as he strode away.

“She chose to sully herself; her family chose to deal with her like garbage. I have already told them my decision in this matter.” A long pause, crueler than the rest. “And I am not in the habit of fucking Illyrian leftovers.”

Now that we have Mor’s side of the story, we’re going to look at what Eris has said about that fateful day during a discussion with the IC in ACOWAR:

Mor snarled, rattling the glasses. “You never gave any evidence to the contrary. Certainly not when you left me in those woods.”

“There were forces at work that you have never considered,” Eris said coldly. “And I am not going to waste my breath explaining them to you. Believe what you want about me.”

. . . .

A frown at Mor as he drained his wine and set down the goblet. “I’m surprised you still can’t control yourself around him. You had every emotion written right on that pretty face of yours.”

“Watch it,” Azriel warned.

Eris looked between them, smiling faintly. Secretly. As if he knew something that Azriel didn’t. “I wouldn’t have touched you,” he said to Mor, who blanched again. “But when you fucked that other bastard—” A snarl ripped from Rhys’s throat at that. And my own. “I knew why you did it.” Again that secret smile that had Mor shrinking. Shrinking. “So I gave you your freedom, ending the betrothal in no uncertain terms.”

“And what happened next,” Azriel growled.

A shadow crossed Eris’s face. “There are few things I regret. That is one of them. But … perhaps one day, now that we are allies, I shall tell you why. What it cost me.”

A main takeaway from this is that there seems to be much more to story of what happened between Eris and Mor.

Does that mean him leaving her in the woods is excusable? No. Absolutely not. He didn’t try to take the nail out of her (which would’ve been the bare minimum), he didn’t alert Rhys that she was there, he didn’t do anything to help her. He started to make the situation even more traumatic by saying vile things to her. Whatever reason he gives for not helping her will be just that: a reason. But not an excuse. Those are two very different things.

Eris say’s that leaving her there is one of the few things he regrets. There’s something in that. I’m not saying under any circumstance that he should be forgiven because he feels guilty, thats stupid as hell, but it is showing that he’s not some apathetic, other-worldy evil person. There’s some semblance of a conscious in him.

He also say’s that one day he’ll tell them why he did it and what it cost him. By what it cost him, I’m guessing he’s talking about the cost of ending his betrothal to Mor, because I can’t think of what he lost by leaving her there.

I don’t think there’s been any mention of someone getting revenge on Eris because A.) Rhys told Feyre that, “Azriel found her a day later. It was all I could do to keep him from going to either court and slaughtering them all.” and B) her family was obviously going to do nothing cause they’re the ones who hurt her.

I’m not going to try and theorize what cost Eris had to pay. It obviously is something (or someone) important to him.

But to me, one of the biggest things we got from this discussion is that it seems Eris knows Mor is gay. That secret smile of his that had Mor shrinking, the way he says he knows why she slept with Cassian, and that he gave Mor her freedom by ending the betrothal without giving a reason . . . he knows.

He knew she was gay, so he ended their engagement, no questions asked. And then Mor was dumped in his woods, and he did nothing to help.

Morally grey, indeed.

(P.S. To the person that posted something along the lines of, “I can’t wait to see Mor’s face when she see’s Eris dancing with Nesta,” . . . get help)

Another excerpt I wanna look at also happens during the recent discussion we’ve just seen, but it has to do with Feyre and Lucien.

“You hunted me down like an animal,” I cut in. “I think we’ll choose to believe the worst.”

Eris’s pale face flushed. “I was given an order. And sent to do it with two of my … brothers.”

That little hesitation before he says ‘brothers’. . . sus. That’s all imma say. (maybe there’s more than one illegitimate son in that family . . .)

“And what of the brother you hunted down alongside me? The one whose lover you helped to execute before his eyes?”

Eris laid a hand flat on the table. “You know nothing about what happened that day. Nothing.”

Silence.

“Indulge me,” was all I said.

Eris stared me down. I stared right back.

“How do you think he made it to the Spring border,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t there— when they did it. Ask him. I refused. It was the first and only time I have denied my father anything. He punished me. And by the time I got free … They were going to kill him, too. I made sure they didn’t. Made sure Tamlin got word—anonymously—to get the hell over to his own border.”

Where two of Eris’s brothers had been killed. By Lucien and Tamlin.

Eris picked at a stray thread on his jacket. “Not all of us were so lucky in our friends and family as you, Rhysand.”

We see another semblance of conscious here when Eris refuses to take part in the slaughtering of Jesminda. To even be in the same room as it. He then made sure that Lucien wasn’t going to die by making sure Tamlin was at his border.

I’m not putting these quotes here to say, “Look, he cares about stuff , so let’s excuse everything he’s done.” No. There is no excusing any of his actions. Just like we can’t excuse Rhysand’s behavior in the first two books, or Cassian’s, or Nesta’s, or even Feyre’s, etc. But what we can do is see the reasons for their actions, and try and understand why they acted the way they did. They have their reasons, and Eris has his. (P.S. I’m not trying to compare what they’ve done, I’m just noting that they all had reasons to do what they’ve done, and they all deserve to be heard out.)

Comparison To Rhys

As I said earlier, Eris has drawn a lot of comparisons to Rhys. I agree with most of them.

This fandom has catalogued all of Rhys’s questionable actions like . . .

*TRIGGER WARNING: words like sexually assaulted*

Rhys sexually assaulting Feyre three times in the first book by drugging her, and then compelling her to give him lap dances in front of the folks Under The Mountain. He then displayed Feyre again in a sexual manner in the second book in front of The Court of Nightmares as, and I quote, “The High Lords Whore.”

In both situations he could’ve done things so much differently. In the first book, he could’ve just, oh I don’t know, kept her in her cell? Or maybe brought her upstairs as a normal person?

And in the second one she literally could have been ANYTHING else. Everyone thinks she’s his prisoner, so why didn’t they go with that? Why couldn’t he have just dressed her in some raggedy-ass clothing, messed up her hair, and then tell her to act super stoic or frightened? Really Rhys, she just had to be your whore? (I know it was consensual but that doesn’t make her persona okay. He could’ve picked literally anything else)

Did he have his reasons for doing this? Yes. Does his reasons excuse what he did? No. You don’t have to make everyone else around you act a part just because you do.

So while we may not excuse Rhys’s actions, we can understand his reasons even if we don’t agree with them. Same with Eris. We know Eris has his reasons, and I doubt we’ll all agree with them, but he still has them.

Let’s also not forget that Rhysand made a deal with Eris and Keir that he would support Eris’s claim to the Autumn Court throne when Eris decides to kill his father for it. He also allowed Keir and his court to come into Velaris, and even though they’ll be turned away by every vendor, he still allowed them in. While he had his reasons for doing this (the Darkling army for ACOWAR) he still did it. It still hurt Mor.

Redemption Arc

My biggest hesitation in thinking Eris will get a redemption arc is wondering where it would fit in the books for him to have one. We don’t know how if his waltz with Nesta is just a one-time thing or if it’s a result of a friendship between the two. The second book is supposed to be centered around Elain, Azriel, and Lucien, so that could also be a spot where he get’s an arc, maybe through a relationship with Lucian or Azriel.

Either way, I’m not gonna bring down the hammer and say that he shouldn’t get a redemption arc. Tbh, the term ‘redemption arc’ kinda annoys me because it shouldn’t be about redeeming what was done in the past, but more about learning from past mistakes and taking the initiative to grow into a better person. That’s what I want for Eris. He’s not going to magically be revealed to be this super sweet fun-loving guy like Rhys. I don’t want him to be revealed like that either.

I just want to see more of his character, see why he is the way he is, and, like i’ve said a million times in this post, know his reasons for acting the way he does.

One last thing before I go. I’m not interested in seeing any relationship blossom between Eris and the IC, or Nesta, and I think it’s unlikely anyways. There’s a possibility for them to have an understanding, sure, but no friendship. I know there are some people who automatically adore Eris because they hate Mor and that’s just stupid. Mor isn’t my fav either, but I won’t cheer Eris on just because he hurt her.

That’s all I’ve got. If you’ve made it this far, I appreciate you. Really.

419 notes · View notes

the-lonelybarricade · 3 years

Note

Loved your latest chapter and Im so excited to see what happens under the mountain!

I was wondering if I could request a one-shot?(up to you how long and you can do it in your own time)something along the lines of:

Feyre( from either ACOWAR, ACOFAS or ACOSF) time travels back to ACOTAR, but instead of finding herself back in her human body i the spring court, she's still in her fae body and ends up trapped in velaris, having to explain to the rest of IC who she is and why she cant go free their highlord(add some mistrust from the IC)

🙈🙈Id its very similar to what youre doing rn with your other fic but, if you find the inspiration sometime could you please do this? Ive wanted to read a fic for ages were feyre rime travels and meets pre-acomaf inner circle who dont know/trust her, but Ive never found a fic like that

Thank youuu

Hi lovely anon! It makes me so happy you enjoyed my latest chapter! I’m supposed to be working on a project for uni, but I couldn’t resist gratifying my lovely friends (because you're anon and won't be notified I was getting sad at the idea of you checking my blog and not seeing me respond) <3 I’ll admit I’m a bit scatterbrained at the moment, so I hope it’s okay!

I was having trouble brainstorming a reason for Feyre getting sent back in time because I didn't want to borrow the reasoning from ACoFD. So I was vague and twisted the pre-existing rules around the Ouroboros, and ended up getting quite carried away with the story since I don’t like not giving things a happy ending (even though it’s a little cheesy, sorry)

Anyway, I hope this is what you were looking for! I know you wanted the angst of not being able to save Rhys but... I couldn't just leave my poor bat-boy behind, you know? ;)

Also if this didn't quite scratch that itch, I'm always happy to take more requests

Word count: 4,446

The Ouroboros.

It was a massive, round disc—as tall as Feyre was. Taller. And the metal around it had been fashioned after a massive serpent, the mirror held within its coils as it devoured its own tail.

Ending and beginning.

From across the room, Feyre could not see it. What lay within.

She forced herself to take a step forward. Another.

The mirror itself was black as night—yet… wholly clear.

She watched herself approach. Watched the arm she had upraised against the wind and snow, the pinched expression on her face. The exhaustion.

She stopped three feet away. She did not dare touch it.

It only showed Feyre herself. Nothing.

Feyre scanned the mirror for any signs of… something to push or touch with her magic. But there was only the devouring head of the serpent, its maw open wide, frost sparkling on its fangs.

Feyre stared and stared, but all she saw was herself. There was nothing else. Then—

Feyre woke with a gasp, sitting up in bed to shake away the cobwebs of sleep and the strange, foreboding feeling that felt draped around her shoulders like a weighted cape, pulling her down. It hadn’t been a particularly horrifying nightmare. In fact, it was perhaps of the tamer dreams she’d had in the last year.

Yet something about it clung to her, perhaps a lingering agitation that she’d yet to retrieve the mirror the Bone Carver had requested. That must be it.

The bed space beside her was cold. The sun peaking through the window was not high, it couldn’t be long past dawn. However worrisome her own dream, her mate’s must have been worse to draw him from sleep so early. Worse still for him to sneak away.

Feyre rose from the bed, reaching absently for Rhysand’s dressing robe to wrap around herself. She always loved to steal her mate’s clothes, to be wrapped in his scent.

With gentle steps, she made her way to the study, where she could only assume Rhys had sequestered himself in the lone hours of the night. She’d noticed the weary draw to his shoulders, the dark circles under his eyes. This war was weighing on him heavily, and he was nervous. Feyre wished he didn’t insist on shouldering the burden alone.

“Rhys?” Feyre called softly as she got to the study, knocking on the door before she cracked it open.

Peeking her head around the door, she was met with the sight of Rhysand’s abandoned study. The scattered papers and war maps that had become characteristic of his desk space were surprisingly missing. In fact, the whole space had been cleared away and there was a thick layer of dust on every surface as if no one had been in here in years.

Feyre frowned at the sight, and how different it had been just the day before. Where had all the dust come from? And more importantly, where was Rhys? Perhaps he’d taken a morning flight to clear his head.

Where are you, love? She called to him through the mating bond, but was met with silence.

“Who are you?”

The voice was cold and venomous. Feyre turned, coming face to face with Mor, whose face was twisted into a threatening scowl.

“Mor?” Feyre asked, confused by her friend’s cold demeanor. “What do you mean? Have you seen Rhys?”

Mor’s face turned deadly, a look Feyre had only ever seen from Mor in the Court of Nightmares. “Is that some kind of joke?” she snarled.

Then, before Feyre could process what was happening, Mor had gripped onto Feyre’s wrist and they were enveloped in darkness. They stepped into the House of Wind, into the dining room where Cassian and Azriel abruptly stood up.

“Mor?” Feyre questioned when the blonde didn’t release her steel grip. She looked to Cassian and Azriel quizzically. “Guys? What’s going on?”

Cassian crossed his arms, assessing Feyre with a hostility that put her on edge. “Who’s this, Mor?” he asked gruffly.

Feyre frowned as she watched Azriel reach for Truth-Teller.

“Is this a joke?” she asked, flitting her eyes to each of her friends. Where she sought that friendly warmth in each of their gazes she was met with hard stares, filled with distrust, ready for a brawl. She couldn’t make sense of it. Was this an act Rhys had put them up to?

“I found her in the townhouse,” Mor said. “I don’t know how she got in there. She was in Rhysand’s study.”

“And she’s wearing his dressing gown,” Azriel noted dryly. Cassian did a double glance, his eyes going wide, then narrowing with a rage Feyre had never seen from the male. Certainly never directed at her.

There was a whisper of shadow, then suddenly Azriel was behind her, Truth-Teller poised at her throat.

Feyre startled. “Azriel!” she said sharply. Even if it was a joke, Feyre couldn’t imagine Rhysand would sanction this kind of threat. And the energy in the room was off, the tension too thick. “Stand down.”

“And who are you,” he breathed in her ear, his voice coated in shadow and nightmare, “to command the Shadowsinger of the Night Court?”

“I’m your High Lady,” Feyre answered steadily, not letting Azriel’s shadows, nor cunning voice, shake her resolve. “Now, I don’t know what is going on with the three of you, or what strange joke you’re trying to pull, but you will listen to what I say. Put. Your. Knife. Down.”

“High Lady?” Cassian repeated with a snort of disbelief. “You’ve got balls, little girl.”

Truth-Teller danced across the skin of her neck, pressing lightly enough to intimidate without breaking skin. “Do you even know to whom you speak? You should be bowing before the acting Queen of the Night Court.”

Too stunned to properly resist, Azriel kicked his feet out to knock Feyre to her knees in front of Mor. His fingers slid into her hair, gripping it tightly to pull her head back as Truth-Teller resumed its threatening position at her throat.

“Breaking into the High Lord’s personal residence, impersonating a high position within the Night Court, lying to the Morrigan’s face,” Azriel listed, increasing the pressure of the blade with each transgression. “You throw our High Lord’s generosity and protection in his face, something we as his acting Court do not take lightly.”

“Acting court? Acting Queen?” Feyre repeated, feeling as if she’d woken to a different reality. “What are you talking about? Where’s Rhysand!?”

“We’re the ones asking the questions here,” Cassian growled.

Feyre looked to each of her friends, studying their faces. Beyond their militant expression, she could see their grief. Could smell it. She repeated, “where is Rhysand?”

She felt the snarl that rumbled through Azriel’s chest behind her, vibrating against her back. When the question was once again unanswered, Feyre abandoned all sense of patience.

Darkness exploded through the room. She heard Mor gasp as the walls of the House shook from the might of her power. Feyre folded into the shadows, winnowing out of Azriel’s grasp so she stood in the center of the three of them.

“Az, Cass, Mor, you are my friends and I do not want to hurt you. But I am also your High Lady and you will answer me this instant, where is Rhys? Where is my mate!?”

Siphons gleamed red and blue through the thick tendrils of night, illuminating the Illyrian males’ faces. Cassian’s jaw had fallen open, while Azriel was studying her through narrowed eyes, wisps of shadow surrounding him. Feyre wondered what they were whispering to him.

“Mate?” Cassian echoed, the first to break the heavy silence.

Mor took a cautious step forward, her countenance completely changed. Her pupils were blown wide, twin brown depths churning with sorrow and gentle astonishment. Azriel went rigid at Mor’s approach, but no one moved to stop her as she came face to face with Feyre.

“Where did you get this?” she whispered, taking Feyre’s left hand, eye fixed on her mating band. On the sapphire-star ring that once belonged to Rhysand’s mother.

All eyes befell the subject of Mor’s attention. Cassian swore softly in recognition.

“It’s my mating band,” Feyre answered measuredly, still puzzled that the inner circle, her family, didn’t seem to have any memory of it. Nor of her. “I won it from the Weaver, as was the task set by Rhysand’s mother. But you were all there for that. I don’t understand what’s going on. Where. Is. Rhys?”

“Under the Mountain,” Mor whispered, her voice soft and pained.

The darkness ebbed away like a receding tide. Feyre felt her heart sink as she tried to process this information. “He—What?”

“He’s been Under the Mountain for the last 50 years,” Mor said, firmer this time. “And if you were his so-called mate, you would know that.”

“No,” Feyre said, shaking her head vehemently. “No, that’s impossible. We got out. We—”

This was a nightmare. It had to be a nightmare, and she just hadn’t woken up from it.

“Amarantha’s dead,” Feyre insisted, mostly in an attempt to console the unparalleled grief and panic that were raging inside her. “She’s dead, and Rhys and I got out.”

The grim faces of her friends said otherwise. They stared at her, in unbearable mixtures of pity and horror.

“I think she’s having a mental break,” Cassian said, not unkindly. “Should we get a healer?”

“Let me show you,” Feyre said meekly, casting her magic out to tap on their mental shields.

They all tensed, clearly not aware they’d been in the presence of a daemati. Trained well by Rhys, they all cracked their shields just enough for Feyre to send her conjured memories through. She showed them going Under the Mountain as a human, winning the trials and being resurrected, falling in love with Rhys, and eventually becoming High Lady of the Night Court. In turn, the three of them pushed back their own memories, of the current state of the world. Of Rhysand sacrificing himself so that his Court and Velaris would be safe.

A sob broke out of Feyre. “How is this possible? How am I here?”

It was Azriel who immediately went for the jugular. “More importantly, if you’re here as a High Fae, how is Rhys going to get out? How do we stop Amarantha?”

Feyre fell to her knees, grief-stricken by this realization. She was no longer human. She couldn’t stride in as Tamlin’s human lover and undergo the trials. Feyre had her powers, but they were untested. Would she be able to take on the whole of Amarantha’s court?

“What do I do? How do I save him?” she whimpered, staring in mute horror at her mating band.

Mor tentatively reached forward, laying a comforting hand on Feyre’s shoulder. “Rhys sacrificed himself to keep the people he loves safe. He wouldn’t want you getting yourself killed trying to save him.”

“I have to try,” Feyre answered desperately. “Amarantha she’s…” Feyre couldn’t bring herself to say the word, rape. Not to his family, who wear his sacrifice for them like an open wound. “She’s doing unspeakable things to him. He’s suffering so much. I can’t leave him to that fate. I have to try.”

With renewed conviction, Feyre accepted Mor’s outstretched hand and picked herself to her feet. “Rhys said it himself once. Amarantha’s biggest weapon is that she keeps the High Lord’s power contained. She can’t access them herself. But I… I have access to all the High Lords’ powers. And that bitch has my mate. My wrath will be plenty to take her down.” She faced her friends, who watched her warily. “You have my word as your High Lady,” she swore to them. “The High Queen of Prythian is going to fall by the night’s end.”

⟡⟡⟡

Winter had not yet fallen in the Mortal Lands. Feyre wondered if across the world, there was a version of herself curled in a bed with her sisters, clinging to any shred of warmth and survival.

That version of Feyre was very different from the version who strode up the sloping hills of the Spring Court with Azriel by her side. Rhys would be furious that Feyre had allowed him to accompany her. Should anything go wrong, it would destroy her mate to know his family had been put in harm's way after everything he’d done to protect them. Which was why it was only Azriel who came with, the only compromise she could reach with his Inner Circle, who insisted on coming with.

Who better to sneak into the Mountain with than the very soldier who taught Feyre the art of stealth. He was the obvious choice, since Mor needed to stay to rule the Night Court and Cassian was too heavy-handed to handle such a delicate task.

Their footfall was silent. Feyre wrapped them in the shadow of Night as they winnowed through the cave network. Her heart hammered in her chest, panicked to be back in the source of so many nightmares.

But Rhysand was more important than her fear. For him, she would not falter.

With the Shadowsinger by her side, Feyre snuck through the winding tunnels until she came to a familiar passageway. They slid into a massive, dark bedroom, lit only by a few candles.

To attack Amarantha in the throne room would be too messy. Too many variables to contend with, should Amarantha have enough wit about her to use any faeries as a shield. Especially Rhysand.

After several hours of waiting, the lock on the door clicked and swung open. Darkness swirled around the room as Rhysand took in the sight of Feyre and Azriel on the bed.

Immediately, the door slammed shut.

“No,” he whispered, voice dripping with horror. “No.”

“Rhys—” Feyre started, but her mate wasn’t paying any attention to her. He was looking at Azriel as if his whole world had shattered.

“Leave,” he said, his voice cold and commanding. This was no happy reunion between brothers. This was Rhysand’s worst nightmare. “Leave this instant, you stupid fool. That is, if you’re lucky enough to have avoided detection when you passed under her wards.”

“I took down the wards,” Feyre said. They weren’t particularly strong, either. Amarantha had gotten lazy, perhaps thinking herself secure with the only spell-cleaver under her control. Or so she believed.

Rhys turned that quiet fury towards her. “And who are you?”

“Your mate,” Feyre answered steadily, tipping her chin up.

Rhysand laughed. A desperate, humorless sound. “Then you are just as foolish as my idiot brother. And you have both sealed your deaths by being here. Do you understand that?”

Feyre scratched along those familiar adamantite shields. Rhys’s eyes flickered in surprise, but otherwise he looked unruffled as he cracked a sliver open for her.

It would be unwise to underestimate me, mate.

I wouldn’t be going around boasting about such a thing, if what you claim is even true, came his icy response. And I wouldn’t count on a few party tricks to save you, either.

And what if I told you, she purred, that I possess the power of all seven High Lords?

That, at least, garnered a reaction from the stoic male. He narrowed his eyes in disbelief, studying Feyre carefully. His gaze caught on her hands, at the lace tattoos that flowed to her fingers. And the mating band she still wore.

Feyre watched those violet eyes go wide, the silver constellations dancing in astonishment at the sight of his mother’s ring.

Where did you get that?

It’s a long story, love, but you’re going to have to trust me. She lowered her mental shields completely. Have a look for yourself. I’m telling you no lies. I am your High Lady, and I am here to free my husband.

She felt those familiar talons wrap around her mind. A foolish thing to do, to give a daemati unrestricted access to her mind. And if it were anyone but Rhys, it would have been. But his touch was gentle, and he took only the information he needed.

“I don’t understand how this is possible,” he whispered, breaking the silence of the room. Azriel had been waiting patiently, but looked relieved to be included in the conversation once more. “And I hate that you’ve put yourselves in danger for this, but it could work.”

Rhys considered for a long moment, then he looked between Feyre and Azriel and said, “do it when she’s sleeping. That bitch has been playing dirty for 50 years, you might as well level the playing field to give yourselves the best chance. Let’s do it tonight. I’ll leave the door unlocked, wear her out, and signal you once she’s asleep. Her spell prevents me from harming her, but I’ll make sure she’s restrained. All you have to do is drive the ash dagger through her heart, but have your magic ready for damage control.”

⟡⟡⟡

Feyre and Azriel waited in Rhysand’s bedchambers for his signal. There was a revelry tonight, as there was every night Under the Mountain, and Rhys was expected to be in attendance. Afterwards, he’d join Amarantha in her bed and make sure she was, in his words, “thoroughly exhausted”.

It was torturous for Feyre. To know exactly what the implication in those words were, to have to use her mate’s body in such a way. She wanted to roar at the Mountain, at the Cauldron, at anything that would listen, but instead she was next to the quiet, brooding Shadowsinger, and lamented in silence.

She’d begged Rhys to reconsider, to perhaps help them stage a more physical encounter that didn’t rely on his own suffering. But he’d denied any plan but the one he’d proposed, insisting it would cause him more anguish to but Feyre and Azriel in harm's way.

So they waited the long, agonizing hours until she felt a delicate pull at her chest. She’s asleep, Rhys called. Be on your guard.

He sent her directions to Amarantha’s bedchambers. There were guards outside, but Feyre and Azriel winnowed past them, cloaked in night and shadow.

Amarantha’s bedchambers were huge. Feyre had never been inside them before, but she was unsurprised to see they provided any luxury a High Queen could wish for.

Atop a large bed of red, silken sheets, lay her mate and Amarantha, both stark naked. The smell of sex clung to the air, Rhysand and Amarantha’s scents intertwined. Feyre thought she might be sick.

Even more sickening was the sight before her, of Amarantha’s arms restrained to the headboard in cloth. A clever way for Rhys to restrain her under the guise of sex, but horrifying nonetheless, to see the proof of what they’d been up to. The female was fast asleep, so convinced of her authority that she could fall asleep tied-up and not feel vulnerable doing so. How satisfying, Feyre thought, that such arrogance would be her downfall.

Feyre warded the room, putting up a shield of darkness so that no sound would break through to alert the guards. Rhys watched their approach warily from where he perched beside Amarantha, so still Feyre was convinced he held his breath.

He wouldn’t risk moving to wake her up, which terrified Feyre. Should something go wrong, her mate would be susceptible to Amarantha’s wrath. Naked, vulnerable, and completely under her control. It was such a dangerous game they were playing.

The room was as quiet and still as the bewitching hours of the night, their footsteps silent as they picked across the room. Azriel held the ash dagger. If Rhys could not kill Amarantha, his brother wanted to do it on his behalf. Meanwhile, Feyre summoned tendrils of night that carefully wrapped around Amarantha’s legs, slithering up her body like a snake, ready to constrict and restrain.

The female stirred in her sleep, perhaps feeling the ghostlike touch of Feyre’s magic. But she did not wake. Not as Azriel raised the dagger over her chest, and not as he plunged it down.

Amarantha’s eyes shot open as the dagger pierced her chest. She let out a shriek of agony and ire, moving to claw at her attacker. She raged against the restraints, spewing obscenities until they died at her lips as the blade sunk into her heart.

Rhysand’s chest was heaving as he watched the female still, then slump. He looked from her dead body, to Azriel and Feyre.

Feyre’s heart sank as she watched her mate process that it was truly over. There wasn’t a trace of elation in his eyes at being liberated, but she understood why. Rhys would finally be returning home, but as a much different man than the one he had been. He’d survived, but not unscathed, and he’d need time to process this.

Feyre came to him, reached towards her mate with the hand that bore his mother’s ring. Rhys looked to it, then up to her. His eyes were clouded with sorrow, with a melancholy she could only hope to chip away at in time. But she could see stirring beneath it was a breath of hope, perhaps the first he’d allowed himself in a long time.

“Let’s go home, Rhys,” she said gently.

Slowly, Rhysand nodded, moving to grasp her hand. She felt him jolt at the touch and, as she glanced at him questioningly, she saw his lips part in wonder.

I suppose you weren’t lying about being my mate, he whispered, the words a sensual brush in her mind. Thank you for coming to rescue me, High Lady.

Feyre grasped onto Azriel, and together the three of them stepped into darkness.

Then, they were above the House of Wind, tumbling through the night sky. Feyre unfurled her wings before Rhys could move to catch them, worried that her mate would struggle after 50 years without flight.

Both males stared in astonishment at the sight. Rhysand’s eyes danced in awe as Feyre, albeit clumsily, carried them to the training ring on the roof.

Rhys snapped his own wings open as they landed. Feyre watched him tilt his head back in rapture as he felt the wind against his wings for the first time in decades. Then he opened his eyes, his expression shifting to reverence as he beheld the night sky.

“I was beginning to think I’d never see it again,” he whispered, his voice a heartbreaking blend of exaltation and disbelief. “And for this gift… for my salvation to be courtesy of my mate and of my brother… I’m a bit overwhelmed,” he admitted sheepishly.

Feyre hesitated. If this was the Rhysand from before, the one to which she was mated and married, she would come to comfort him. But this version of Rhys had only just been freed from enslavement, and she didn’t know what he needed.

As though sensing her hesitation, Rhys cast his eyes back to the sky. “I know they’re all waiting for me downstairs, but I’d like a little bit of time with the stars. Will you let them know, Az?”

Azriel nodded, though he seemed conflicted. His reunion with his brother was perhaps not as merry as the male had expected. But right now, she knew the Inner Circle would hardly deny Rhys anything. Perhaps for a long while yet. So Azriel headed downstairs to inform their friends, who were sure to be anxiously awaiting their arrival.

Rhysand regarded Feyre carefully once the two of them were alone. “Mate and High Lady,” he mused. “You seem to wear many hats.”

“You forgot ‘wife’,” Feyre said lightly.

“Yes, and ‘Salvation’, ‘Queen Killer’, ‘Most Beautiful Female in Prythian’, it seems there’s many things I could call you. Could we start with your name, perchance?”

Feyre was shocked. She’d assumed he’d taken such information out of her mind earlier, but it seems he’d been even more respectful than she’d expected.

“Feyre,” she answered. “My name is Feyre.”

He looked wonderstruck. “Feyre,” he repeated, testing the name on his lips. A gentle smile curled at the corners of his mouth, the first she’d seen from him yet. He extended his hand towards her. “Would you like to watch the stars with me, Feyre?”

It was an offer she couldn’t refuse. Her hand found his with all the casual grace of a dancer, as if it were a routine they’d been perfecting their whole lives. Their fingers interlocked and as one, they stared up at the dazzling night sky.

This reality wasn’t perfect, Feyre thought. This Rhys was different from her own, and he still had a lot of healing to do. But if she could be there for him, to help him in a ways she hadn’t before, then she would be grateful to the strange eddies of the Cauldron for bringing her here. For allowing her to end his torment early. For giving them this extra time.

She watched a shooting star dart across the sky and smiled as it passed. There was nothing she could wish for except that her mate find peace in all that he’d endured the last half century.

His deep, velvety voice cut through the silence. “Do you often wish on stars, Feyre?”

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He was watching her with a heart-wrenching wistfulness.

“Only when I have a wish worthy of the stars.”

“And do you?”

Feyre looked to the northernmost star, which shined brightest in the sky. “I wished for a light in the darkness,” she told him. “I don’t think the stars would ever begrudge such a wish.”

Rhysand nodded solemnly. “It’s true that they would be begrudging themselves in doing so. But I see no need for you to wish for such a thing.”

Feyre looked to him. He was still watching her, but something in him had shifted. He was smiling at her gently, that lingering sadness already receding. “Why’s that?” she asked cautiously.

That gentle smile widened, showing off his brilliant teeth. “Why, Feyre, to find such a thing, all you’d need to do is look in a mirror.”

#prompt fill #anon request #Feysand #Feysand fic #Inner Circle #Feysand fluff because I can't help myself #mentions of rape #Mentions of SA #acotar #acotar fic #time travel

55 notes · View notes

flowerflamestars · 3 years

Text

Petty small things roundup, in which I try not to verge into what I super hated:

-Did anyone else keep getting jarred by the 300% increase in the insistence that everyone call each other sister/brother? like we, the reader, cannot understand a found family unless it’s spelled out in nuclear terms.

- god, someone feed Cassian some fucking fruit. let Nesta brush her teeth. oh my god

-pregnancy scent descriptors? GROSS yall. whole gross vibe

-why why why would Nesta need to wear head to toe leather to work out at the House of Wind? they’re flight leathers. they’re for warmth in brutal cold. the woman is doing squats in leather pants.

- are we....supposed to be sympathetic to Cassian’s bitchy Eris makes me feel like I’m bad at the job I am bad at! that he is good at! that he acts like a dick about to make me even worse at!

(like, obviously there’s some racist shit there. But it’s just so weirdly focused on: he’s prettier! cleverer! so smooth! he makes me FEEL AWKWARD while he’s being smooth and clever!)

-Morrigan...dressed Nesta? what

- Hounds were mentioned and yet, we saw not a single hound. Incorrect faery hound usage

- remember when we used to happily joke about how Galathynius was SUCH a fantasy name? remember when s/jm made up names instead of...borrowing them from real life? lifting whole concepts and then very lightly changing them? gracelessly?

-500 years is NOT A LONG TIME TO IMMORTAL PEOPLE WHO CAN... live forever unless killed???if all our cast are demonstrably still shaped/dealing with things that happened then, hey, maybe they also remember things from that time period?

-do they not...actually chose what shape/location the deal tattoos take? because rhys definitely chose how feyre’s turned out two books ago

- can someone tell s/jm that sometimes...adult people whose parents didn’t bother to raise them...don’t enshrine those parents in their memories after death. and that’s okay?

-NESTA IS THE TALL SISTER?

-why WHY would all the other Queens just nope out? are we supposed to assume they were killed? Surely the entire missing monarchy would raise...some flags in human territory?

- Feyre...transforms...into another kind/race of faery. just... I can’t.. If I actually try to talk about how bad this is my brain will explode.

- on one hand, why the hell is Rhysand daring put a stop to Helion’s incredible sense for how to make an entrance? ON THE OTHER, why did I just read a mini magic horse biography in the middle of this book

-Somehow...I feel like...Varian probably isn’t going to get to keep whatever office he holds in Summer while living in the Night Court? shouldn’t.

-HIGH KING? HIGH KING?

this didn’t exist when the other books were being written. I would bet...so so much that it didn’t even exist until a late round of edits. this is a BAD concept

-I read this book yesterday and I have already forgotten the name of the big bad

- there are NO female self-defense instructors? in this whole ass Court metropolis?

-NESTA ISNT ALLOWED SUGAR IN HER PORRIDGE??

-I thought the mean librarian was going to be a surviving Valkyrie. it was too cool a thought for this novel

-Illyrian’s can only winnow? one night a year? and they exclusively use it to start the yearly murder game? is it SERIOUSLY only the men that can winnow?

- Pregnant mate announcing pregnancy to the Court of Nightmares, fine. Pregnant mate getting a kiss on the cheek from her dude friend/ ‘brother’ BAD

-Regifting jewelry is a dick move

- but why does Vallahan matter? at all?

- Illyrian rebellion man died OFF PAGE?

-if I were a blacksmith, and some of my swords clearly somehow became Legendary Magic Swords, I wouldn’t act like that was a fearful imposition?

ALSO, no one has ever needed to hammer a sword to use a sword. Seriously. these are not overlapping skills.

- how is Nesta NOT a Death God, a true immortal, if her power is ‘pure death’?

- ‘they wanted to be forgotten’ is a truly insane reason to have forgotten a thing..you suddenly remembered existing

-Elain lives with Rhysand and Feyre? Didn’t she get her own house in acofas?

-Lady Illyrian wings CANNOT be repaired? but Cassian’s shredded until they looked like wet paper can?

- so...who thinks s/jm read Deathless at some point in this drafting process?

- I have never heard a Straighter threesome fantasy in my life

-what is Amren’s job? aside from providing her opinion in the most inflammatory way possible. what does she do?

-glowing beacons sound dangerous as fuck in an open combat, sneaking around to not get murdered situation

-NYX? Night...of the Night Court. Night, future High Lord of the Night Court. Night Night of the Night, if you will.

-mating ceremony- NOT WEDDING, even though Nesta clearly values marriage, as a tenet of her human life

#acosf spoilers #I'm sure there is more #my brain remains buzzing #I'm going to detox with Time War #thank you for all the messages!#for chatting!#screaming!#sharing this book made this so much more fun!#I will be tackling my inbox tomorrow once more pls know I love yall

236 notes · View notes

kayla-2 · 3 years

Text

I knew inner circle antis can only lift up their fav if the others are “bad or mean” when they said that Mor wanted n.esta to get abused in the Court of nightmares when she CLEARLY said nesquik would THRIVE there.

Thrive with people who shame and degrade others, look down on people, uses people trauma against them, mean and cruel. She meant she’s similar to the people who continually verbally abuse Morrigan. Not that n.esta should be tortured or hurt. Like aren’t we suppose to be readers?!?! Why is that hard to contextualize? You see how much she cares for Feyre and cassian and they are continually hurt by nesquik words, apply that knowledge of her to her own words. She’s very protective of her family and knows how it feels to have family hate, degrade you and Feyre is Morrigan sister and she going to act accordingly.

There should be an uproar if she said n.esta should be tortured or thrown in one of these prisons. Which she wouldn’t be shy to say if she felt it.

ITS ON PAPER. I feel like I’m holding reading lessons every week for antis and they have the nerve to mock Feyre being illiterate

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #morrigan #nasty archeron #nesquick archeron #acosf #pro morrigan #inner circle

24 notes · View notes

elucienschild · 3 years

Text

Nyx’s first birthday

review: It is Nyx first birthday, and for the occasion the High Lords of each court are invited, and Feyre is stresses that something happens.

Tonight was Nyx’s first birthday, Feyre and Rhysand were determined to do the right thing for their baby, and, even if Feyre was stressed as she has never been, she agreed to follow the tradition. The first birthday of the child of the high lord, and in that case high lady too, was supposed to be celebrated with his family, of course, but also with the high lords of the other courts. It was their first time meeting the child, except for Helion, who already came to meet him, it was a real surprise for the others. Feyre wasn’t scared of Kallias, Thesan, or even Tarquin, but she was of Beron and Tamlin, she had no idea how the high lord of the Spring court would react when he will meet Rhys’ and her baby. This is why Lucien is in the Spring court for a week now, trying to calm the Beast, and convince him to come, not to make any more scandal like in the past, but to enjoy some company.

Feyre is freaking out, trying to dress up her baby. “Nyx, please baby, stay still”

“Sorry mama”

Feyre was shaking while closing the last buttons of Nyx’s shirt. Rhys arrived in the room. “How are my two favorite people?”

“Papa !” Nyx was running to his father in a second, and Rhys took him in his arms. “Hello, my baby, you are good looking”

“Mama dressed me”

“I guessed that babe. Why don’t you go look for auntie Elain? We will leave for the House of Wind soon.” He let go of his son, who runs to his aunt’s bedroom. “Fey... You need to calm down... Everything will be alright”

“How can you be so sure? What makes you think that Beron won’t try to kill him? Or kidnap him?”

“We won’t let him. Cassian and Azriel are warned, they have to watch Beron and his sons. We both will be with Nyx the entire evening, and if he isn’t with us, he knows he has to stay with someone. And, Fey, if anyone tries to hurt our son, I will kill them myself.”

“I wish I could be so confident” She sighed and looked at him. “If Beron is acting suspicious-”

“If he is, he or Tamlin or anyone, you take Nyx and fly away. As we said, if anything happens, you go hide Nyx to the cabin. Alright ?”

“Okay. Yes, I’ll take him to the cabin.”

Rhys approached slowly his mate by behind and hugged her. “I love you, and you are beautiful in this dress”

“I love you too, and thank you, you know I prefer wearing your shirt”

He laughs “Yes I do” then he gives her little kisses on her neck, slowly. “Come on, everyone is already waiting for us at the House.”

“Let’s go then.”

When they arrived, and after saying hello, they went to their place. Rhysand, Feyre, and Nyx we're near the door, to welcome the High Lords and the other guests. Morrigan and Amren were near the banquet. Cassian was with Nesta on one of the couches. Azriel already disappears, and Elain, alongside Gwyn and Emerie were talking on another couch.

Only a few minutes later, the guests started to arrive. Helion was the first to arrive with some people of his court, Nyx was pleased to see him, as always, because he always brings a lot of gifts, and Nyx loves gifts. Soon after him Thesan and his people entered, then Kallias and Tarquin. Feyre was relaxed for now, and Rhysand was looking after her every minute to be sure everything was fine. She was holding her baby in her arms as he was tired to stand. After an hour, Beron accompanied by his wife, the poor lady, and his sons appeared.

“High Lord. Lady” he looked at them in triumph, Feyre could have slapped him in the face just for the lack of respect he gave her.

“It is High Lady,” Rhys answered in his cold voice, the one he usually takes in the court of Nightmares. “I will ask you to show my mate respect before she makes you give her.”

He rolled his eyes. Arrogant. “Sure, High Lady. So I guess this is your son.”

“It is.” Feyre holds Nyx closer to her, mistrustful of the High Lord of the Autumn court. Nyx as a well-behaved kid, politely say hello to Beron.

Then they left to say hello to the other High Lords and to eat.

“See, it’s alright. He knows he cannot reach the limits.”

“He is potentially working with Korschei, Rhys, he is dangerous.”

“I know. But right now Korschei cannot reach us, and Beron isn’t strong enough to try anything against us. So try to relax darling, it is alright.”

“I hate when you are too calm”

“I know, but someone has to, your mother instinct is crazy,”

Arrogant Bastard. Fuck you, she said through the bond. And then hear him laugh. I love you too. She smiled. She stepped closer to Rhys as he holds her against him.

“Everything’s alright kiddo?”

“Can I go play papa?”

“Only one person left, and then yes, you will be able to go play.”

The little kid nodded. A minute later he gave a little scream of happiness and jump from his mother's arms, and runs towards the door.

“Nyx come back here !” Feyre was in a panic when she noticed that Nyx was running to Lucien. The redhead holds him in his arms, a large smile on his face.

“Hello little one, I missed you”

“Hi uncle Lucien, I missed you too” Nyx was shining, he always loved his uncle Lucien, and he hated when he had to go away for business. Lucien was walking to Feyre and Rhys, still holding Nyx, with Tamlin by his side. Feyre froze at the sight of him, Rhys sends a wave of comfort through the bond, and Lucien, as he noticed too, hold Nyx closer to him.

“It is good to see you, Lucien. Tamlin” Rhys salute him, Feyre and Nyx did the same.

“Mama, Papa, can I go play now?”

“Yes, babe, you can”

He jumps from Lucien’s arms, and then looks at him “Can you come to play with me please?”

“Sure” He smiled and follow the little one to play with him.

“He seems... Adorable” Feyre could have told that Tamlin was being a hypocrite, he hated this child before he even met him. Which was unfair, but she didn’t care, as long as he stayed away from her baby. Feyre’s mother instinct grows more every day, she didn’t even know she could have an instinct like that, her own mother never take care of her, how could she know how to take care of a child? But it was natural, the way she holds him, helps him, teaches him. Everything was natural. She has to admit that Nesta helps her a lot, since her sister was feeling better thanks to herself, her friends, and her mate, she had shown a real overprotective form that Feyre never knew she had. Nesta was visiting Feyre every day since her labor, and she loved it. They realized that they didn’t know much about each other, and they were trying to get closer. Nesta herself was happier. You could tell she was smiling more, and she was even trying to be more social. Recently she started talking with Lucien, and they find out that they kind of liked similar things, the first one being Elain. Nesta would never admit it, but Feyre knew she liked Lucien and she found him funny. Even though she told him that she hated his new friends. Nesta still disliked the mortal queen, Lucien was telling her it was because she didn’t know her and that Vassa was kind, but Nesta ignore it and forbid him to have a relation with her, I think I never saw Lucien laugh that much than this day. Indeed, he was already fond of Elain, and would never cheat. Even if they are not a couple. Yet. She started to acknowledge him when she was babysitting Nyx, she had some issues and Lucien was the only one here to help, since then they often babysit together, last time she even agreed to go to the restaurant with him, and when she came back and tell them everything she was shining of happiness. Feyre concentrated again on the discussion.

“He is.” Rhys ends up saying. Tamlin didn’t dare to say anything more and lead to the other High Lords.

The rest of the evening was calm, Nyx opened his gifts, all happy, and eat the chocolate cake Elain made for the occasion. Feyre ended up talking gossip with Mor, she learned that Lucien and Elain spend the evening together, playing with the kid, or just some time alone. Amren and Varian left early, apparently, she had forgotten to lock the door of her apartment, of course, the others knows what it means. Cassian and Nesta, to Feyre’s surprise, didn’t leave the party to spend time together, their mating bond was still so fresh that sometimes they needed to leave in an urge. Rhys spent the evening with all the other High Lords, talking about annoying things that Feyre didn’t want to know. Emerie joined Feyre and Mor in the middle of the evening, Gwyn and Azriel had started a competition and she didn’t want to be in between. Feyre could have sworn that something was happening between the two of them, but they were keeping it a secret.

When the party was over, Feyre, Rhys, and Nyx went back home. Elain decided to sleep at the House of Wind, of course, it was to spend more time with Lucien but she would never admit it. Feyre put Nyx to bed and join Rhys in their room.

“See? Everything was alright” He said when she entered the room

“Yes, sorry I panicked.”

“Don’t be sorry darling, it is normal, I wasn’t so confident either. But they stayed away from our baby”

She climbs into the bed after undressing and Rhys holds her close to him. “As they should”

He laughs “Good night darling”

She smiles and closes her eyes. “Good night”

53 notes · View notes

imwritingthesewords · 3 years

Text

Let me tell you, if I was in the Inner Circle. I would be giving a huge hell no to the whole group and backing up my bitch Nesta.

Call it like I see it, and tell every single one to fuck off. Their behavior was gross!

Don’t get me wrong I know Nesta needed a intervention but she did it wrong, Feyre did it wrong. Hell Elain did it wrong!!!!

I also think there is a problem with SJM and writing siblings at least the Archeron sisters. I’m pretty sure she does not have any?

She writes like Feyre doesn’t know her sister, even though she has lived with her, her entire life. And yes even if Nesta is “mean” to her and closed off from her sister there is no way Feyre could not have known Nesta. There is just a way of knowing things when you live and grow up with somebody. Whether or not you know what goes on in their head. And this goes for Elain too! Bc fuck Elain with how she treated Nesta, Nesta was there for her

She saw how her sister reacted to her father and the spiraling downfall of their family. I’m not close to and fight with one of my siblings but I do know them.

The unrealistic standard that they hold for her healing, how long it takes. For Cassian it took what 10 years to heal or to be okay? And Nesta is taking too long?

And “oh I don’t know how to help her she’s mean to me! And pushes me away” You are all 500 years old and you are getting upset over a 24 year old women who is still trying to come to terms with everything and figure out how to cope.

Rhys and Feyre have so much power in the Night court and you are telling me they could not have talked to the bar owners/clubs or whatever and told them not to serve her alcohol or let her in? Or done something to block it?

I don’t know. I am just ranting at this point. I did like the book just somethings make me angry. I know she’s happy but damn.

My girl deserved so much better and shame on them.

Oh, and don’t get me started on Mor! Nesta belongs in the court of Nightmares? She has never even done anything to you Morrigan. I cannot find where she abused or was mean to you. Or barely spoke more than 10 words to you. But she belongs in the court of Nightmares? And even if it was because of Feyre, the court of nightmares is extreme for not going into the woods to hunt.. come on

Wow! Okay now I’m done

#nessian #a court of silver flames #acosf #nesta archeron #cassian

26 notes · View notes

bloodycassian · 3 years

Text

Enemies and Allies - Reader + Night court. the concept:

enemies forced together in alliance to save their courts. Politics, tension, "Once we're done here I will be the one to kill you." slow burn reader x an Illyrian? Not sure who yet

Part 1 of a possibly reoccurring fic.

You never liked dealing with other courts, but Rhysand and Tamlin were possibly the two worst high lords to deal with. Helion would have been up there too if he wasn't so damn charming. And Beron didn't even count, considering he was your uncle. He was annoying automatically. And a damned fool for not showing up to the funeral. Tamlin was a brute shoved into power much too early. You could tell just from the way he carried himself. No nobility, no grace. Just the brutal beast that lurked under his skin. The way he didn't bother leaving any flowers along the coast line was further proof of his childish ways. Rhysand was the polar opposite. The epitome of arrogance, grace, poise and political power. All words and strategy, enough to make you double take every time he opened his mouth. Constantly on the lookout for hidden meaning or loopholes in his word choice. He made your heart race with stress. His spymaster and general though, were like two neutral, yet menacing gargoyles on either side of him. They were unsettling, especially with the shadows that crept over the spy. You tried not to stare at those curling around his shoulders, or the dull siphons that laid on each of their hands. Or the wings. The wings would have been the worst part if there weren't other winged generals at the funeral. Peregryns guarded their high lord, one at each side much like Rhysand. Only they radiated sunshine, and light and goodness. Still terrifyingly deadly, though. Their polished armor and ceremonial scepters glinting from the overcast skies. "A funeral should be a celebration... of the life that was. Please, join us." Tarquin said, voice thick. His mate's lip quivered. The ocean crashed against the sand, scooping up the flowers left to honor his son. Your heart squeezed at the tone change in his voice. The way he struggled to hold himself together for his court. Vivienne turned from the crowd, and Tarquin followed. Her dark hair moved like water over her thin frame. They held each other for a long moment while the Summer court guards ushered guests to the large open beach house. You hesitated, looking out towards the ocean as it roiled. The dark water churned, seagulls overhead made no sound as they passed. "Its been a long time, Autumn." The sultry voice was enough to make your skin crawl. He had kept the nickname since he'd met you. And in the two hundred years since. He did not forget such a remarkable introduction. Especially of someone who had your kind of power in an opposing court. His eyes flashed with amusement when you turned, plastering on a charming smile. "I would have preferred longer, but the Cauldron works in strange ways sometimes." You retorted, and began walking away from him, grinding your teeth when he followed with ease. He laughed and nodded. "Indeed it does, with the passing of Tarquin's only child." the not question was leading, looking to see if you knew anything of the murder. Anger spread though you at the subtle accusation. You couldnt let it show. You had to keep your calm. Or he would surely suspect something of you. You could practically see the accusation scene play out when Night court invaded Autumn on Summer's behalf. Claiming that Autumn had killed the boy. "A parent should never outlive their own child." You said mournfully. You knew from experience how it ruined families after such a loss. When you snuck a glance at his face, you could have swore you saw pain there. A longing that you didnt understand coming from him. It almost made you feel bad for him. You jolted yourself, forcing your mind to focus upon on your steps in the sand. He paused for just a second before opening the bungalow door for you, inviting you to the wake. All courts dressed in mute tones of their colors, not one dared to raise their voice above the hushed murmurs. Rhysand gave a nod to his two generals in the corner, standing like statues. "I'll be seeing you then, Autumn." His eyes met yours and you swore you saw something linger there. Before you could tell him to knock it off with the nickname, he was weaving his way across the room to the two Illyrians. Stopping every so often to give grim smiles to the families of Summer Court. His actions seemed genuine in nature. You dared not reach out a mental hand to him though, knowing you might not return with it intact. + "And what of Night court?" Beron's slurred words were familiar. The old man had been wasting away in his own filth for years. After the Lady of Autumn disappeared, he had nothing left to keep him in line. His sons - Eris namely- made the important decisions in the court, but he still acted as ruler. The figurehead for important events and nothing more. He had also become obsessed with the innate abilities of all the other high lords. Constantly comparing his own lingering power with the others. In two hundred years, his body had seemed to begin to wither. Directly after your birth, some said. And cursed you for their ruler's demise. After the shame of being one of the few courts to refuse to help win the war, Beron had given up completely. Still power hungry, but no longer driven. "Night court seems to be fine. Not shaken by the murders." You surmised as best you could after your short interaction with the High Lord. "Was it's high Lady there?" He asked with a grunt of a laugh. He was always undermining the role, laughing whenever you mentioned seeing the lady of Night. "She was not. I believe she was taking care of the babe, as the two generals were there." He shook his head, his gray hair falling in his face. "As a female should." You fought not to cringe or bite back at him. Even if he was your uncle, Beron would be a fantastic target if there was, in fact a murderer loose in Prythian. You shooed the tratirous thought away. "Tarquin and Vivienne send their regards." You said, hoping he would allow you to take your leave. You glanced around to the cavernous space that encapsulated the dark throne room. The banners on the wall seemed lacking in color. Years of dust likely growing on them. The cracked stone floor showed its age as well, moss growing in the corners. He refused to let anyone touch up the dim room after his wife had gone. Echoing steps sounded behind you. You turned on your heel calmly, but gripped your sword. Ready to defend your High Lord if needed. Your mouth fell open at the sight of The Morrigan striding down the long hall. Eris on her heels behind her. She was a beacon of light among the dull ancient stone walls. Eris had a wicked grin on, eyes locked on his father. + "The Queens have been killed." She announced, no wavering in her tone. Your stomach hit the floor. Beron said nothing, didnt show any reaction in the slightest. As if he already knew. "And they sent you so I could be assured the court of Nightmares isnt lying?" "They sent me because I saw to their end personally." Eris even glanced at her with the tone she used. She leveled a look at Beron. He waved a hand, as if the Night court commander hadn't just announced that the biggest enemies to Prythian were dead."Cut off the head of the snake and more appear." He coughed after the shrug, his breathing labored. Eris hid a pained look that you knew all too well. The denial of his father's life coming to an end in front of him. You could have balked at him for the outright insult but kept your mouth shut. "High Lord.." you began, wanting to consult him on the weight of the situation. He glared at you, that familiar piercing stare that told you to stop whatever you were doing. As a child, that stare was enough to make you behave. You didn't dare think of what more than a stare Eris had to go through during his childhood. Eris' jaw clenched before he began "Father, the Queens no longer pose a threat. This would be the perfect op-" "Enough, boy!" Beron's voice echoed in the hall. Your cousin's face went red with shame. Fear settled in your stomach. If Beron had no plan for moving forces to the continent to stablaise, there would be a power struggle. Even you knew that. "You assume I dont have a plan. We can discuss this when there are no wandering eyes or ears present." His tone was softer, but still laced with that High Lord's authority. Mor's eyes could have killed them if she had the ability. She snorted, and turned on a heel to leave. Her footsteps echoing in the long hall. "The Night Court's whore, going back to where she belongs." Beron mused to himself. She stopped dead in her tracks. Eris' face went pale when she turned. Your palms went sweaty at her eyes, like two daggers looking at him. She held up a hand. Light flashed, and suddenly there was a razor thin spear flying through the air. You ran at The Morrigan before you knew what you were doing. Your hands were a flurry of movement as you tried to keep her down. Eris just watched, unable to move as he watched death race for his father. A wet splatter, and Beron's chest was punctured by that golden spear. His mouth leaked blood, his eyes closing. Eris was rooted to the spot. Your body locked up, and Mor shoved you off of her with a grunt. She wasnt trying to win the fight, she could have obliterated you in a second if she was. You felt like you weren't in your body. She stood, wiping the blood from her face. You didnt remember hitting her that hard. Your mouth was dry, mind buzzing. Mor waved her hand again and the spear was gone. "Have all the power you want, Eris. Our deal has been struck. Send your forces to Rask by next week." She scowled at the body on the throne. The male you had just wished death upon. The reality of it made everything fuzzy. Eris was still pale, his eyes not looking away from his father. "We will see you there." He said, voice weak. Distant. You could only faintly hear Mor Winnow away. The roaring in your head was overwhelming. Your uncle dead on his throne. A hysterical laugh bubbled from Eris' chest. Only one, before you could catch his gaze and see the silent tears streaming down his cheeks. + "You killed the Queens and my father without consulting me first. I hardly think our deal was struck." Eris had been strange after his father's funeral. But for the first time since, you saw a glimpse of the old him. On the move to Rask, he had been that hollow shell he seemed like. Btu as soon as he laid eyes on Morrigan waiting at that tent, he seemed to put on more of a show. Inside the tent seemed too small. It was enormous, but with everyone inside it was too hot. Too cramped. The sun beating down did not help. The two Illyrians in the corner leering at you and Eris was not helping either. "A deal's a deal young Lord. I suggest you choose your words more carefully next time." Rhys winked. You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to hold back your tone. "You murdered him. I am being blamed for not guarding him well enough." Your reputation in the court had fallen. Several Royal court members had been rumoured of your position inside the court, if you should be banished because of the death. None of them knew what actually happened. You and Eris had agreed on a believable story though, whoever had murdered Tarquin's son also reached Beron the night of the funeral. "I did not murder him. My lovely cousin however, did." Rhys drawled with a cat-like grin. It made you see red. Azriel grinned behind him. Those creepy shadows of his seemed more transparent in the sun. Mor glanced to you, her eyes not betraying anything she felt of the kill. You were hoping she would show some remorse for the death. Heat roiled in your stomach at the lack of care. "Dont act so upset, Autumn." Rhys waved a hand, and you felt those clawd mental hands whisk across your shields. You snarled at him, reaching for your sword. You knew you couldnt win, even on your best of days. That didnt stop you though. Eris placed a hand on your arm. The two Illyrians had their siphon shields glowing in front of their high lord instantly. Rhys laughed calmly despite the tension in the room. "You did give Mor quite the cut however, and burn it seems. Call it revenge." He folded his hand on the desk, wiping away dirt that wasnt there. Azriel's siphons burned brighter. His wings tightened behind his back. Mor still showed nothing, only looking from her cousin to Eris. Tense, her shoulders and posture radiated the worry. The tension of the room. Eris' jaw locked. He pulled you, willing you to let it go. You weren't proud of the fight with Mor. You wanted Beron to have at least died in an honorable way. But in the recent years with him hardly leaving his seat at the throne or his room at the castle, it made the chance of him seeing battle again nearly impossible. "Maybe I should have done more." You muttered, sheathing your sword. The shadowsinger stepped forward, chest pushed out. His lips pulled back in a snarl, "Do not-" He began, voice a low threatening growl. "Azriel." Rhys said calmly, voice like honey. You grinned at the Shadowed one. Rhys sighed and waved his tattooed hand in the air. Wine glasses appeared on the table he sat at. "Let's begin the real discussion at hand." He said calmly, pouring a glass. You glanced to Eris. He hesitated, but strode forward, taking a glass and downing it. + Eris was nearly drunk by the time you helped him out of the tent. After the long hours of dribble and stale conversation about diving resources, you couldnt blame him for having a few extra glasses of wine. He tripped on the rug going out. You caught him, but noticed shadows lingering around his torso. "Get. Off." You hissed, Not looking back. The shadows lingered for just a moment, then skittered away. You heard something like a sigh come from one of them as you led your cousin to his tent.

#reader insert #enemies and allies #acotar #acotar fic

13 notes · View notes

illyrian-lover-flower · 3 years

Text

You aren’t alone - we are alone together.

Hi, @autophobiaxx - guess what, I had been your secret snowflake🤗. Believe me when I say I had absolutely no idea what awaited me on this project, but i am really happy I got paired up with you and it turned out this way.

Your answers had always been so helpful and I might just want to pet myself on the shoulder with some lucky guesses I made. Hopefully this project had been for you as fun as for me, because I really enjoyed it. I actually found myself giddy through some days, not able to wait to ask you my next questions.

I do hope you like the first part of your present, the other two will follow soon - you get one on each Christmas holiday day. (That’s the reason why I had asked you to pick a number - you started with number 2. So, 3 will follow tomorrow and 1 after that.)

But now, I wish you a lot of fun - if a bit of my grammar isn’t as well as it should be, feel free to point it out - but please spare me a bit. English sadly isn’t my native language.

Greetings and definitely until tomorrow😘

Word count ( note not included) : 7. 380 words

________________________________________________________________

It was so long.

So long since she last saw the Shadowsinger - her heart longing to see him once again as she looked out into the endless sea of stars above of Velaris.

No glittering light left alone, always a close neighbour that shone with them close by. It was an endless chain so it seemed.

One that smiled down upon the fae of Velaris, her sister and her mate and even down to her - the lonely seer. That sat with a longing heart night for night, wrapped in a blanket, in front of her wide-open window. Hoping to hear even a silent beat of his mighty wings, hoping to see even a whisp of him seek comfort in the endless sea of dreams and light in the dead of night.

Perhaps he had always known she was watching, was too shy to show up in the sky which she could see so clearly. Not even the bright light of the always shining city able to taint the dark dome that was stretched above their heads.

It unsettled her. The seer's guts twisting and churning inside her as her heart made leap for leap, leaving a heavy rumble as it landed each time with the same wish: I want to see Azriel again.

Elain knew it was selfish of her to think such thoughts, but he was her friend. One that had been by her side since she first stumbled into this new life, showing her how to embrace this new part of the world she hated for so long, explained to her that it was completely fine to not be immediately ok with the ways of this world, but that it was also good to try those new possibilities it gave her from time to time.

And that she did, the Shadowsinger always an arm's reach away when she did so. A kind reassuring smile a constant companion when she looked up at him, those shining hazel eyes of his seemingly having never strayed from her.

He was there - always.

There was no way he would suddenly be gone. Her aching heart not able to believe even a crumb of this thought as she shook her head in disapproval at the night. Standing up on numb legs - for the twentieths evening in a row - from the chunky armchair. Hurt flooding her entire body as this aching wave of hurt crashed down from her heart.

He would not be there, she felt it, would not be there for Solstice.

Perhaps she should have asked Feyre of his stay, maybe even Rhys, but then again - these two loved to cloak themselves in silence. Everything that needed to be spoken only between the two of them, far away from the worried ears of the seer.

Feyre’s older sister - that was treated like a child.

A child, perhaps that was who she was, a selfish stubborn, weak child that waited for its friend to arrive, only to be disappointed that he would not attain, would not be there the next morning to celebrate the Solstice with her - leaving her alone in the shadows of a giant estate, that would this year not brim with happiness during the festivities.

If she would have wanted to ask Feyre or Rhys it was too late anyway. They were all off already - celebrating Feyre’s birthday and the longest night of the year, under the stars of Winter.

A great feast that was hosted by Vivianne and Kallias in order to acclaim Viviannes rise to the High lady of the Winter Court, though it was more going to be of a friendly gathering - that Elain had seen, in a vision, and with that she did not want to interfere.

Her absence could be considered as rude, but her presence wasn’t of any meaning - Nesta was the emissary of the Night Court and she would be there. So, there was no need for the defender of Velaris, to go with them and abandon her duty. Though Feyre had given that title to her out of pity - to make Elain feel more useful.

Allowing her to go to bed early as the stars continued to shine down in protection on the city, leaving her window wide open this night. The hope, that he would perhaps see her open window and come home, was all she needed to endure the cruel ripping of the cold harsh wind on her curtains in her chamber as she piled blanket for blanket atop of her.

Trying to let sleep claim her with its soothing blanket.

Though its blanket was nothing but wild and untamed tonight. Pictures of death and shadows, of chaos and blood infiltrating her mind. In her worry the seer was not able to part these pictures of violence into a vision or simply a nightmare.

She hoped for the last one – begged for it to be the last one. As she awoke screaming, cold sweat coating her skin like an old friend. It happened so often already in the past, she had hoped these fears would have gone away with the years of peace.

Yet it left her soaring, her eyes tearing in the darkness as she buried her face into her shacking palms. Letting the impressions behind her inner eye suffocate her - battle screams, bones breaking, cries of hurt heard among the heavy rain that poured down on the battlefield in the woods. Mud coating the already fallen warriors as hundreds of wing pairs peeked up from the carpet of death – Azriel's body lay dead and cold as a yarn of death weaved, among the other fallen warriors, into this endless rug of blood and rotting bodies.

A silent scream escaping Elain's shivering body as his eyes flooded her mind. Those soft warm eyes, that reminded her so much of the forests she had wandered upon, that never seemed to stray from her and knew when she was upset or needed a shoulder to cry on - were looking lifeless and cold into the face of an enemy he had taken to death with.

No!

This could not be the truth!

Azriel had offered so much in the last few centuries, had shed too much blood and fought too many battles throughout the years. It couldn’t be that the only thing the mother deemed for him as right was bloodshed and war and death.

Azriel, too, had a loving family with which he deserved to spend time with.

So, Elain begged the mother, that it simply was a nightmare that ripped sleep away from her. Her uneasiness making it impossible to just fall back asleep again.

She needed a distraction, something that could bring her thoughts far away from blood and cold lonely nights, in which she feared Azriel would never return.

‘Stop thinking like that!’ she tried to convince herself ‘Azriel is strong. Very strong - there is no way that he is suddenly going to die in battle. Is there?’

It was a childish thought; she knew that as she threw a blanket over her shivering shoulders. Elain knew how sudden death could bite someone, no matter how strong the one it chose to claim - after all, even a High Lord can find death in a battle. Rhys had proven that and even though he came back - letting the vibrating song of the living envelop him a lot longer- there were still nights in which she heard Feyre scream.

Some nights it was the scream from the battlefield Elain had heard. Other nights it was the same screams that ripped from her lungs, whenever she awoke from a nightmare.

Death had sought out her family too many times already. Feyre, Rhysand, her father, Nesta and she herself. Though it had been a human life that would have ceased -for the fae- in the blink of an eye anyway, it was Nesta’s and her life that had been thrown into the cauldron and was ripped away from them.

Leaving them dead empty in a new world.

In a new world, in which hope had been a rare asset, once they were made. Though Feyre had it, just like Rhys and Cassian, Morrigan and Amren and Azriel. Along with thousands of others that believed in the good and hoped for it to win.

And so, Elain realized, she could hope too - would hope - that he is going to return. Safe and sound.

The snow on the streets and rooftops of Velaris twinkling under the many streetlights like a thousand fallen stars, leading the lost warrior home. The billowing curtains -hopefully- beckoning him to come closer as the two heavy sheets of fabric waved at the night.

Beckoning him to come closer to his family.

Any part of his family.

Elain didn’t care to whom he would find his way, she just hoped he could find this way. Perhaps he already flew towards winter, having long crossed Day and Dawn on his way as he was now to spend some time with his brothers, friends and the female he so loved. Maybe his wings had flown him home to his mother, that awaited him with open arms and a warm smile on her threshold.

Though there was a selfish wish inside Elain’s worried chest as she moved on silent feet down the winged staircase. Her long cosy gown swishing past her naked feet, like a fluffy cloud of dawn. The cosy cream white blanket atop of her long peachy gown, the last sunrays of the day that caressed the fluffy clouds a last time for the day.

Sunshine incarnate.

That was what Azriel had once called her - by accident. His cheeks having taken on the same peachy colour as her gown, as she remembered this day with a smile on her lips. How he had rambled apology for apology silently under his breath.

This selfish wish inside her growing with each minute, as she searched for a distraction from the bloodshed she had seen, only minutes ago.

Elain Archeron, seer of the Night Court and defender of Velaris, wished for the shadowsinger, the Spymaster of the Night Court, her friend, to come home and see her sunshine glow in the darkness of night.

She wished for him to be here. Left her window wide open in the hopes of this selfish wish.

Wandering with a heavy heart, a soft hand placed atop of this traitorous thing as she walked circle for circle in the foyer. Her naked feet silently swashing step for step over the cold marble as a grandfather clock, in the far away corner of the sitting room, called her out of her endless wandering and wondering. Announcing to her the begin of the new day - Solstice - as it struck twelve.

Finally woken from her trance she saw nothing.

Nothing that came even close to a Solstice decorated house. Garlands - along with the other decorations- stored safely away in the far back of a closet.

With a huff did Elain start her hunt for the almost exploding cardboard box - the faerie lights all around the house turned on as she dug into closet for closet.

Only in a little chamber, where she needed to dive through thousands of papers and weapons she found it. Her nightgown and the blanket covered in a veil of dust as she wanted to lift the box triumphally up but let it fall instead, her petite arms not able to hold up all of the heavy weight. Fir branches, garlands, mistletoes, little wooden figures as well as a heavy little wooden box - raining down on her.

All far older than the things that were normally used, so it seemed, as cobwebs danced down on her. Covering her honey golden hair under a hat of grey nets. A cough escaping her lungs, just before a sneezing fit took over – the whirling dust having played a bit too much with her nose trills.

With a, for her unlikely, groan did she bent down to pick everything up. Her form slightly shivering in the coldness of the small chamber, even with the heavy blanket around her.

how could she always be that clumsy? It was a wonder that she hadn’t suddenly tripped in her garden yet. Accidently ripping out all the plants she had planted with such careful hands - that were now dust covered. As she loaded garland for garland, figure for figure into the cardboard box.

Until she saw a little wooden case - engraved with twines and flowers, so it seemed. A heavy layer of dust hiding the once shiny wood underneath it.

Who had forgotten it here?

It looked really old and somehow bits of the wood seemed to be worn out - along with the clank on the backside of the musical box. The once shiny metal having taken on the colour of a deep grey.

Somehow this little box was fascinating her the little rusty lock, that kept the music box tightly shut, seemingly calling for her to open it. A lullaby on its own as she listened into the silence. Her eyes straying ever so often from the little box in her petite hands, searching for the little key that would fit the lock.

But no matter how hard she searched for it - it was nowhere to be found.

No paper hid it underneath, no layer of dust cloaked it, the cardboard box also never having swallowed a key. A sigh escaped her lips as she stood up on wobbly feet, tugging the little wooden box carefully away beneath all the fir branches in the carton.

The way towards the door a fight on its own again as swords, arrows, bows, daggers and papers cluttered her way. Cold steel meeting Elain’s naked feet more than once as her eyes could not see what was underneath the large box in her hands.

But somehow she managed to move across the room and finally leave it again - no blade having cut her. A dusty hell which she would probably clean later throughout the week. She needed to get the time over anyway.

And with this thought in mind, bloodshed and war long forgotten, she started her magic. Transforming this cold lonely house - within only one hour- into a glittering sea of Solstice decorations.

She might have been alone and would be for the rest of the week, but that did not mean she couldn’t decorate the house. No one would take the decorations and the cosy feeling of Solstice from her, as she lightened the fireplace. the happy crackling of the fire suddenly reminding her of snaping bones.

Bones of the Spymaster that ... . No!

She would not go there, would not let her mind wander into these dark parts of her mind again as she tried her hardest to overcome these blood-filled thoughts within the last hour.

The seer simply needed to distract herself further. There would still be a later time in which she could enjoy watching the flames lick happily at the wood it feasted on -letting warmth embrace her instead of fear.

And just in case fear wanted to overwhelm her again - she needed some nerve food. The plenty of cookies she wanted to bake this year, somewhere abandoned in the back of her mind. But the thought of searching in her endless messy cook books for a cookie recipe unmotivated her, so Elain decided to go for something easy.

A recipe she already baked with her mother in the innocent days of her childhood. The smell of freshly baked butter cookies always connected to the cosiest time of the year. Stitched into her mind - just like the recipe itself.

Already on giddy feet hurrying into the large kitchen, she made a mental list of supplies she needed: butter, sugar, vanilla sugar, flour, an egg, a bowl, a rolling pin ... of course, a baking trey with baking paper and some cookie cutters.

Perhaps she could find some old chocolate too.

Even though they tasted - for her at least- almost better without gloss and sprinkles than with them, but Feyre liked those with chocolate gloss - so doing a bit of glazing won't hurt.

With a giggle on her lips and a grandfather clock in the corner that struck two, she hurriedly turned off all the lights in the house. Baking those divine smelling cookies only under the cosy light of some candles. The scent of cinnamon, oranges, fir trees and freshly baked butter cookies soon enveloping the lonely quiet house. A cold wind from upstairs occasionally getting lost in the kitchen, letting the fire of the candles dance in the dark - deep shadows running along the walls whenever wind and fire danced.

It made Elain only smile more as she baked trey for trey - tiredness not even a whisper in her body as her thoughts were preoccupied.

‘I wonder what Az and the others are doing right now.’

A humourless chuckle escaped her as she rolled the rolling pin further through the next dough. It was past two, either way they were drinking or sleeping.

And what did she do? Baking butter cookies in the middle of the night, because a wave of nostalgia crashed down on her, a nightmare kept her awake and she felt lonely!

Just how she always wanted to spent the Solstice, a family festivity without the family she thought she had.

It hurt to know that. Hurt to know that they were all laughing and celebrating, exchanging presents - while she was stuck here. Perhaps she should have asked if she could come along, but then again - she would have probably ruined it for them.

Her family seemed to think that they could never speak on normal terms with her. They never knew that she, too, could speak like a normal fae being - not like one that was always stuck in the meeting of some lords or ladies, a stick shoved up her ass.

“Holly mother!” she groaned as Elain rubbed tiredly at her eyes, maybe she just wanted to get rid of the tears that started to whelm up there. Her heart having finally taken enough hurt and damage as she crumbled - just like the butter cookie she shoved into her mouth.

Alone - that was what she was. Always meant to be left behind - protected- like they liked to call it, but the seer couldn’t take the isolation anymore. Each tear that ran down her cheeks, a butter cookie she ate.

Some were still too hot, but she didn’t feel it as she stood at the floured kitchen counter and stole cookie for cookie from the treys. Those sweet little stars, hearts and smiley cookies the only things that comforted her, as she braced her arms next to a half-eaten trey. Her streaming tears luckily only hitting the empty part of the counter top - she didn’t want the cookies to become mushy, but then again - next to her - who would eat them?

‘Snap out of it!’ was all Elain could repeat over and over again in her mind. Deep shivering breaths shattering her lungs while she did so. This wave of hurt from perhaps, two, three hours ago, burying her deep in the tides once again.

She had overcome this already once she could do it again, tried Elain to convince herself, but there was this dark feeling inside her - that mocked her, laughed at her, pulled her always back down into the raging tides of her mind - each time a bit deeper.

It was this dark mocking voice inside her that spoke as she opened her tightly shut eyes again, those emotionless eyes having once again returned to her as she eyed one of the butter cookies “What am I doing here?”

And just as she thought the bells of the grandfather clock had drowned her out, there was this deep voice that rumbled along the dark gongs.

“That I’d like to know too.” it was a mere whisper of silence, but never would her pointed ears overhear his raven voice. Her head snapping immediately up to meet his confused hazel eyes. They looked paler, but at the same time more awake than ever as they found her widened ones.

A breathless choke escaping her as she saw him standing there in the doorway - wings tightly closed behind him, a black tunic stretching over his broad chest and shadows dancing behind him.

Completely unharmed -just a bit dishevelled- his hair more tousled and a light stubble spread over his sculpted cheeks, but he was fine.

Completely unharmed.

The seer couldn’t contain her happiness as Azriel voice had pulled her out of her trance - a wave of relief flooding her as she stormed around the kitchen counters and jumped right into his arms.

One of her cookie crumble smeared cheeks was pressed against his warm chest, spreading crumbs on the clean black fabric while her ears listened to the calm thrumming of his heartbeat - a sniffle escaping her as she looked, through a tear cloaked vision, up at him.

A genuine wide smile stretching across her cheeks, as he looked down on her.

Azriel looked baffled at first, but a shy little smile spread on his lips too, once he heard Elain’s hoarse voice. “You are finally home again.” “I am finally home again, yes and thank you very much for the open window.” The seer couldn’t contain herself, couldn’t think about any consequences as she hugged him even tighter.

Azriel. Azriel. Azriel.

Her mind chanted his name over and over again. A warm feeling sprouting once again in her heart as he softly whipped away cookie crumb for cookie crumb on her cheeks - those scarred hands of his as gentle as any feather - as she silently laughed at him through streaming tears; “Please, Az, never do that again. Promise me, please.”

“What shall I never do again?” a puzzled look crossed his features as his thumb stopped abruptly its whipping, before realization dawned on him - though it was the wrong one as he tried to pull his hands away - already searching for an apology.

But Elain wouldn’t have this tonight. And so, she lifted her own hands and laid them carefully atop of his - pressing these warm palms of him back onto her salty cheeks, a fierce look in her teared eyes as his searched hers for answers.

“Please, Az, never again - you hear me - never again stay away from me for almost a whole month without at least a little note. Please, I was worried sick.”

He nodded, even though there was confusion written across his face as his brows furrowed, before he spoke. The ravenous sound of his voice finally caressing her ears again “I had left you a message though.”

“Really?” The Spymaster nodded curtly as his face turned firm.

Those sinful lips of his pressed into a thin line while he held onto her petite body. His shadows turning slightly wilder as they seemed to roll off of him in waves - a sign that he was trying to hide his rage. Elain had noticed that a long time ago, that he seemed to hide in his shadows once he was close to showing too many emotions - it was a way to keep him safe.

But worry still piled in the seers' stomach as she looked up at him - had a mission gone wrong that he needed to report?

“Where are the others?” he suddenly asked, his voice pressed, as this cold voice hissed in laughter at her again.

Wasn’t it obvious that he came for them? Not for a crippled thing like you! It hissed at her, eating up all her hope and what was left of her to make her happy - the smile she put on now not the genuine one she shared with him.

It was the same emotionless grimace she put on when she first tried to be fae. Her voice sounding even to her empty.

“They are in Winter. I’d thought you already knew that they were going to celebrate Solstice and Feyre’s birthday this year there. Vivianne and Kallias are also going to celebrate Viviannes rise to the High Lady of the Winter Court with them.”

Hurt suddenly flashed through Azriel’s eyes - most likely at the sound of her voice. He needed to swallow hard. It looked like he had trouble to deal with the information's - while Elain had trouble to deal with all the questions swirling around in her mind.

“I am so sorry Elain.” “For what?”

Azriel breathed in deep through his nose, before he pulled her - in the flash of a second- into the soothing veil of shadows around him. Crashing her face once more into his chest as quiet whispers surrounded her - one of them was his voice; “I left a message to Rhys, Feyre, Mor and Cassian - I even left a letter, that said I would be gone for at least the next month -perhaps even longer- at both of their desks.”

Betrayal, hurt, it all clashed through her as she heard these words. He trusted them all - just not her! He -

“El, please hear me out before you judge.”

A firm nod was all she could give him.

“I had asked them to tell you, that you don’t need to worry. I just wanted to clear my head off a bit, ...” Long silence enveloped them before he - for once- broke the silence, the shadows almost drowning out his whispered words “... I wouldn’t have been able to go once I would have seen your worry, your sadness, but I couldn’t stay either. Couldn’t endure to be around her when I hadn’t figured out yet what she is to me. So, I had asked them to tell you -had hoped they would- but apparently ...”

The rumble she felt in his chest as he growled the last part could have competed with one of the heaviest thunderstorms in the mortal realms - he would surely leave just as much damage in his rage.

He trusted them and they -somehow- betrayed this trust of his. Hopefully they would have a good excuse for this, she thought as Elain hugged her Shadowsinger tighter. This wonderful, insane driving scent of his coating and enveloping her like a coat again -the cosiest cloak she ever wore.

“It’s fine now. You are home again. Safe and sound – that is what matters.”

This time he was the one that could only nod. His eyes hidden somewhere above of her as she was still pressed into his warmth. “Do you perhaps need help with those cookies of yours?”

Elain's giggle -that washed through his body like a wildfire- was all he needed to smile. Her shining eyes finding him once she had wrestled herself free. “With eating them, yes. But I can do the cleaning alone, maybe you could search for a blanket. Feyre always seems to hide the cosiest ones mother knows where.”

A dark chuckle rumbled through the house as they both began their tasks in silence. “Are you sure that it’s Feyre who hides them and not Amren?” “I could bet a cookie trey on that!”

Needless to say - she lost that cookie trey.

The kitchen starting to look normal again, while Azriel had found a cosy blanket - large enough for the two of them - hers from before abandoned somewhere on the couch.

A silky short black hair peeking out from the folds of the blanket. This victorious smirk on his lips so insufferable and yet beautiful, that she could not help herself as to groan silently – while he placed two glasses of wine on the small side table. Already tugged in under the blanket.

Azriel laughed as he saw how Elain balanced ten fully packed boxes of butter cookies into the room - handing one to him: “Your won trey of cookies.”, letting the others practically fall onto the wooden table as she grabbed her glass of wine and snuggled under the blanket too.

His warmth, the warmth of the fire and the blanket enveloping her as he carefully lay one wing over the sofa lean - pulling Elain in tighter ever so softly.

A feeling of peace washing through her while they watched the flames dance. The shadows to their feet occasionally twitching up to them, to inform their master of the safety they were in – never leaving before brushing the cheek of the seer, that stuffed herself with butter cookies again.

Nursing already the second glass of wine, her eyelids grew heavier and heavier – her spinning head slowly sliding from his shoulder – sleep finally seemed to claim her.

Those golden curls of hers soon spilling in his lap, as she fell onto it sleepily – the glass somehow still safely in her hand, before it was taken from her.

A soft feeling suddenly stroking her head in lazy movements - making her want to purr like a cat. She didn’t precisely start to purr, but she couldn’t resist to nuzzle closer into the soft touch of his hands.

Azriel’s soft hands that were always in reach for her, that always were so gentle with her. His touch -even if it just was a whisper of it- leaving her skin, her blood, her heart alight. This wildfire burning and yet somehow saving her.

Elain was never sure of what to think of this wildfire inside her whenever he was near, but never too close. Now she thought she knew what it was, this burning flame longing for him.

Longing for his attention, his words, his touch – his love.

And somehow, she thought, she had found it all tonight as she was nuzzled into him. This burning untamed and twisting fire suddenly turning into a cosy little ball of sunshine that warmed her skin and her heart, like the sun rays in the days of Spring and Summer did.

It was like coming home – or in her case having home come to her.

Her mind finally catching up to her heart, to finally understand those feelings. Those softly blooming feelings, that would stay in an eternal Spring.

“Az?” she suddenly asked. Her eyes closed softly as her smiling face was turned to him, his hands – thank the mother- still buried in her mass of hair. “Hm?”

“Can I ask you something personal?”

He hesitated for a moment, before he nodded. Though her heart ached and her throat was desert dry, she needed to ask him, needed to know. “Who did you mean when you said you couldn’t be around her?”

“Morrigan.”

“Why that? Has she done something bad, did she hurt you?”

“Not really El, it’s just – somehow she helped me realize something and I wasn’t able to deal with it as well as I thought.”

To say Elain was never more curious than now would have been a lie. She was always curious when it came to the shadowsinger, but as the tension flooded her – curiosity never felt heavier than now.

Her wondering eyes opening slowly to see his far away gaze fixed on a strand of fire that danced along a log.

Tension resting on his shoulders as he looked stiff like a stone. The silence pushing down on them as neither dared to speak, the heavy gong of the grandfather clock suddenly awakening them from their daydreams.

A yelp escaped Elain as she flinched at the sound, an uneasy feeling waking up her entire body again. Gravity pulling at her gown as soon as she was fully woken and struggled to get a hold on the warrior. The soft rug in front of the couch luckily cushioning the fall a bit, though it didn’t prevent the cookie boxes to fall down on her.

A silent,almost drowned out clicking landing next to her ear.

For a moment she sat there, lay there, with baffled eyes between the small space of couch and table. A loud laugh erupting from her as soon as she realized her situation, the heavy rumble of Azriel’s ravenous chuckle joining hers until he noticed the small high-pitched noise – that played to his feet.

A furrow settling between his thick eyebrows.

“El, are you alright?” With a huff she took the scarred hand of the shadowsinger-her love- and pulled herself up again.

The tasty baked goods laying forgotten and cracked in the boxes on the floor. Just not the little music box – which the shadowsinger picked up with great interest as something dawned in his eyes.

Recognition – Elain realized with wonderous eyes. Her petite curious form taking up the space next to him again

It was his music box!

“Azriel are you alright?”

He could only turn his -so incredibly- happy face to her. Those hazel eyes of his almost drowning in tears as he looked like a little kid on Solstice that had received the present of his dreams. Holding it in his shaking scarred hands like a sacred treasure.

Elain always knew Azriel was never a male of many words, but as he lay the delicate box in his lap and crashed her entire being with one hug – she was never more amazed than now. Warmth spreading through her. Elains bones and her very blood singing of the feelings that were weaved into her being.

Home.

She thought again. Azriel was her home – even though he might not have realized it yet, she would gladly wait for him to see -perhaps- home in her one-day too. But maybe he already did that.

The fire his body gave over to hers, more than just his body heat. There was so much in this hug, as his face was buried in her shoulder. Tears dripping down on the pale skin of her shoulder as she carefully hugged him too.

Those soft feelings of her’s hopefuly showing him everything her heart could offer.

A sniffle of him, pulling them apart. The question of why he hugged her, of why he cried – lost on the tip of her tongue as he beat her to it.

“This music box, it belonged to my mother.”he fumbled for something around his neck, pulling at a long black bond – to which a little rusted key was attached. Fitting perfectly inside the lock.

A beautiful little melody beginning to play as soon as he turned the crank a few times, soft petals of a delicate Violet opening as it took slow turns - amazement written across Elain’s face.

Azriel only smiled at it. The story behind the little music box wrestling itself free.

“It belonged to my mother. She gave it to me when I was dropped into Windhaven – it was next to the clothes I had on me the only thing I possessed. She gave it to me, telling me: ‘As long as this melody plays, there is hope that we will live one day in freedom.’ And I believed her – turning the crank each night before I went to bed and each morning before I went to training.”

A low chuckle rumbled through him “When Rhysand’s mother picked me up and gave most of her attention to me, instead of Rhys and Cass – they weren’t the fondest of me. And when they found out about the music box - they took it from me.

Rhys words echoed still for many months in my head: ‘Isn’t the attention of my mother good enough for you or why are you always listening to this baby toy?’. Back then, when they took it, I had not let a single word slip from my lips for the next two months as I plotted out how I could make them give it back to me, but soon after these months of silence did my mother come free.

She had earned her freedom again, while I still fought for mine. But I was so incredibly happy, that I had lost thought to the music box. Only when my mother had asked me four centuries ago if I still had it – I remembered it again. Guilt had filled my guts as I told her I had lost it, but she only smiled and told me, once I had it I should not keep it.”

Azriel’s eyes never strayed from the frayed wood as a deep chuckle erupted from him, a barely audible whisper following “I hadn’t known what she meant back then, but now I do.” Before he turned to Elain.

Telling her the last parts of this story with such sincerity, that the pure look of his eyes into hers, had her warm and cosy. Her insides carving to be with him, to just hug him, but she wanted to see him tell this story. Did not want to miss one of his loving gazes, so this had to do – her hands softly cupping his as they held and listened to the music together.

“Even though it confused me that I should give it away - I still asked Rhys where they hid it, but he didn’t remember. I remember that all three of us Cassian, Rhys and I, had turned the hut in the mountains, in Windhaven and the town house in Velaris upside down. No one of us even heard a tiny tone of the melody and eventually gave up on it – they did at least. Somehow, I was never able to lose hope –probably an echo of the melody that still played in my ears.”

Soft chuckles escaped him a final time before he closed the lid, put the tiny key with the black leather bond atop of it and carefully lay it into Elain’s hands, wonder lacing her gaze as she looked down at it.

Azriel’s next innocent words held so much meaning, yet he only whispered them. Shy hazel eyes boring into her tearing doe ones.

“Elain Archeron, I am so incredibly thankful you found it for me. Though it doesn't come close to the feeling of happiness and joy that erupts inside of my chest whenever I see you. Your voice alone a lullaby to me. One that calms me, sooths me and somehow always manages to be there for me when I need you. A friend.”

A sudden pang of hurt crossed her heart, but she smiled nonetheless. If she could make Azriel happy as a friend, she would be happy too – would take joy in seeing him happy for the rest of eternity. Even though her traitorous heart started just tonight to hope for his love. Hoped that those scarred palms of his would hold and nurse her heart for the next millennia's – until the mother decided it was time for the seer to go.

“So, I thought.” he suddenly said. Snapping her out of her cruel train of thoughts. Capturing her eyes- her attention- once again.

“I had always thought you were a friend, had always thought the safety, the lightness I felt around you was the same with my brothers. I had for more than five centuries believed love was supposed to be a burning thing – one that burned and feasted upon feelings until one day nothing but ashes were left, but you proved me wrong. Made me realize what love is.”

Elain was speechless, her eyes having long brimmed over with tears as she held the little box in shaking palms.

Her heart realizing what it meant to him, what he gave her.

His heart. He gifted her his heart.

Those scarred hands, having placed it shyly in her hands – while they now whipped her tears away again. Her heart beating so unbelievably fast as he placed his forehead softly atop of hers. “When Mor sought me out at the beginning of the month – I think I already started to realize that my heart had long fallen for you, that I had fallen for you. Mor came to tell me about her preferences of females and in all honesty it didn’t really hurt.”

Elain nodded. One week after Azriel was gone the golden female had it declared officially. The seer had always respected the Morrigan, though on that evening she had been slightly angry with her – thinking she chose to tell this then when the one that effected it the most wasn’t there. The fact that Elain now found out that she had sought him out a week earlier already – made her feel guilty.

She hadn’t known that. But she came to realize something. “You had left to get your thoughts sorted out.” Azriel only nodded.

“These twenty days I had spent away from you made me realize the longing I felt. The longing to be close to your heart.”

Elain only smiled at him.

Her tear-stained vision seeing him. Seeing how the reflections of orange and red danced in those soft black hairs of his, every vein in his wings seeable as the fire shone through it. Her eyes, so it seemed, able to see his wildly beating heart when she gave him back the box.

His form grew stiff as he held the old wood back in his hands, but Elain kept the key.

The key to his heart.

And he understood. A blinding smile erupting on his face as he took the box back. Elain’s sheepish voice a mere whisper when she asked him: “Is it selfish of me – to want to be the key to your heart?”

Azriel didn’t answer that, not with words at least as his lips crashed hers.

Joy and happiness claiming him, making him act before thinking of the consequences. Though, he thought with a smile, as Elain’s lips pillowed his: I will verry much enjoy these consequences.

But there were no consequences. All he got was Elain’s unbelievably big heart – that beat in the same thumping rhythm as his as their chests were pressed together.

Elain’s petite body laying atop of his as her love completely overwhelmed him. The realization of that had her giggling into the kiss, until they broke apart. Heavy breaths fanning over each other's lips as they gaped for air. Elain fully bursting out laughing once she realized what she did.

Her bell like laugh echoing throughout the house, like a warm breeze of wind in summer as she hugged the shadowsinger – her shadowsinger.

Those pointed ears – which she had cursed for so long- listening to the song of his heartbeat while his scarred hands – to which she gave so much admiration – drew calming circles on her back as they lay on the couch.

The fire crackling, the cookies and the wine abandoned and the music box and the key safely put aside on the table. Their souls finally having found the way together as their hearts were finally able to embrace the other fully.

Their heated lips finding purchase on those on the other one ever so often as they showered in silent kisses on the eyebrow, the forehead, the nose, the cheek, the hands – leaving the skin of each other alight with every wet kiss.

Trust, love, adoration and so many other emotions weaved into the air between them as they fell asleep at the struck of five – not even the loud gong of the grandfather clock able to pull them apart from their little world.

Perhaps, they thought, it was good that their family wasn’t home – like that there was no need to be silent.

And neither was.

The house having long brimmed over with love as each of their family members came back. Standing baffled in the foyer as they watched sunshine and shadows dance, or rather chase. A play of tag having erupted between the two, while giggles and chuckles flooded the house.

Only a coughing fit of Cassian was able to make them look at their family. Mor and Amren smirking at what they was displayed infront of them, while Rhys and Feyre were left speechless. Nesta looked like as if she either wanted to stab Az or puke on the floor at the sweet silliness with which they chased each other.

All of them having witnessed the shower of kisses in which Elain drowned Azriel as she got him. Though he did not seem to mind. Her lips still pressed against his cheek as they were caught.

But before even one of them could speak up – Azriel glared at them all and winnowed away together with his love.

_____________________________________________________________

I hope you all enjoyed that one. Though I do admit it had hurt a bit to portray Rhys as such an a-hole.

But I needed someone that was close to Az and could play a meaner rolle and since we all know that both, Cass and Rhys, had troubles to get along with Az at first I chose Rhys, because he could winnnow stuff away.

Anyway, here is a small hint for tomorrows fic:Something little comes around ;)

Taglist: @heirofthrnightcourt004

#acotar secret snowflake #elriel solstice #elain angst #elain archeron #azriel #sjm #elriel fluff #elriel first kiss #mentions of the IC #elriel alone at home #Merry Chrismas

28 notes · View notes

dutifullybitchypeach · 3 years

Text

My two cents worth for the first six chapters and some reasoning around IC and Nesta. All my own personal opinion. Read if you want but it's just my general thoughts. Please, please don't flip if you disagree. I love Nesta and the darkness she is in right now and her behaviour is taking over this sassy no nonsense Queen and it needs to change.

THIS INCLUDES SPOILERS.

....................

Is the House of Wind a prison...technically no. Nesta just does not have the ability to fly or winnow. And no one is on standby to be her taxi. She can leave by walking. Amren threw her that challenge on purpose. She's not alone, Az and Cassian live there. And the Priestesses. Yes it has dark memories. Yes. I know that and I take it on board.

On a side note, it's irritating to hear 'I'm not your prisoner" from Nesta (who I like!!!!) I think of Azriel, Feyre, all the Fae Under the Mountain, even Elide 💗. Then again everyone's idea of prison is different. But the fact remains. She CAN leave. It's just bollocks hard. For a reason

But we know it's what she needs. We know that. We don't have to like it. Not one likes the reality. The ultimatum is uncomfortable and harsh. Our way or fuck off. They are not suggesting manual labour or degrading her. They suggest training, food, working in a library, purpose, being part of something. This doesn't sound bad to me. It just sucks it comeing across as an order. But this is Nesta's POV and she doesn't do requests or pretty please. The fact I got riled up reading it is a compliment to Mass. I had to take a major step back and reassess. Nesta sees everything as an attack. And no that is not her fault. Stay with me! I agree people enjoy provoking Nesta ( Rhys, Morrigan, Cassian) and then get affronted when she bites back. At some point I'd enjoy her retaliation akin to her ripping their head off :) And their vow to never go there again.

The IC 'review' is what annoys me. The "we" will decide where you go from here if you play ball. My hope 🤞 is that Nesta will TELL THEM where she will go/what she will do with sass. But right now sitting on a rock instead of trying to train is fucking juvenile (Again I stress I like Nesta). She hates her power as far as I can tell. But she is so low she can't see the wood from the trees. Or the hand that is been given to her.

Does Feyre have a right to be embarrassed. Yes. I'd die of shame if my sister (I have 3 btw) kept at that again and again and again all on my families dime. Without even being polite or respectful to anyone. She's only ever provided for Nesta. Period. Not to mention being a high lady with all the responsibilities that entails. Living her own life (well earned) and well life in general! I mean Jesus, Nesta is not her only priority. She maybe ours lol! But Feyre has 101 things going on. Give her credit. She tried with Nesta several times. Gave her space and time which Nesta wanted while still making the effort to reach out. Nesta needs to acknowledge that. Feyre was bankrolling her self destructive lifestyle and it had to stop.

The whole "your behaviour reflects badly on us". Well yes it does. Nesta doesn't get a free pass. The whole of Pyrithian is rebuilding and our girl is pissing away money. That's not even hers! Her behaviour does undermine the Court, folks must eye roll when IC lay down the law when your sister/ sister in law is prancing around being a with a big fuck you. Everyone is broken and rebuilding. And it's a slap in the face. Is the saving face irrelevant to Nestas issues, yes! But is Feyre allowed to feel fucked over, yes! Sisters say shit when they fight. Arguments are not flawless debates. Their emotive and bring out the worst in people. Feyre darling is feeling the pressure of being high lady and it came out all wrong. Especially when it's your sister acting up.

And Nesta never tried (as far as Feyre can tell) WE know Nesta IS trying, and surviving every day is a battle. But Feyre doesn't. Why would she. Nesta doesn't speak to her. But their relationship is so toxic that it's beyond Feyre to get it. And that is not her fault. NO ONE is perfect. There is only so much responsibility Feyre can CONTINUALLY take.

Rhys being there. I have a feeling that a male will not let his pregnant mate anywhere near someone he is afraid of. It's instinctive. Someone who hasn't trained to control their powers especially. He is on High Lord mode cause guess what he is a High Lord. This is his court and the people in it his responsibility. Not to mention the oncoming drama with the queens on the horizon and general court bullshit. Does he abuse his position of power.... well in this world the HL have the power. Everyone is answerable to one. Even Amren obeys the rules. Nesta doesn't/won't recognize that. Which is rare. They tricked and lied to get her "consent" surprise surprise a dick move from Rhysand/Feyre. We know they will do that for the "greater good". Lie, steal etc all in the name of saving the day. He screwed Morrigan over in front of her ass Father for flip sake! My point is the NC stability is his priority now more than ever if impending fatherhood is on the way. It's no surprise he wants Cassian to take on more responsibility. Nesta is a liability cause she is AWOL. It's worth noting he had this plan for months but Feyre refused preferring to give Nesta space and the opportunity to decide for herself what she wanted. So we could assume if Rhys had his way Amren and Nesta would have still been friends and it would have been far different. Amren would have been by her side. Do I condone his domineering behaviour, no not in a million years. And neither did Feyre. Will he apologise? Probably not he's an arrogant ass. And wanted to control the room. Fact. He wants/needs Nesta on board the team to bolster his ranks. She is that powerful. We KNOW he will do anything to protect his family (baby on the way).

Morrigan and her nasty comment on sending Nesta to The Court of Nightmares. Cassian acknowledges it's an insult but also the truth. That's a harsh fact on how Nesta is percieved right now. But I believe she wouldn't just thrive there, she would CONQUER ;) I don't know if Morrigan is referring to the people that abused her or the "type" of people that live in Hewn City...? Will we give HER the benefit of the doubt... hmmm.

Morrigan and that comment on good people giving Nesta the benefit of the doubt...that's Morrigans issue. She never gave Eris the benefit of the doubt and yet he proved her wrong with Keir. She's all over the place as a result . And she's been lying for 5 centuries. To her family. Cassian said he values the raw honesty that he has with Morrigan. Wow is he going to get a shock some day. Nesta may be a bitch but at least she's an honest one. And Morrigan knows it which must rattle her to no end. Point is Mor isn't supposed to be in this story very much and Nesta never really cared for her opinion anyway. So neither should we. I've checked out of Mor. Knowing she won't give Azriel closure or honesty just makes me not consider her opinion. It suits her to keep Nesta down in the gutter so her lie can continue.

Amren - her behaviour. I have to remind myself Amren is OLD, a stint in the Dungeon is probably a standard response! Her idea after the Summer Court fiasco and the jewels was to go there and crush them. Amren is by nature harsh. Which is why she gets on with Nesta the most. Cassian tells us she cares. Nesta can't see this. Her comment on Nestas sex life in ACOFAS. People ran with that. Fae lifestyles always kind of disgusted her. She wasn't Fae so bodily functions were an alien concept. Now she's Fae she's slightly horrified. Also no one else has much to say on Nesta's bedroom antics. Cause it's a non issue Mass doesn't do slut shaming. So neither should we. Speaking as a woman also here.

Elaine - we know Elaine craves peace and quiet. Confrontation is not her thing. Being there would mean Nesta would use her as a crutch, and I'm not sure Elaine wouldn't cave. Nesta pushed her away on purpose and Elaine choose to try and find some sort of contentment. That's her right and choice. Agree or disagree. She walked away or decided she can't deal with Nestas difficult behaviour. I don't know. Or is she oblivious to the situation ?! Who knows. Elaine is an enigma! It's the first 6 chapters! Right now they are two different people and have been drifting apart since ACOWR. Nesta is a dichotomy of pushing people away and hurt when they stop trying. It's exhausting for the people that have to deal with it. Who are not perfect and have their own issues and lives. Elaine has stepped back from this situation. Because either she recognizes it needs to happen or cannot sway the majority. Though I think Elaine did say something to Feyre, cause when Nesta pressed her she refused to say what Elaine thought. Just that she wasn't there and not part of the issue. Feyre is high handed when it comes to her sisters. Because that's the role they allowed her. Nesta is fighting back. And Feyre takes it personally. Which is only natural. They're sisters.

Cassian! Ah Cassian. He was spectacularly rejected and being around Nesta is a constant reminder. That's enough to make me cringe in a corner. He acknowledges he stayed away cause it hurt too much. He's a soldier and has serious self discipline. He has no idea how his behaviour/comments hurt her until she confronts him. Deliver him a few home truths. Another well deserved kick in the balls. Flirting with Mor, not sure his behaviour there has ever changed. He keeps it normal cause being around Nesta gives him the shakes!! Lol. He is slack jawed after Nesta and wants her badly, passion we know is big thing for them. It ignites them. Raw and real. Recognising Morrigan is aesthetically beautiful is just a fact. We know she's a looker. So what. Meh to this issue some people have.

We know from spoilers they start training and communicating and Mass is a Nessain ship so I'm excited to see this grow and flourish! I've read spoilers here on these two so I've no qualms.

Cassian for me is right. He and others have been through similar situations before so can empathise. But until she answers him back without snapping he won't be able to be that shoulder to lean on or turn too. He's not going to be her Prince though. Nesta is her own Queen!

I've read some spoilers on her friendships and I'm so happy. I've no idea how it will go but it says to me that the IC have a block when it comes to Nesta and don't see her the way others do and Nesta opens up to people who don't have a predisposed prejudice.

Also the IC have no idea how Nesta is going to react at any stage. It's like walking around on eggshells. Why would anyone actively choose to be around someone like that. That and very obvious fact they are BUSY AF. They don't have time to have a daily bollicking from Nesta. Yet all fall in when the plan is announced. Make what you will of that.

Some further musings:

Nesta being reminded she has to be respectful to Clotho and the priestesses is sobering. Like wow, people can't trust you will have basic manners. Again I know this is Feyre saying it but Christ to worry about that. Will be interesting with Gwyn and that friendship and a nice reality check for the IC.

I spent 4 God damn books understanding Rhys motives. He's a prick yes. Which I enjoy. But the bastard people are making him out to be I don't agree. Half of Pyrethian hates/hated him, Nesta hating him won't stress him. Or her for that matter. They have a 2 people they both care about in common and will just have to deal.

Training in Illyria, well Nesta is powerful, training in the mountains is probably damage control if she explodes. And a change of scenery from her prison!

Rhys was controlled for 50 years, Amren escaped worlds to be free. I don't believe they want to control Nesta.

Families are messy and fucked up. The intervention is a perfect example of how arseways it can get.

Azriel being Azriel I'm not sure about anything with him right now. I've read the snippets and spoilers and I'm all over the place. He is one of my favourites. FYI when I say IC I never mean Azriel I don't know why but I always imagine he finds it just plain drama and avoids it at all costs. Nesta is drinking and gambling away her life. Okay! Nesta is now training and we are all on board to help. Okay! Nesta is a powerful Queen and we are all afraid. Okay! Nesta has turned Cassian into a drooling mess and hes ass is hers. Excellent ;)

Sisters! They need to deal and respect each others independence. They are all in the wrong. It's just annoying at this stage. Personally I'll rip into my sisters when I need to but usually get a red mist when anyone else does. Even if they are in the wrong. I have a habit of always defending them.

So overall the angst killed me in the first 6 chapters. Did Rhys dominant shite irritate me? Yes. Do I want Nesta to make it clear she's not a pawn in his/their world? Yes. In spectacular fashion please.

Did Feyre handle it well? No. Does she ever deal with Nesta well? No. Perhaps only when Nesta is more inclined to talk. Which is rare. The ultimatum we know from Cassian sickened Feyre she recognizes it for what it is it but really cannot see any other option. Her fault or a combination of factors you decide. It was hyper tense situation we all just wanted to get through.

Would we be so angry if this was a soft approach headed by Elaine/Feyre/Amren? Would Nesta even react?

Cassian compared Nesta to a sleeping dragon who has just been woken up. Nesta needed a kick in teeth. A major reality check. Life in Pyrethian is hard. This a fae world. She is angry and incensed they have dared to 'interfere' and 'assume' she will be controlled. I want her to tackle her demons, confront her fears her issues with herself and others and live! Live! I've no idea what she wants and can't wait to find out.

***I've read some spoilers on the end. The rumours and the actual basic plot ending. I'm like Mass I love a HEA. And am hopeful I'll be satisfied. I had a similar theory when I heard the pregnancy rumour. A move by Nesta that would never have anyone doubt her.

#acosf spoilers #a court of silver flames #acofs #nessian #nesta archeron #nesta and azriel brotp

5 notes · View notes