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vulpes-fennec · 1 year

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The Fae Equality Initiative (Ch. 1) 🌊

Summary: Tarquin, High Lord of the Summer Court, has sent ripples of shock throughout Prythian with his plans to eliminate discrimination against Lesser Fae. When the Night Court is invited to send a delegation to Summer Court, Elain Archeron can’t wait to show everybody what she’s capable of on her first official Inner Circle assignment. Little does she know that Tarquin has also recruited Lucien Vanserra’s assistance…

Read: AO3

“The Summer Court, by decree of its High Lord, Tarquin, abolishes the use of the terms ‘High Fae’, ‘Lesser Fae’, and ‘minor Fae’ to identify Fae folk within the Court, effective immediately.”

Feyre’s voice rang loud and clear as she read the announcement to the rest of the dinner table. A resounding gasp arose from Mor, Cassian, Azriel, and Amren. Even Rhysand’s violet eyes grew wide with shock.

“Cauldron,” Mor said quietly. “Tarquin’s finally done it.”

“Varian didn’t tell me about this at all,” Amren hissed, taking an aggressive swig of wine and getting up from the table.

“Sit down, Amren,” Rhys stated coolly, but with simmering dominance. “If this decree is valid, then none of us should be winnowing into Summer Court brazenly. It could be chaos over there.”

Amren sagged back into her seat, silver eyes fuming. “I suppose now is as good of a time as ever,” she grumbled. “With Koschei gone and no external threat to Prythian.”

Elain took a calm sip of her water. She’d seen this exact moment in a vision two months ago: her family’s shock at Feyre reading from a paper stamped with the Summer Court’s seal. The vision didn’t reveal precisely what was so shocking, and Elain had anticipated something worse than social upheaval.

“Wait, there’s more,” Feyre’s blue-gray eyes darted across the page. “The Summer Court enshrines every Fae individual to equal rights; to equal protection under Court law and civic participation; to equal treatment in the public and private areas, service, and industries regardless of birth and background.”

“Sweet gods above,” Cassian muttered. “Not that this is a bad thing, but Tarquin is going to have his hands full for the rest of his life!” Tarquin. Elain hadn’t ever met the High Lord of Summer, though she knew he was young by Fae standards.

Nesta, who was busily shoveling down potatoes and chicken after a long day of Valkyrie training, finally looked up at her mate’s voice. “What’s happening?” she asked around a mouthful of food. Three-year old Nyx sitting next to her chortled at her chubby-cheeked face.

Rhys rolled his eyes, much to Feyre’s chagrin. “The majority of Prythian society is divided along High Fae and Lesser Fae lines,” he explained. “The Lesser Fae are often discriminated against, reduced to manual labor for the High Fae overlords. High Fae like us,” he added with a grimace.

“Not Az and me,” Cassian grinned lazily. “Though we are the exception, not the norm.”

“We aren’t supposed to be using the terms Lesser Fae and High Fae anymore,” Mor pointed out to Rhys.

Now it was Cassian’s turn to roll his eyes. “Only in the Summer Court, Mor. Though I wonder what you all will be called now. At least I can still call myself Illyrian.”

Across the table, Azriel’s shadows swirled around his contemplative face. Azriel. Who was now happily mated to Gwyneth Berdara. Elain sighed inwardly, picking at her food. The match was not a great surprise, considering the two were Carynthian warriors. Elain loved Gwyn. She loved who Az became when he was with Gwyn. But how they managed to fall in love with each other while being complete opposites only underscored her stagnant mating bond with Lucien Vanserra. How was it possible that Elain—who had been primed for the most advantageous marriage when the Archerons were still human—was the only single Fae at the table?

“I’m surprised Tarquin didn’t consult with you before making such an announcement,” Azriel’s quiet voice snapped Elain out of her self-pity. “Considering Velaris has integrated the High Fae and Lesser Fae in its society for generations.”

“Probably because Hewn City is quite the opposite,” Mor muttered. “Now if only my idiot father would croak—”

“Well, it says here that Tarquin is inviting a delegation of representatives from each court to convene in Adriata for discussion and collaboration,” mused Rhys, peering over Feyre’s shoulder at the letter. “So he’s simply being fair by waiting for everybody’s input. Feyre and I shall discuss this in detail later. But for now, a toast to positive change.” Resounding agreement echoed around the table as the family raised their glasses.

***

Winter was always hardest on Elain. The gardens were pitifully dead, the nights were long, and she was always freezing her ass off. Today, she’d baked orange spiced cookies, babysat Nyx, organized the River House library, and played a game of chess with Mor. It was nice, but dreadfully dull.

Elain had just slipped under her thick blankets when someone knocked on her door. She hastily put on a robe before calling out, “Come in!”

Feyre’s golden brown head peeked in. “Hi,” Feyre smiled, looking more like a younger sister than High Lady with her unbound hair and pale blue nightgown. Elain sat down at the edge of her bed, gesturing for Feyre to take the reading chair. “Rhys and I were talking about the Summer Court delegation,” Feyre started. “We’ve decided on a group of five: Emerie and Balthazar to represent Illyrians; Nikon, a male Velaris councilmember; Melanie, a Hewn City seamstress; and one High Fae representative.”

Elain nodded along. Tarquin’s announcement was almost a week ago, but the buzz was still going strong. Nuala and Cerridwen were gossiping nonstop with friends in other courts. It seemed the High Fae nobility in Autumn, Winter, and Dawn were simmering with displeasure, preparing themselves to squash any notion of Fae equalization in their territories. Elain wondered if those courts would bother sending any delegations to Tarquin.

“Rhys and I thought you would be a good fit for the High Fae representative.”

Elain blinked. “Me?” she squeaked in shock. Not Mor? Not Amren, or Nesta? Me?!? Did I hear Feyre correctly? Her visions did not reveal this development to her.

Feyre’s eyes grew wide. “If you’re uncomfortable with it, you don’t have to! But we thought it would be a good opportunity—”

“I accept,” Elain said quickly. She sat up straighter. “I accept,” she repeated, more confidently this time. Her head buzzed with excitement. My first Night Court assignment! After years and years of waiting for court-official business to fall into my lap, I now have the chance to shine!

Feyre regarded Elain carefully in the dim faelight. “Elain, I know that you…haven’t gone out of Velaris much in the last few years. I worried that the task at hand would be too big of a shift, too significant a responsibility too soon…but Rhys insists you are more than capable.” Of course Feyre doesn’t think I can do it, Elain thought bitterly. I don’t blame her, when she was the one who took care of us in the cabin. And now her sister was her High Lady, taking care of an entire court.

Feyre squeezed Elain’s hand in reassurance. “I’m not underestimating you, Elain, but I’m just saying…I had—have—” she corrected herself, “a steep learning curve as High Lady. I don’t want you to feel the same way in politics. If you’d like more responsibilities, we can start you off with smaller tasks.”

More responsibilities? More like ANY responsibilities, since I’m left out of every Inner Circle meeting, Elain couldn’t help thinking. She knew that Feyre couldn’t break into her mind (“sleeping garden of flowers” was what Feyre called it, whatever that meant), but it didn’t stop her sister from accurately reading her mannerisms. So she plastered a bright smile on her face. “Don’t worry, Feyre,” she assured cheerily. “I’m the co-director of the Velaris Garden Association. If I can preside over squabbling gardeners every week, surely a diplomatic visit to Summer Court would be doable.”

Feyre smiled back. “I know. But you’re not just a co-director of a garden association, Elain. You have spent the last few years interacting with all citizens of Velaris just as much as I have. You have the compassion and grace that is desperately needed during this transition. And you may be High Fae now, but you were human, once.” Her voice softened at the last sentence, knowing Elain had taken longer than Nesta to come to terms with her new life.

“I can handle it,” Elain said, more to herself than Feyre. I won’t let Feyre and Rhys down, she promised mentally. I’ll prove my place, my role in this court. “What can I do to prepare?”

***

Adriata was stunning. Elain could scarcely believe her eyes at the city nestled along the curvature of the half moon bay, with the shimmering Summer Palace rising out of an island. A turquoise sea stretched before her, broken by sleek ships of varying sizes. Glorious sun warmed her body, tricking her into thinking it was a mild summer’s day and not the dead of winter. It wasn’t Elain’s first time seeing the sea, for she’d often waved goodbye to her father as he sailed off with his merchant fleet. But it was different—sharper—with her Fae senses.

Emerie, Balthazar, Nikon, and Melanie were similarly overwhelmed. Amren had winnowed them in one by one, muttering something about “spending time with Varian before he gets swamped with work.” The short female had disappeared to find her lover, leaving the Night Court delegation standing awkwardly on the Summer Palace’s landing platform with their travel bags. Nikon’s light blue skin seemed to reflect the sky as he turned in awe. Melanie’s large, bat-like ears angled and twitched at the distant crashing of the waves. Balthazar and Emerie stretched their amber wings, basking in the warmth.

Elain wanted nothing more than to admire the view for the next hour, but a Summer Court entourage was swiftly walking in their direction. And everybody was looking at her expectantly. Me?? Elain’s mind sputtered to a halt. Why not Nikon, who is an actual city councilmember? Or Emerie, who is leading a Valkyrie legion? I’m the youngest, most inexperienced Fae here!

It was obvious who Tarquin was, pure power emanating from him. Tarquin’s power was different from Rhys and Feyre’s: it was warm, effervescent, and silken like water.

But Elain felt dread: Feyre and Rhys had explained how they’d stolen half the Book of Breathings from the Summer Court. The blood ruby fiasco, the attack during the war. Feyre even privately told Elain of how she regretfully manipulated Tarquin’s affections for her during their visit. “Be on your best behavior,” the High couple had warned the delegation.

Tarquin was getting closer. The male’s rich brown face solemn, his turquoise blue eyes regarding the Night Court delegation carefully. “Good afternoon,” he greeted them. “My name is Tarquin, and I am the High Lord of Summer Court. Welcome to Adriata.”

Come now, she chided herself. Feyre and Rhys may have messed up, but I can still make a good first impression! Elain curtsied deeply, just as her mother had taught her to. “Adriata is very beautiful,” she murmured demurely. “My name is Elain Archeron, and the Night Court thanks you for your invitation.”

Tarquin’s intense turquoise gaze was assessing as he looked at her. He must be comparing me to Feyre. I wonder what he thinks. Elain leaned into the blush heating her face with a smile. Usually that softened the males. “It is my pleasure,” was all he offered in return.

“My name is Emerie.” Emerie took a step forward and held out her hand for Tarquin to shake. He gave her a firm handshake back, a bit surprised at her boldness.

“The Carynthian Valkyrie,” Tarquin responded kindly. “It is an honor to meet you.” Now it was Emerie’s turn to blush. Tarquin continued to individually greet every member of the Night Court delegation, everybody equally star-struck in his presence.

“My staff will assist in escorting you to your suite,” Tarquin said, hands clasped behind his back. “We have a welcome dinner at 7:30 in the evening, in the Great Hall. Feel free to explore or rest up in the meantime. I shall see you all then.”

The tall doors to the palace swung open to reveal a wide corridor and bustling scene of servants and courtiers. A series of large windows to the right provided a scenic view of Adriata’s harbor. The wall to their left was a lovely mosaic of lilac-colored mountains that stretched down the corridor. Elain followed the High Fae servants carrying the delegation’s travel bags down several halls and winding staircases.

Melanie—or was it Emerie—audibly gasped when the servants opened the door to the suite. Melanie immediately glanced at the High Fae servants with a look similar to shame, schooling her delicate features into neutrality. Elain cocked her head, taking mental note of that.

Elain vaguely wondered if Tarquin had given them Feyre and Rhys’s old suite. There were four rooms and two bathing rooms connected to a central living space. “Where would you like us to place the bags, miss?” the servants asked Elain.

“Oh!” Elain glanced around awkwardly, realizing the servants had only addressed her. Despite them carrying everybody’s cases. “You can just leave them on the floor for now. We can sort them out. Thank you for your help!” She also noted how one of the female servants gave Balthazar and Emerie a curious look. Probably because she’s never seen an Illyrian before, Elain mused. It was only when the servants left that her peers finally relaxed.

***Tarquin***

Tarquin did not really think Feyre and Rhysand were serious about including Elain Archeron in the Night Court delegation until he saw the female with his own two eyes. She shared some familial resemblance to Feyre, in her nose and brows. But Elain possessed none of Feyre’s cunning, and her brown eyes were warm and soft, unlike Nesta Archeron’s icy blue.

Tarquin knew the other courts were nosy as hell. Inviting the delegations were more for his benefit than theirs: he would solicit feedback from various Fae and win them over, leaving them inspired to champion the same causes back home. For that to be successful, the delegations had to have considerable influence in their home courts.

Tarquin sat in his personal study, eyeing the return letter from Feyre and Rhysand. “High Fae representative: Elain Archeron” was written in clumsy letters. According to Varian, Elain Archeron was a Seer. Sweet and kind. Partaker of domestic activities. A good friend.

Tarquin frowned, adjusting the lapels of his shirt. Feyre and Rhysand would not have sent Elain without reason. Elain may not have any political power in the Night Court, but she still had the ear of the ruling couple as their immediate family. He would not repeat the same mistake of underestimating an Archeron.

Advocating for the Fae was difficult. For the longest time, Tarquin had viewed codifying equal treatment as the pinnacle of success. He’d painstakingly forged alliances with fickle council members and garnered support from Fae organizations. The law was one thing. Changing Fae perspectives was another. Summer Court nobility had been in an uproar the last few weeks over these changes. And while the majority of the formerly “Lesser” Fae heralded his efforts, there were many who were skeptical of his ability to keep these promises. This storm would be the greatest test to his leadership yet.

His eyes settled on another letter on his desk. “Greetings, old friend. Thank you for your invitation, and I gratefully accept. Looking forward to seeing you and the good work you’re doing in three week’s time. Yours, Lucien.”

Fuck. Tarquin groaned. Lucien Vanserra and Elain Archeron were mates that had been dancing awkwardly around the bond for the last few years. And neither of them knew the other was coming. It would be in bad taste to send one of them back home. He already had to restructure his court’s society and host a multi-court delegation…and now he had to deal with an ill-fated mating bond? Not good, this is not good at all. This conference better give us some good ideas, Tarquin thought grimly as he rifled through the letters on his desk. I need all the help I can get.

Read: Chapter 2

Notes: Hi everybody, thank you for reading! This work is definitely meant to be fun, but I will still be exploring serious topics that are hugely relevant in our real world. Like, the romance is not that deep but the analogies to our current societal issues are taken seriously. Because this is a work of FICTION, I’m thinking of setting up some sort of landing page/Linktree (?) that will have links to books and progressive organizations. I’ll add the link to the chapter notes once I have it figured out. If you’d like to suggest a resource, please message me!

Some things important to me don’t transfer well into this story (like Prythian is practically feudalism? Trying to world-build a classless, moneyless Prythian is wringing my creative juices dry, so I’ll have to leave it as is). I also don’t do activism for "work" (not part of a non-profit/NGO, though I’m a POC woman and environmentalist trying to learn and grow), so if you have any suggestions from lived experiences/activism work, I’m all ears.

#elucien #elucien fanfic #elucien fanfiction #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #tarquin acotar #summer court #acotar #acotar fanfiction

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sunstrvck · 1 year

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❝𝕴 𝖜𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖒𝖆𝖉, 𝖆 𝖌𝖔𝖉 𝖍𝖚𝖗𝖙 𝖒𝖊, 𝕴 𝖋𝖊𝖑𝖑.❞

high fantasy mumu penned by sam.

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖘.

EMIEL LAVERREN | autumn court spymaster

emiel is one of the younger siblings of the laverren high family, a boy whose position in the family has awarded him the luxury of few responsibilities. he’s headlong and reckless, known for tearing through the keep brandishing sticks as weapons and for stumbling through the red gold forests with leaves in his hair. in his youth his insatiable curiosity and his skill at moving unseen allowed him to be close enough to touch a dragon ( something he had long been forbidden to do ) and it was his continual ability to evade even the most persistent of minders that awarded him his role as spymaster. he excels at his job and is often in other courts because of it, flexing his well developed skills at glamour.

NIENNA ECHETHIER | high lady of day

nienna became high lady after the great war, and she inherited lands that were war torn and halted. her court is one that has benefited from her deep interest in technology and beauty, and her keep has been built into the top of a mountain– the first stretches of morning seep into the dawnstar and she rules peacefully from there. her machinations and desire for advancement are what brings the day court its power, as does its plethora of skilled healers. strong willed and formerly a fierce warrior, she is a force not to be underestimated.

DAEVA | hand to the high lady of night

daeva is the embodiment of one of the continent’s old gods. she is ancient, nearly as old as the continent itself and she has begun to forget her origins and true power. she has taken the form of an illyrian, and has sat in a position of the hand in the night court for nearly fifteen generations. her power and status is well respected and she is one who sees little issue in voicing her opinion and acting as she so desires to better the court and its vision.

CASSIAN LAMANIE | war general for the summer court

he was born something vicious, the first son of an illyrian pairing gone wrong– cassian was brought into the split home of his high fae step father who gleaned at the idea of raising a warrior. his step father was a pathetic man, one whose own accomplishments would never bring him to any amount of glory. instead, he claimed him for his own and then shoved cassian forward in the cogs of the illyrian war machine, hoping that the trickle-down from his new son. death became an ally, an easy swing of his greatsword brought down all foes and he rose through the ranks of the night court’s army with his brother, finally settling into the role of captain of the high lord’s guard. a bloodied night made a new high lady, but a lifetime of success earned with hot breath down his neck made him take advantage of the chaos, flying south until his wings could no longer: and plummeting into the seas of summer. it was another high lord who fished him out, and a life debt was one that he took seriously. service to the new lord brought him a sense of duty that was all of his own, and when he rose through the ranks in a new court: everything he claimed was his. he’s surly, but he has softened over the years– even going as far as glamouring his wings so as to not frighten those who would otherwise flinch from an illyrian.

SORIN ALSANDAIR | spring court born pirate

a young half-fae, born in the spring court as the result of a love match. he always stuck out, rebelled and was too wild for his mild-mannered family. the idea of beginning and living a life in a place ruled by peace and service; or being trapped in the farming lands of the spring court were enough for him to run away, seeking the high seas instead of the safety of his court. despite his youth, he has quickly made a name for himself in the pirating world, winning battles and waging war upon the waters. his ship is well known, as if his crew, and his loyalty belongs to himself, though it is temporarily lended to the highest bidder. he’s a troublemaker and a thief, but this is the life he has chosen for himself!

EIRAN XANTHOS | hand to the high lord of spring

no one truly knows how eiran came to be. he speaks little of his past, in truth, he speaks little in general. he’s a shapeshifter, one who becomes the form of a larger than life black panther. he has a taste for blood, and often bloodies his hands with the tasks that the unwilling or weak-willed are set to complete. his conscious is not one that he suffers from, and he owes a life debt to the high lord that he serves now. he is a dark figure with sharp teeth in the back of a room, one who terrifies most of the more warm creatures that inhabit the spring court.

BEYLA LAELITHAR | hand to the high lord of winter

there are few fae alive that are as old as the laelithar siblings. beyla is the oldest of two, and they were born a warrior and raised in the same manner. their position as hand is one that they have earned after a long life as a bloodless soldier. known for being cold and calculating, they lack recklessness and impulsivity and instead strike clean and without pity. their life has fallen into a routine of normalcy, and they enjoy the peace that it brings– the high lord that they serve is one that they don’t respect but can influence easily into making choices that they see as the best for their court.

VALERIA FIARAC | winter court soldier ( tw: physical abuse )

illyrian-born, valeria is the youngest daughter in a family of three boys. she was raised in the camps in the mountains, never knowing warmth and never reaching for it– she grew hard in the long nights and bore her teeth like her siblings did at the fierce things that roamed in the dark. it was when she was old enough to ask to fight that her father punished her for having spirit, shuttering her away. too clever to be kept locked behind a door, she would sneak away to train. it happened once, and her father beat her. it happened twice and she wasn’t able to sit for a week. it happened thrice and he took a hammer to the wings that spanned from her spine, destroying the delicate bones until there was no hope for them to fuse back correctly, and the dream of ever taking flight again broke with them. she ran that night, bloodied and weeping, leaving crimson trails in fresh snow. she ran through the night court, in the cold and unwelcoming land until she reached a place just as cold, but far enough that she allowed the ice to seep into her bones and draw her to rest. it was iskra that found her, that mended what remained and taught her that if she was not to fly again, she would learn to run and to fight. she’s the second to the winter army’s war general now, the first of her pack of wolves and there is none with more ferocity than valeria. trauma follows her but she conceals it with glassy-eyed anger: her wings are often on display, broken and dragging, to show men what they had done to her and to shame them for it.

IMOGENE DESJARDINS | princess of spring court

of the courts nobles, spring houses the youngest. not even a century old, imogene is the very picture of wide-eyed naivety. she is gentle, and curious– with a talent for growing and speaking with animals. her kindness is often regarded as a weakness, but she is careful with how she treads through the world. there is much that imogene does not know, or has not yet seen, but she trusts her brother in his leadership completely, knowing that he would ensure a brighter and bolder future for that of herself and their court. currently, she is engaged to a prince of the mortal lands, a betrothal that she did not find herself opposed to despite not knowing him very well at all.

LUCELIA BARAZE | hand to the mortal court, princess of the mortal lands

despite being twins, lucelia and lucerys could not have been raised more different. lucelia craved the adventure and wilds, but instead was thrust into lessons on homemaking and entertainment, while her brother learned to be a king. he cared little for it while she craved power desperately, and their father ignored her pleas and their mother punished her for her ambition. when she was older the desire diminished slightly, quieting when she found contentment in a marriage to a highranking noble and had her children: twin boys named valdemar & amory, then her daughter romina. it was while she was pregnant with romina that her husband died– lost at sea after an alleged attack from fae pirates. bitterness grew as she prepared her boys for a future rule that belonged to her brother, and her own future grew in uncertainty. she’s cruel when she has to be, and holds a deep distrust for fae.

SYLVIENNE CAISEAL | day court, assistant to the master of coin

It is in the aftermath of war, in the wisps of smoke and in the heart of what was left: Sylvienne was born into the court of spring. She’d always had a streak of shadow within her, ribboning through to remind her of the rubble that she had rose from: that her home was built on land that could just as easily be taken away. At first it shows as something wicked, a penchant for thievery and sly words to get her way— then as she grows into an adult, into someone undeniable, it grows darker and cruel: into a promise that she will rise above her station. She does, in her own ways. The dusty paths of her village are rebuilt into the grandeur that they once were, but it is only completed when she is long gone. She finds her way to the castle of light, the spires of which kiss the sky and falls into the service of a fae just as crooked as herself. He allows her liberties, and for it, she offers the Master of Coin all of which she knows.

HALEH KURTARAN | maid in the castle of the high lord of spring

Half-fae, she was born twisted between worlds. Haleh’s mother pulled her away to the mortal lands, and she was raised in the court of kings— she served there, a girl with purpose and station: but it was her pointed ears and keen gaze that set her apart. She was reminded of her status often, that she was lesser for the muddied blood that she bore, that she would never fit in with the people for whom she bowed before. It was the prince that was her only solace, a friend, then a lover. It was doomed, for her heart to beat for a man whose life would bring him to a station she dare not touch and when she was old enough to do so, she stole away to the Spring Court, the home of her father. It was there that she nurtured her heart ache and gave Luceryn his freedom. She found her place easily, slipping into the court of Spring in service to the high lord’s family. It is the spymaster that she has been assigned to, a surly and unyielding fae of whom she tends to dutifully: though she is forever uncertain of her place and belonging within both courts that she has lived.

#directory.

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hellogoodbye14 · 3 years

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Okay I dunno if you take fic requests but I would love to read one from you based on this prompt 💕💕💕💕

Azriel complaining to Rhys about Nyx bullying him because he keeps asking for hugs and kisses and its harmful to his broody bat facade and "Cauldron Rhys I can't babysit him, HOW THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO SAY NO TO HIM!!!??" while Rhys laughs and the distressing effects of an adorable child on his spymaster.

I m just a sucker for fluff and fun and Uncle Az 😁😁😁

Ask and you shall receive fam ❤️ (also might have gone overboard with this but oh well!)

“Unci Assshh!”, yelled the adorable toddler from across the training field.

Nyx was walking - well more like stumbling- between Feyre and Rhys who each held onto one of his tiny hands to help him balance his walk.

His tiny wings ruffled with each excited step and Rhys just laughed at Nyx’s clumsiness and determination to get to the spymaster.

Feyre and Rhys let go as they neared Azriel and Nyx threw himself at Azriels right leg. Azriel chuckled and ruffled his nephews head. Nyx as usual tried to crawl up Azriels long leg and managed to get to his thigh this time. Azriel gently grabbed Nyx by the scruff of his shirt behind Nyx’s head, like one holds up a puppy. Nyx squeeled with laughter and reached out to play with the shadows around him.

“Hey little troublemaker”, said Azriel as he carefully moved Nyx to his shoulders. The toddler was now joyfully yanking at Azriels hair.

Feyre winced, “sorry Az, he’s been yanking at everyones hair these days.”

Azriel just smiled and said it was no problem at all.

His highlord then gave him a list. Yes a list. One he always gave if Nyx was left with anyone who had to babysit. He had the list at each of the houses. One specifically addressed to every.single.person. To say Rhys was a motherhen was an understatement.

Feyre just rolled her eyes at her mate and motioned Azriel to bend down so she could give Nyx a peck goodbye.

“Be good for uncle Az”

“Unciiii Asssshhhhh!” , the toddler yelled in excitement.

Rhys smiled at his son, “we’ll be back from winter court in about two hours at most. Thank you for doing it again. Oh also under any circumstances NO sugar for him.”

Azriel nodded as Rhys reached up and ruffled Nyx’s hair who in return waved at his father and said “byeee daaaaa!”

Azriel was about to turn and take Nyx flying when he bumped into Gwyn.

“Oh hey!” , but the valkyrie was already cooing at Nyx who now reached out his hands to be picked up by Gwyn.

“Look at you, you little munchkin!”, she grabbed his tiny fist and pretended to munch on them, “oh i could just eat you up.”

Nyx squeeled with laughter.

“Umm.. I’m still here you know.”

Gwyn looked up at a frowning Azriel.

“You get my attention at training everyday, this one is too adorable to ignore.”

Azriel shook his head and rolled his eyes. His shadows as always were reaching out to Gwyn, and Nyx was taking full advantage of it and playing with them.

“Guys!”

Emerie came running out, “we need to go to Illyria for a bit, Nesta says they need help with the commanders meeting.”

Azriel frowned, “Cassian needs me to look over the trainees while he deals with the commanders?”

“Yeap”

“I have Nyx. I can’t train them.”

“He said you only have to stay and overlook it. Give some pointers, not engage them in any training yourself. He’s swamped.”

Azriel reached out to Rhys and Rhys offered his approval to take Nyx with.

Gwyn frowned down at the toddler,

“Will it be safe for him to be there?”

“Feyre says Rhys has a shield around Nyx which equates to the shield around Velaris. Besides he’s with us, it’ll be fine.”

“What did Rhys say?”, asked a surprised Emerie.

Azriel smiled, “He wanted to come back and take Nyx but Feyre told him to shut up and stop being so over dramatic.”

Emerie laughed, “sounds like Feyre. Okay lets go.”

Luckily, the weather at Illyria was on the mild side today, Azriel regardless made sure Nyz was covered and warm. The toddler was taken with Gwyn, not that Azriel could blame him. Any time Gwyn tried to leave the ring, the toddlers face would scrunch up, alerting everyone that he will wail like hell if Gwyn leaves.

Azriel had Nyx buckled and wrapped against his torso, and the toddler squeeled, clapped, and offered “wooaows” at the training illyrians. The illyrians were surprised to see the high lords son but still offered smiles at the toddler, they however turned their gaze away from Azriels stare in fear. Well that was until, Nyx called out and demanded attention, “unciii asshh, kiss”.

The blades the illyrians used faltered at that and gwyn straight up laughed at Azriels red cheeks. He nonetheless couldn’t refuse the adorable violet eyes looking up at him and gave Nyx a peck on the cheek.

The request was repeated another two times, until Nyx started getting fussy. It had been over an hour and Azriel had settled Nyx down on the mat and gave him some snacks. Healthy Rhysand approved snacks. But no. The toddler wanted candy.

“Buddy I have no candy, and your dad said no”

“Unci Ashh pleeease?”

Azriel sighed and looked up at the heavens. He could never refuse this child anything. Lord help him. Where the heck would he find candy in illyria? Gwyn ruffled in her pockets and got out five different candies.

Azriel lifted an eyebrow, “really?”

Gwyn just shrugged, “what.. I get hungry after training.”

“Well aren’t you the answer to all my prayers”

Gwyn blushed at that.

Another hour passed and Nyx was fussy again, Az sat down at the bench and tried to rock Nyx to sleep but the toddler was not having it. He turned around to make sure all the trainees were far away taking their break and looked down at Nyx. He then begun singing light notes of a song Nyx always loved. As he sang, his shadows gently caressed Nyx and soon his nephew was asleep in his arms.

Azriel carefully without jolting Nyx stood up and turned towards the ring. A ring packed with trainees who were gawking at him as if he was an alien. Well they obviously heard their stern spymaster sing a lullaby. Gwyn had returned from Emeries shop with Emerie as well and looked at him funny.

“What?”

She shook her head, “nothing. You have a beautiful voice Azriel.”

Azriel nodded his thanks and felt his cheeks burn.

“I’m taking him to the cottage, are you coming with?”

“Emerie is meeting Mor here in a bit. She’ll winnow us back.” Azriel nodded at the pair and turned to take Nyx inside the cottage. As soon as he got in, Rhys and Feyre had winnowed in.

“Is he okay? Didn’t trouble you too much?”, asked Feyre as she carefully took a sleeping Nyx into her arms.

“He’s fine and he was great.”

Feyre nodded and moved towards the kitchen to warm up some milk. Rhys gave a gentle kiss on Nyx’s head before she left the room.

“Why is there a chocolate stain on my sons mouth?”, said Rhys throwing an accusing look his way.

“Rhys, I can’t say no to him okay?! Its fucking impossible! He looks up at you with his puppy dog eyes and says please and I CANT SAY NO.”

Rhys just laughed.

“No I’m serious! And he is taking my rep to shit okay, I have a reputation to uphold. Everyone was scared of me, NOW THEY LOOK AT ME LIKE IM A CUTE LITTLE BEAR WHO SINGS LULLABIES!”

At this point Rhys was doubled over, holding his hand against his stomach. “Stop! lord this is too good. My high, mighty and terrifying spymaster brought down to a little bunny you said? By a toddler.”

Azriel sniffed, crossed his arms across his chest and rolled his eyes, “I said bear not bunny.”

Azriel could hear Feyre’s laughter from the kitchen as well, “not funny!”

“Oh my gods, its hilarious! I cant even right now”, she called out from the kitchen.

#acosf #acotar #acowar #acomaf #feysand #rhysand #feyre and rhysand #feyre archeron #high lord rhysand #baby nyx #nyx acotar #azriel x gwyn #gwyn x azriel #gwynriel #shadowsinger #nyx like his father plays cupid too #nyx and rhys are matchmaker pros

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bookofmirth · 3 years

Text

Az, Gwyn, and power

Something I’ve seen going around a lot lately, in the past couple of months, is that if Azriel and Gwyn were to enter into a relationship, it would be unequal or imbalanced, basically that Azriel has more power than Gwyn and so it would make for a potentially... bad (? definition tbd) relationship.

I’ve already explained why the theory about Elain not knowing how the bond works makes her look like either stupid, or ignorant, or supremely passive. I’m assuming that is not the intention of the stans.

Now lemme explain why this interpretation, of a gwynriel relationship being inherently imbalanced and problematic for being so, would make Azriel look like an asshole.

I keep seeing people saying “because this person has power and this person doesn’t, this thing is bad”. No. That’s not how it works. Power is much more complex and nuanced than that, and it depends on how the individual decides to wield it. There are multiple ways that someone can gain, retain, and use power. Some have more access than others, for different reasons. However, it is not inevitable that those with more power will exploit those with less.

In the post about power I mentioned Rhys, and he is a great example of why having power isn’t necessarily a bad thing for everyone around him. The only thing that keeps Rhys from literally every sort of privilege is that he is half Illyrian. Other than that, he has everything going for him. However, he rarely, if ever, takes advantage of his power to the detriment of others. We could probably argue about why this is or isn’t true and to what extent, but the point is that we have other examples of similar fae - Beron - who wield the same types of power and do not gaf about anyone else. Rhys intentionally allows the IC to have a voice in what happens in the NC, he listens to them, he takes their advice, and sometimes he does a shitty job but he tries to avoid ruling with an iron fist.

Back to gwynriel.

So the idea that Gwyn and Azriel cannot be equals in a relationship initially came from the idea that Gwyn is, somehow, at 28 years old, mentally and emotionally a child. We know that this is NOT true. It has been confirmed by the writer, who did hear explanation of the different rates at which fae age. So her denial that Gwyn is a child was not out of context. She knew what people were thinking.

However, there are still issues that people bring up regarding Gwyn being a priestess and Azriel being the spymaster. But let’s be clear about who Gwyn and Azriel are:

Gwyn is a priestesses. She is not a nun. She spends her time learning and aiding others in that pursuit.

She protected children when her temple was under attack.

Gwyn is Carynthian. One of the only two women in history to earn that distinction. That accomplishment took intelligence, cunning, cooperation, and strength.

Gwyn is mostly High Fae.

Gwyn is a SA survivor.

Azriel rescued her.

Azriel is a spymaster.

Azriel is also Carynthian.

He is part Illyrian.

Azriel’s role in the library is not “supervisor”. He is not their camp counselor. He is not their authority figure. He brings women to the library who have been victimized, and then he leaves.

The two people who are actually in charge of the library and its citizens safety are Morrigan and Rhysand.

Combining all those facts with Gwyn’s age, Gwyn is not Azriel’s inferior in any way. No matter which way you look at it, there is nothing about Azriel that inherently puts him in a position to abuse his power.

She is also not his inferior in terms of maturity (while I can see that being an argument, it would need to be equally applied to nessian, feysand, elucien, e*riel, etc.... and it’s not. Unless an sjm anti is reading this, then yeah, I can see them making that argument.)

So let’s just say, for the sake of argument, that Azriel does hold a position of authority over Gwyn. He doesn’t, but let’s just pretend that these arguments are actually valid. If - if - Gwyn and Azriel were problematic as a relationship because of some power imbalance, then it stands to reason that that ship is problematic because Azriel is the type of person to exploit that imbalance.

Is that what y’all were going for when you try to say that gwynriel makes you feel uncomfortable??? Doubt it.

One last point about my list above - if y’all think that the fact that Azriel rescued Gwyn means that he can only see her that way, that he can only see her as an SA survivor and can never see beyond that, fails to recognize her growth and strength, even though he helped her to complete the Blood Rite Qualifier... again, that doesn’t say great things about Azriel (and maybe doesn’t say great things about people who would make that argument, since people are not defined by their trauma!)

I have seen (maybe? maybe I imagined this) a comparison between Azriel and Gwyn that he’s like... a teacher, and she’s the student, to explain why they are not an appropriate ship. The big problem with a teacher/student relationship is that the student in the scenario feels like they cannot say no. Your teacher is an authority, they are more mature, more knowledgeable, they have influence over whether you pass a class and get a good grade, they can tell your parents if you have been behaved or completing your work, etc. There are a lot of ways that a teacher can punish a student for not doing what they want. This is why those relationships are always frowned upon - it’s big dubcon territory, if not straight up noncon.

However, again, Gwyn is participating in the Valkyrie training voluntarily. She lives at the library voluntarily. She is a priestess voluntarily. There is nothing that Azriel can do to Gwyn that would force her to comply with what he wants. Gwyn can tell Azriel to fuck off, to go choke, to eat dust, to go jerk off, and... nothing would happen. He would probably stop hanging around as much, but that’s... it. He has no actual power over her in the sense of being an authority figure or being in control of her life in any way.

Something that I almost put in that original post but didn’t because it was besides the point at the time, was that there are always power differences. People will always have differing levels of access to privilege and power. That does NOT mean that people can and must only ever be in relationships with people of similar levels or power/privilege. In that post I mentioned how feylin didn’t work out because Tamlin had so much access and Feyre had none - to compound this problem, he allowed her access to none. He did nothing to try to even the playing field, to educate or empower her. That’s what made it a problem.

So do y’all think that Azriel would be like Beron? Someone willing to take the privilege he has and wield it over someone else like a cudgel? Or is he more like Rhys? Aware of his position and working to support - not manipulate - others? Because even if we were to accept the premise that there is a problematic power imbalance between Azriel and Gwyn, the only reason we should be uncomfortable with that is if we think that Azriel is the type of person who would exploit that imbalance.

#azriel #gwyneth berdara #gwynriel #acosf #acotar #acotar meta #power #i hope this made sense #i still feel like i'm getting my thoughts about it in order #jfc this got longer than I intended

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gwynrielendgame · 3 years

Text

Gwynriel mating bond

I have written another version of gwynriel’s mating bond snapping into place but I like this one better

They were well and truly fucked.

It was the only thought that coursed through Azriel's mind. They had been outnumbered by Hybern certainly. Even then, the courts were able to rally together and defeat the king. Unfortunately, it was nothing compared to what they were facing now. They had the geographic advantage this time though. The night court inner circle stood at the highest point as the war raged on below. Cassian and him were regrouping while also arguing over which strategy would work best. Of course, Cassian won that argument. He was the general of the night court armies after all. Amren, who was no longer of much use in a fight, stood watching over the battle. Azriel could have sworn her eyes tracked the summer court armies. Feyre and Rhysand were currently arguing over the best course of action while Mor, unhelpfully added her opinion every other moment. It was clear to Azriel that his high lord and lady also realized they were fucked. Feyre thought they should draw back and regroup, but Rhysand felt that would give the other courts enough time to back out completely once they realized this was an un-winnable fight. Azriel knew he should give his opinion, but he was much more focused on surveying the carnage below them. Koschei and his army had managed to wipe out most of the spring courts forces- unsurprising considering they were still suffering from Feyre's plans even all these years later, the Illyrian aerial forces have taken a large hit, and the winter forces were not much help in this summer heat. It was not something Rhysand or the high lord of the winter court had calculated for, but as it turns out, training all your life in the brutal cold made it much more challenging to fight in the summer heat. All things considered they still might have had a chance if the autumn court had not sided with Koschei and the dark-bringers had not denied Rhysand's request for them to fight this war. According to Eris, there was only so much convincing he could do with his father before all their best laid plans would be tossed away like trash.

"We are being massacred out there, Rhysand! If we do not withdrawal, we will die!" Feyre's frantic voice pulled Azriel from his trance.

"We will die if we withdrawal!" He shouted back. "Kallias will retreat to his lands to save his people and leave us even further outnumbered."

"I am with Feyre on this one." Cassian finally piped up. His decision may have to do with the fact that a deep cut from top of his thigh to knee was not healing as fast as it should be. He was struggling to walk which would not be an issue if he could fly but Azriel had seen a faebane arrow cut through one of his wings earlier in the fight.

Mor was not better off and if he was being honest with himself, his own siphons were starting to drain.

"What the hell do they think they are doing?" Amren squeaked. The unusual tone has the entire group staring at the second in command with raised eyebrows. Azriel even managed a chuckle at that.

The group finally looked down to where Amren was pointing, only for Azriel to feel as though his heart had stopped. Before he could consider anything else, Azriel launched himself at Cassian. He was only able to hold himself back by sheer will alone. Rhysand eventually joined in to help hold Cassian back.

"Let go of me." He snarled. "She is going to get herself killed down there."

Azriel kept his hold steady but let his eyes wander back to the battle field. A weight had settled on his chest and he thought he might suffocate. He could only imagine how Cas was feeling. He watched as the Valkyries rode in on horses at full speed. He had to give credit where it's due, the horses were a smart move. It gave them the height and speed advantage. It appeared a group of almost 200 priestesses turned valkyrie were being led by Nesta with Emerie and Gwyn flanking her. It was quite a majestic scene. One that he knew his high lady would try and recreate in a painting. The collision with Koschei's army on the ground was intense. Azriel wanted to watch to make sure his best friend, Gwyn, would remain unharmed, but Cassian was putting up too much of a fight. Finally, Mor did the only thing that would keep Cassian safe. She knocked him out with the butt of her sword. His body went limp immediately. Azriel grunted as he set his friend down. Cassian was much heavier than Azriel would like to admit.

Watching the three females fight was always awe inspiring. They worked so well together, it was as if they were daemati and could tell each other what moves they were planning on using. Azriel's eyes narrowed in on Gwyn as her dagger found its target. Her face was set in a determined expression that Azriel had spent many training sessions watching. He wanted to go down there to aid the female that had become his best friend in the last few years, but he was afraid that he might mess up whatever system the Valkyries were already working with.

"I am going to kill her." Rhysand groaned when he finally snapped out of whatever trance he was in.

"They are supposed to be with Nyx!" Feyre cried. Obviously, leaving the child with Elain alone is the priority that the high lady has latched on to. Azriel rolled his eyes.

"Well now we have to fall back." Rhysand snapped. Azriel understood why he was frustrated. It was unwise for the Valkyries to join without telling Rhysand. It completely changes strategic plans that could have already been in place. Luckily for them, there were no plans.

"I don't know about that Rhys," Mor added. "They are kind of kicking ass down there."

Azriel turned back to check and sure enough, they were kicking ass. Azriel knew they were highly qualified and that they deserved to fight in this battle. It's one thing to know that and another to send your closest friends into the heart of an un-winnable war. Even from this far away, he could feel as Gwyn's stare fell upon him. He looked toward her and suddenly the pressure that had encased his heart as he watched her on that field made sense. It hit him so hard it was like the wind was knocked out of him. He fell to his knees with a groan. Mor was in front of him before he could blink.

"What's wrong?" She sounded panicked but nothing mattered to Azriel in this moment than getting down to Gwyn and carrying her far far away. He realized how Cassian must have felt which had Azriel feeling like an asshole. He would apologize later.

"Mate." Is all he managed before he took off in flight for the red head. He had to dodge several blasts of power from enemies that seemed to appear out of no where. He kept one eye on the females though. Their fighting was graceful and brutal all at once. Nesta beheaded an enemy as Emerie shot a male that was aiming for Gwyn. Gwyn was busy using her shield to protect another Valkyrie from a thrown ax.

It was as though it happened in slow motion. With his birds eye view, he could see what neither Nesta or Emerie could see. He pushed himself faster. He could beat the male that was fastly approaching Gwyn.

"Gwyn!" He started to scream. "Behind you." She could not hear him, of course. He began screaming it over and over again. His feet had barely hit the ground when his mate finally whipped her head around to make eye contact. A mischievous smile graced her face, but Azriel could only focus on the male that was too close.

"Behind you!" He shouted once more. She turned quickly as Azriel began running full speed towards her. She did not even have time to raise her shield before a sword pierced straight through her stomach.

"No!" The strangled cry caught both Nesta and Emerie's attention. Nesta beheaded the traitor as he pulled his sword out. Azriel fell to his knees as he attempted to stop her bleeding. His hands were covered in blood after only a second of covering her stomach. He knew what it meant and it felt as though his heart was being shredded. Nesta knelt on the other side of Gwyn as Emerie protected them. Nesta grabbed for her face.

"You are okay, Gwyn. It's barely a scratch. Azriel is going to fly you to Feyre and she will heal you." Nesta's matter of fact tone began to calm Azriel. They had a plan. Gwyn would be fine.

"Fuck, it hurts." Gwyn managed to splutter out with a laugh. She coughed up blood as she said it. Nesta and Azriel shared a look.

"You are okay." Azriel was unsure of who Nesta was trying to convince by repeating that. He did not have much time to ponder that before the abrasive female turned to him. "You can fly her to Feyre right?"

It was dangerous. He would have trouble fending off attackers while carrying Gwyn. He had to try though. Tonight may end with all of their deaths. Given that there was not a safer option, he had to risk it.

"Hurry up." Emerie seethed as she shot the last of her arrows. She quickly switched to her sword as an onslaught of new enemies rushed towards them. Azriel adjusted Gwyn as he lifted her into his arms. Before he could take off, Nesta placed a kiss on her forehead.

"Nes!" Emerie shouted. Nesta went back to fighting and Azriel shot up into the air. Dodging attacks was much harder than he anticipated. He wished he could winnow but he had drained too much of his power to successfully accomplish that. An arrow skimmed the side of his calf when Gwyn finally spoke up.

"Mates huh? Who would have thought?"

"Shhh. Save your energy."

"I have always had a thing for you, ya know? I figured you would know since you are the spy master and all. Might as well tell you anyways since I am about to die." She rasped out. Her hand was resting on his neck and if he was being honest it made his heart skip a beat. Even if they were in the middle of a war.

"Do not say that." He found himself snapping. "You are not going to die. You are fine."

A small lovely smile from her distracted him for only a second when an arrow sliced through his wing and he felt them falling to the treacherous grounds below. He attempted to land on his feet, but the hole in his wing made it exceedingly difficult. He wrapped himself around her so that he could take the brunt of the fall. Azriel was already trying to reach out to Rhys to bring Feyre to them as a backup plan. They must have been busy because there was no answer. A warrior raced towards them with a sword. Azriel was too injured to fight as easily as he should have been able to. Before he could even rise to his feet, an arrow sliced through the females throat. Azriel looked behind him to see Emerie and Nesta racing towards them. A sigh of relief left his body.

“Gwyn, are you okay?” He had to check after their rough landing.

“Never better.” She choked out. He went back to covering her wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

“New plan. You are going to ride back with Nesta and find Feyre to heal you.” He was feeling frantic at this point. Gwyn would only get worse as the faebane worked its magic and he would not be able to live with the fact that he could not save her.

“Hey Azriel,” she had never called him by his full name before- only Shadowsinger or Az. “I love you. You have been my closest friend and I just realized I have never said it to you before. But I want you to know that I do love you.” Her breathing was harsh and her words came out raspy. Azriel had longed for the day to hear those words, but he knew that Gwyn was saying them as a goodbye and he hated that.

“Stop talking. Save your energy.” Another of Koschei’s fighters popped up only to be downed by another of Emerie’s arrows- she must have found more somewhere.

Two more charged towards them. Azriel ripped silver majesty from Gwyn’s holster and simultaneously threw her dagger and truthteller. It sliced through both of their throats. Nesta and Emerie were almost here. He just had to protect her a little longer.

“Az,” she began again.

“Stop distracting me.” He did not want to be harsh.

He promised he would make it up to her with sweet words when they made it out alive. She grabbed his hand roughly searching for his attention. The connection between their hands sent a spark through him. He finally looked at her. Blood covered her mouth and hands, sweat plastered her hair to her forehead, her eyes were looking a little glassy, and her pale skin was even paler than normal. He knew what this meant and could not stop the tears that flowed from his eyes.

“It is okay.” Gwyn whispered as her hand came up to caress his face. “I will find you again in another life.”

“Gwyneth, I lov-“ Azriel was interrupted by an ear shattering scream.

“No!” Nesta was looking behind them.

Azriel’s head whipped back to see a female charging for them faster than he could block in his weakened state. He accepted his fate then. Gwyn and him would find death together. He squeezed her hand tightly and waited. Nothing happened though. He looked behind him again to see the female had been taken out by a winter court soldier. He peered more closely at the soldier- only to realize he was dead. Nesta and Emerie finally reached them. Nesta was wearing the mask. Azriel knew this would end in disaster. Rhysand strictly forbid the use of the dread trove in this war. He knew that Koschei was searching for it and as long as it was locked away then it was safe. Nesta might as well have delivered it to him on his door step.

“Nes, what are you doing? Koschei-“ before he could finish though, Nesta was rushing to Gwyn’s side already cutting him off.

“Koschei won’t come near me as long as I have the one weapon that could kill him.” She pointed to Ataraxia- her made weapon that was sheathed on her back. Nesta grabbed Gwyn by the face, forcing her attention. Emerie stood guard again. It gave Azriel some faith that Nesta had a plan to save Gwyn.

“I am going to fix this, okay? Gwyneth Berdara I will not allow you to die today.” Nesta’s tone was final and absolute. Azriel finally saw the harp in her hand. He watched as Nes placed a kiss to Gwyn’s cheek and then she pulled the last string.

In the next moment, Nesta was forcing Gwyn to drink what appeared to be blood- Feyre’s blood. He knew then that the harsh female must have paused time in order to obtain the blood. What was no time at all for them, must have been forever for Nes. He noticed that the fighting had completely stopped. Whether it was because the undead soldiers were enough to overwhelm Koschei’s forces or because of something Nesta did during the time pause, Azriel would not ask until he knew Gwyn would live. Emerie was on her knees, lifting Gwyn’s head to rest in her lap. Emerie began brushing pieces of hair away while whispering something in her ear. Nesta watched intently while squeezing Gwyn’s hand. Azriel realized he was mirroring Nesta’s movements. He also was squeezing Gwyn’s hand while watching her intently. Her eyes were closed, but the wound on her stomach had finally closed. It felt like eternity before her eyes began to flutter open. A weight lifted off Azriel’s chest- an all-consuming weight. They all waited for Gwyn to speak before celebrating though.

“Hey.” She managed to cough out. Emerie shouted with glee as she peppered kisses all over her face. Nesta threw her body over Gwyn’s in a desperate attempt of a hug. Azriel felt the urge to shove both of them off and gather Gwyn into his lap for the worlds longest hug. He resisted though because he knew how Nesta and Emerie were feeling. It was how he was feeling- grateful for their best friend to be breathing.

“You are in so much trouble. I cannot believe you let yourself get stabbed!” Nesta yelled at her and then proceeded to hug her again. Azriel just squeezed the hand he still had a hold of.

“We are going to force Azriel to train you so much harder because of this just so you know.” Emerie cracked a smile as tears still poured down her face.

“Sorry.” Is all Gwyn could manage. Azriel could no longer hold out. He lightly nudged Nesta off of Gwyn, then he pulled her into him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and tucked her head under his chin.

“I fucking love you Gwyneth Berdara,” she pulled away to look up at him with big shocked teal eyes that were brimming with tears. “But if you ever pull that shit again, I will personally ensure that you train everyday for at least five hours.” She immediately started laughing. It was like music to his ears. His shadows, who had been moving so chaotically since the bond snapped in place that he chose to ignore them, finally calmed down. It was as if her laugh proved that she was going to live. One stray shadow reached out to caress her cheek. She sighed into it.

“Blame yourself,” she started joking which only eased the tension in his body even more. “I was distracted by the mating bond.” She pulled away to give him a genuine smile that tugged at the bond. It was so beautiful it hurt.

“Mating bond?” Emerie screeched. Gwyn laughed again. It was music to his ears.

Gwyn grabbed him by the face and pulled his lips to hers. He could hear Nesta and Emerie squealing- so in contrast to the battlefield they were currently sitting on.

It was by far the best kiss he’s ever had. The bond was singing as were his shadows. Blood that still covered her mouth was smearing onto his, their sweat was wiping off on each other, and the dirt caked onto his hands were getting in her braid as he held onto the back of her head. It was not the best circumstances for a first kiss, but he did not care. It was beautiful and magical and every other positive adjective that he could not think of. A swipe of her tongue against his was electric. His shadows had never sung to someone as they had her. They broke apart and the smile on Gwyn’s face was worth every hardship he had to endure to get to this moment.

#gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #azriel #mating bond #mates #acotar #acosf

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flowerflamestars · 3 years

Note

I'm in a very angry-with-the-IC-and-Rhys-in-particular mood, and since I'm just rereading Daylight I was wondering, what is going through Rhysand's mind throughout the events of Daylight? Because it's basically his entire life CRUMBLING around him and I'd love to see the mental gymnastics he does to fit it all into his "I'm the good guy, actually" narrative. Or just his general reaction.

this is a FABULOUS question, thank you!

Daylight! Rhys is, in my opinion, the closest to a canonical (pre-acosf) character representation that I go for. He's so SO fucked up, and sublimating and burying all that trauma has, of course, failed, and it's all manifesting, in all these different directions.

To understand the level on which Rhys is losing his shit, it's important to go back to the very beginning: Rhysand, to Rhysand, is always, always the hero of the story. The down on his luck knight with truth in his heart. The struggling, just man.

He CANNOT seeing beyond himself for even a second. He casts himself in the most important role, as the only person whose personal consequences exist.

His mother, at probable great risk, takes him to Illyria to be trained- the precious, first-born, godly son of Night. To learn to fight- to learn, presumably, her culture- to see what that culture is reduced to, a harshness he will on day have the power to change. Rhys had to be, at some point, a great hope for Not High Fae denizens of the Court.

What does Rhysie learn? Illyria is harsh. Illyria is bad. Backwards and cruel.

He hates his father for...presumably, the crime of being a pretty traditional High Lord? Rhys hates the cruelties! the Court of Nightmares! the broken system!

So what does Rhys do when he has power? he fires everyone. He doesn't like them, he doesn't like whatever they did under his father...so instead of hiring new people, he removes himself entirely from a potential role in changing/mitigating those policies. See also: the Court of Nightmares, cowed occasionally, but not in any way governed by Rhys.

But he's the hero! He's destroyed the oppression! His Court of Just his Bros is made of women and Illyrians!

(Rhys removed the terribleness from his direct experience...because only his experiences matter)

So, Rhys in his head: the struggle, the hero, the man just trying to do it right.

Which brings us to Daylight....and Feyre. I know we can attribute the way the characters stop even remotely being sympathetic between acomaf and...everything else...to poor writing, but I also think there's some (maybe accidental but PERFECT) character work there: in acomaf, pre-acknowledged bond, Feyre is an important possession/ally- she's on the same level as the other members of the Court of Dreams, if the jewel of the collection, a high point in the story Rhys tells himself: HE saved the HERO OF PRYTHIAN

(which...let's not even touch on the fact that the deal he makes in acotar is CREEPY and he can only justify it later. she wasn't someone he wanted to work with in acotar- she was a vulnerable, hot young woman he fully took advantage of)

And then they're mates.

And then, slowly but surely, Feyre's personhood disappears. For two reasons: 1) Feyre is on a pedestal so sky-high it blots out everything. Good, pure, true hero Feyre whose adoration Rhysand needs like air. the happy end of his story, the prize and the salvation, the one who sees him.

and 2) ultimately, to Rhys, Feyre is an extension of him. A symbol: his happiness, his peace, his endless power, what he fought to keep.

She's his whole anchor staying sane, which isn't great, considering...ya know, everything. But the Story is Over. They are Happy.

Except- except- nothing is over. Post fifty straight years of torture, a freefall into war and fuckery, teen marriage and literal death, the consequences for all those things AND THE SHIT RHYS WAS PULLING LONG BEFORE AMARANTHA TURNED HIM INTO A CHEW TOY, are still present.

But now, he has something to protect. His golden future. His puppy Mate.

Because Feyre's safety is the safety of his power and vice versa. Anything he does is justifiable because the loss of Feyre is Not an Option. She is Happy. They Are Happy.

It bleeds into everything- and then it intensifies, because this is the breaking point.

The Az/Lucien thing and Feyre incredibly hurtful blindness? No Rhys isn't going to interfere- Az is so private anyway- if Feyre believes its a romantic bond, Feyre is right, she knows her sister, not that it matters because Elain is totally out of her mind.

Sending Cassian to Illyria? Illyria is a backwards shithole right? They're fierce fighters and that's what Rhys values them for- as the hammer of his power- and nothing else? why would there be anything else? Look at them fighting and hurting each other.

Nesta runs and Cassian is left throwing himself in battles actively trying to die and Rhys? Rhys is totally smug. A problem that hurt Feyre and his brother is GONE.

But it's not gone. Az isn't talking to anyone- and Rhys thinks this probably means Lucien is probably, finally fucking him- but even Feyre understands that Azriel knows where Nesta is. When this is proved (when Elain surfaces and they have the very fun kitchen fight) Rhys isn't happy- but he understands. Azriel has always felt responsible for broken things.

But thats not his job, it's Rhysands job, and Rhys has already made that tough choice for the safety of his own: Nesta has no place here. When she resurfaces inevitably, broke and wanting something, Rhys will stop her before she gets close enough to upset (hurt) Feyre. It's his job.

Cassian goes missing, and Rhysand sets upon what will become his eventual move: Illyria's value is strength. (a martial strength that belongs to RHYS). But they think they can take from him? They can destroy their own best chance? (Rhys recognizes Cassian's value to Illyria even while, you know, ordering him to slaughter Illyrians) They would threaten his power? hurt his family?

Rhys will not allow a world to exist where Feyre can be hurt.

If Illyria can't be controlled, Illyria will be put down, like the rabid creatures they are. (They were always backwards, Rhys thinks. Freeing my mother was the one good thing my father ever did)

But Cassian lives.

Rhys asks Azriel if he's been cursed. Az laughs in his face.

And Cassian is a terrible enemy to have. The strategies the loyalists are using? His, filtered through Rhys. The magical contingencies? Cassian and Az, trying to prevent bloodshed.

Feyre thinks, for a long time, that maybe the rebels have Nesta. What else could compel Cassian to even care? these people keep trying to kill him. they want to kill Rhys. the brothers suffered in the frozen mud at the hands of these monsters, what is Cassian doing?

And then the massacre happens.

And Feyre sick to her stomach, cries when she hears. Rhysand thinks about a little hazel eyed boy who'd never had a bed, a present, who'd been nothing until Rhysand plucked him up- a little boy who'd grown into a dangerous man, who'd just killed every person who ever contributed to his pain. Rhys thinks, knowing he'll have to punish Cassian for this, that it's over.

The camp lords are dead, it has to be over.

(Azriel hears and understands- because he knows damn well Cassian was something before Rhysand, and after despite him. That beneath those repeatedly broken ribs is a heart that was once so big so save him, grown strong enough now to save everyone who was like them: forgotten, abandoned, used.)

It's not over. The mountains are burning. Banners fly on northern wind in a language long dead. They're singing, the spies say, they call him dawn. Loyal-heart-as-dawn.

It's Cassians name. Not that Rhys, who never knew more than a few vile insults in the language of his mother's ancient, proud people, understood it then.

Rhysand, the long-suffering hero of his own story, has been betrayed.

He can risk no more- it's time to end this madness. It's Feyre's idea to use Elain- it's Feyre who is left crying, a betrayal Rhysand will never forget- when Elain, who they've given everything, Elain, perhaps just as broken and wretched as her eldest sister, refuses to help keep Feyre safe.

(Elain refuses to participate in what she sees as genocide, but as we've established, what consequences exist? the ones Rhys feels right in front of his face)

Azriel, Elain, and Lucien run.

Of course, if both Feyre's sisters are capable of betraying her, of course, both of Rhysand's brothers would as well. They are one in the same, aren't they? Marked by destiny, by fate for this hard and terrible work- of course it hurts. Of course- but Rhysand will stop it from hurting Feyre any more.

There's one force in the world that can stand in truth against Illyria. The Darkbringers- their ancestral, ancient conquers.

(Yes, I do think Rhys knows the shitty, shitty history of his court! He just doesn't care! He didn't do it. He's different. He's in Velaris with the common people. He has wings. He's not his father.)

(He is, in fact, far worse)

When he thinks of it, it seems perfect. Illyria will be destroyed- a loss, but a safe one. Keir, will, almost certainly, also be destroyed or at least critically weakened.

Rhysand will stand alone, the man who was willing to do anything for peace. He will rule over an emptied playing field, secure in a world where Feyre is safe.

The Hewn City empties, the armies march- Rhysand holds tight Feyre's hand, says nothing about the fact that nothing, nothing, will stop Keir from killing anyone in front of him when battle starts, and reaches once more for Cassian's mind.

His brother, his friend, his loyal right hand- he begs him to come back. To come home. That they can put down this rebellion and in his love for Cassian everything can go back to how it is meant to be, all of them together.

It does not occur to him to address the hundreds dead. The system he was complicit in and responsible for that ground a culture to dust and ash- what matters is brother against brother should never have turned, and Rhys, in his kindness, will offer Cassian this last chance for honor.

Rhys doesn't want Cassian to die- he wants Cassian by his side- but he will drown the world in blood before he'll lose his crown and hope and Feyre.

And when Cassian dies, falling to the earth in Rhysand's arms, Rhys thinks of penance.

A circle closed.

But of course- Cassian wakes. Death is not done with her right hand anymore than the contract between Lordship and land in immutable. Cassian brought the magic back, brought Illyria back.

Rhys is fighting for something personal- Cassian is fighting for a whole world and future, with everything in himself.

When the new border is drawn, Rhys doesn't despair- sure he's shaking, he's covered in Cassian's blood, his twelve thousand year old walls are smoking and the whole world smells like fucking Nesta Archeron- he's been the victim of curses before.

He won't let it keep him down. He'll be fine. He has Feyre, they're safe. Illyria is going to implode- and maybe, maybe, he'll save some of those that remain when the violence is too much, when they need a real High Lord.

They'll come home. Just like Feyre's sisters will. Rhysand's brothers. They fought for peace and Velaris has it- it is their home.

It's what they fought for, the happy ending, and it's all worth it.

It has to be worth it.

#Rhys is deadset a huge narcissist #and in the middle of a breakdown the entirety of daylight #he's SO HURT #But's turning all that hurt into anger #and an even stricter paranoia #its all catching up to him #everything from imperialism #to the shitty way he treated his friends #to the Winter Massacre that yes was absolutely him #this is more of a Shoreless Concept but all of feysand can be summed up #by Feyre making teary BUT WE'RE FAMILY demands and Rhys immediately committing a literal warcrime #and like #I do think Rhys hates himself too #but for wildly the wrong reasons #and never more or in a real way that overcomes how much he thinks everything he does is right #Cassian's death was a cost to them #as Nesta tells Feyre: what's done cannot be undone. Rhys chose wrong #the truly bonkers Rhys thing in canon #will always be that he's both represented as Most Powerful Ever #and the wrongly ignored underdog #when in fact he throws around power constantly for petty shitty reasons

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inkdrinkershadowsinger · 3 years

Text

Just Look: Gwynriel One Shot

Azriel looked around the ring, and blushed ferociously. She was the weirdest person that he had ever met, and he was absolutely obsessed with her. Emerie and Mor were currently sparring in the middle of the training area, and Gwyn stood to the side chanting, “Baby Pegasus! Baby Pegasus!” like it was a battle cry. Azriel looked to Nesta and Cassian who stood beside her, and noticed that their mouths were moving too. The shape of the chant echoing on their lips as well. At least this was better than last month’s insistence of bowing to the house every time she properly executed a maneuver because the house was “rooting for her”.

Azriel didn’t understand how someone who was so academic could be so…quirky. Gwyneth Berdera could recite the entire Book of the East and name ever mammal who lived in the Adriata in alphabetical order, but will insist on the house conjuring a baby Pegasus for their monthly Valkyrie meetings.

Azriel watches as the two women in the ring circle each other, and he knows that it is almost over. Since the two were mated, neither Emerie nor Mor can keep their hands off of each other, especially not in the middle of a fight. Azriel watches Mor and hopes that she goes low and tries to tip Emerie to the left, her weaker side, but one smile from Emerie at the wrong time and Mor misses her chance. Emerie sweeps her leg, and Mor is on the ground. Emerie, instead of helping her get to her feet, stoops down and kisses Mor on her sweaty cheek.

Azriel stiffens. It’s not that he isn’t happy for Mor because he is. And it’s not that he feels entitled to her time and affection anymore now that she told him the truth, but he still feels a little tug in his stomach when he sees one of his family with their mates. And before he can stop the thought, it sounds. Why can’t that be you?

His shadows flare in response to the intrusive thought.

“Just look,” they say. “Just look.” Azriel tells them that he has had enough of perfect couples for the day, and that he will keep his eyes on the ground where they belong.

“All right,” he hears his brother say, and Cassian is clapping his hands.

“We have time for one more match. Gwyn,” he ushers her into the ring. “Who is going to take a beating at the hands of the death priestess.”

“Ugg,” Nesta exclaims. “That’s worse than Silver Majesty or Fleet Footed Firehead.”

Cassian looks perturbed. “Hey.. it’s not as easy finding nicknames for everyone else as it was for you, sweetheart.”

Nesta doesn’t blush, but she does give his brother a smile that says, “Keeping being a sap, and I’m going to kiss that smirk off your face.”

“So, Gwyn,” Mor says, breaking the Nessian staring contest before it can properly begin. “Who will it be?” Mor looks around the training ground, and more than one person looks eager for a little more training. Gwyn surveys them all, and Nesta nearly steps into the ring when the priestess exclaims, “Azriel.”

Azriel’s eyes snap up to meet her teal ones, and he says, “I’m not really up for it right now, Gwyn. I was just about to head inside.” While actually he was going to do some more knife work, but now he has to go inside or else he’s a liar, and while spying is his profession by trade, and he has lied when he has too to whomever he has too, it feels wrong lying to Gwyn.

“Scared, Shadowsinger?” Gwyn asks, and everyone chuckles.

Did he mention that while she was completely nuts and extremely intelligent that she was also damn cocky. He was sure that he had never been as cocky as she is, and he was the one who had the anatomy.

“Fine,” he says while walking toward the training ring. He removes his armor as he goes, and grabs one of the duller practice swords for this encounter. He doesn’t want to hurt her after all. This is just supposed to be about learning. But when he steps into the ring, the look in Gwyn’s eyes says that he’s the one who is about to get the lesson.

Cassian moves to the middle of the ring, and stands between them. He holds up a ribbon, and prepares to drop it, signaling the beginning of the fight. The ribbon is barely out of his hand when Gwyn takes her first strike. She moves so quickly that it almost catches Az off guard. Almost. He has been a warrior for 500 years. He isn’t going to go down to someone who has only been training for less than a year, top level Illyrian warrior or not.

The two trade a couple of blows when Azriel’s shadows start to shift. Normally, he can keep them locked tight, during fights and otherwise, but now its like they have been let off their leash.

And they are protecting her.

When Azriel moves to make a match ending blow, his shadows rear up and block Gwyn from his view. He tries to force them back, but each time he tries they only whisper to him, “Just look. Just look.”

Look at what? He wants to scream. But he can’t start talking to his shadows now. Then he would be the crazy one.

The shadows clear for an instant, and he sees her again in the peripheral of his vision. She is going for his blind spot. Azriel spins around with 500 years of training, and goes low, like he thought Mor was going to do, but before his blade can reach Gwyn, his shadows envelop his scarred hands and the blade is tipped out of his hand.

Gwyn takes advantage, and sweeps his leg. Azriel hits the ground hard, and Gwyn is on top of him. Blade at his throat, Azriel knows that he has lost. And yet, his shadows have not dispersed. They wrap around the pair of them like a wall. They can’t see out, and Azriel is sure that no one else can see in. Gwyn stands above him, a radiant smile on her face, her blade at his neck, and damn she is beautiful. Red hair blowing and mixing with his shadows. There is light in her eyes and something more.

Azriel wants to reach up and touch her face. He wants to rub a thumb along her cheek, and touch her hair. He wants too..

“Just look. Just look,” his shadows say again. And this time Azriel does.

Gwyn pulls her sword back from his neck, and she smiles down at him as his shadows wrap around her once, twice before dispelling.

The rest of the people in the ring are clapping wildly, most likely in proud admiration of seeing Gwyn win but also in satisfaction of seeing his cocky ass take a hit for once. His brother looks particularly pleased, and Az is glad that Rhys and Feyre aren’t here to witness this too.

Gwyn smirks at him, and then reaches out her hand.

Azriel doesn’t hesitate to put his hand into her own. He gets to his feet, and says, “Good match.”

Gwyn laughs. “It’s all about the mantra. Baby Pegasus. Baby Pegasus.”

Azriel smiles, and realizes that he hasn’t let go of her hand, and more so, that he doesn’t want too.

Then he too, joins the cult, “Tell me more about the Pegasuses.”

Gwyn sends him another smile, and Azriel feels another pull in his stomach, this one unlike the rest. And he’s completely okay with that.

Reblogs are welcome. But please do not repost other places.

#gwynriel #Gwyneth berdara #gwyn #azriel #a court of silver flames #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #acomaf #acowar #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #Sarah j maas #sjm #gwynriel fanfic #gwynriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #acotar fanfiction

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raddocwrites · 6 months

Text

Do you even lift, Bro Una

Una carries this crew. Literally.

“This really isn’t necessary,” la’an informed una as the commander approached.

“Of course, it is,” chapel contradicted her cheerfully from across the room. “You won the bet, didn’t you?”

La’ans eyes narrowed. “I don’t remember any bet.“

“I also do not remember committing to a wager-“ spock started.

Ortegas loud sigh cut him off. She rolled her eyes as she took a sip of her drink. “Whoever won the captains murder mystery dinner party, was to be carried in victory while the rest of us mere mortals cheered her name.” She shot them an impatient look. “It was in the invites.”

“It most certainly was not,” spock corrected her.

Uhura rolled her eyes and leaned towards him. “Just be glad we talked her out of insisting we call the winner the Supreme Investigative Detecting Queen of the Enterprise, for a week.”

Spocks eyebrow arched impressively. “Indeed. That would have been worse.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” the captain mused. “It might have been fun.” The scowl la’an sent him made him grin even more. He leaned casually into his counter with one hand tucked into the pocket of his 1920s style trousers, the arm holding back the large, beige coat and his other rested on a thin strip of elastic that held up his pants, cleverly called-suspenders.

“What I want to know,” Dr Mbenga started, tilting the fedora he wore so it sat more roguishly, “Is how you figured out who the killer was?”

“Yeah,” uhura added. Her shimmery white dress was full of fringe and sparkles. It seemed to flap and dance every time she moved. She had a white headband that complimented the outfit perfectly. “How did you know?”

La’an just tilted her head. She was in black trousers, a dark blue button-up shirt with a black vest. Una had tried to convince her to wear a black fedora with it, but la’an hadn’t been sold on it. Though, looking at Mbenga now using the hat to such effect, made her wish she had. “I AM chief of security.”

Una rolled her eyes. “Yes. But the captain has been working on this for WEEKS. Getting the scenarios and the clues just right. How did you figure it out so quickly?” She wore a dark blue gown that was the same color of a midnight sky during a meteor shower, with a large, feathery contraption draped around her neck and shoulders. The feathers were silver and she had on matching long, silver gloves that went up to her elbows.

La’an raised an eyebrow then opened her mouth.”

“Wait!” ortegas cut in. “Don’t tell us.” The pilot had on a slightly oversized suit, hat and tie, which she assured them all was ‘peak gangster attire’.

“What do you mean, don’t tell?” chapel asked, confused. The nurse wore dark slacks, a white button up shirt only half buttoned and black suspenders. She had shiny black cufflinks that gleamed and caught the light as she moved her hands and matched her shining black shoes.

“Well, I think she should tell us. Because I, for one, would love to know how miss smarty pants figured it out so quickly,” pelia remarked over the drink she held in both hands. The diminutive blonde wore pinstriped trousers and matching vest over a red long-sleeved shirt. She also had a confusing amount of paraphernalia with her costume-pocket watch, several broaches, embroidered pocket square, jewelry and neck scarf. Everyone had the sneaky suspicion they were all genuine, but no one wanted to ask where/how/when pelia had acquired them. They all knew how the louvre was still calling about some painting…

“But if she tells us, it will ruin it for next time,” ortegas protested. The others thought about this.

“There will be a next time?” spock asked, slightly alarmed. He wore dark trousers with a dark blue button-up shirt, light blue suspenders and a matching blue bowtie. A grey, wool cap sat awkwardly on his head, but only because Christine had insisted he wear it.

“Of course there will be!” the captain exclaimed excitedly. “Next month im thinking of…”

But la’an couldn’t hear what the captain was planning for the next obligatory staff bonding session since una stood right in front of her and motioned for la’an to stand up.

La’an raised her eyebrows. “Seriously?”

Una just smirked. “Its this or,” she made a small mock bow. “Supreme Investigative Detecting Quee-“

La’an held up her hands with an eye roll. “Fine,” she agreed and stood up. At least this way it would be over quickly.

Una grinned. She stood next to her friend, bent slightly, and grabbed la’an around the waist. She straightened and easily lifted the Lt to her shoulder, holding la’an in place with a steady grip on her legs. The room erupted into delirious cheers. Una carried la’an three times around the captains quarters on her shoulder, with the others roaring their approval.

By the end, even though she still felt a little self-conscious, la’an grinned giddily. She laughed and looked down at una. The sight of her friend, who normally towered over la’an, shorter than her made la’an laugh even harder.

Una grinned at the sparkle in her friends eyes. She winked and la’an squeezed her shoulder. Her friend leaned over and shouted, “Who was going to carry you, if you’d won?” she asked breathlessly.

Una looked over to spock who cheered somewhat stiffly, lifting the hat off his head and waving it methodically in the air. “I believe mr spock would have been called to fulfill that duty.”

La’an and una shared a look then they both burst out laughing. Finally, only somewhat regretfully, una set la’an carefully back on the deck. She kept a hold of la’ans shoulders in case her friend stumbled, but of course la’an was as steady as a rock.

La’an shot her that side eyed smile. “Thanks chief,” she said softly.

Una smiled equally as soft and couldn’t stop herself from pulling la’an into a crushing embrace. Her friend hesitated only a moment before she returned it, then stood back.

“Come on,” una said conspiratorially. “Lets get out of here before the captain sets us to doing the dishes.”

La’an grinned and headed for the doors, not needing to be told twice.

#star trek strange new worlds #una chin riley #number one #una is insanely strong #being illyrian has its advantages #la'an noonien singh #drabbles

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yazthebookish · 3 years

Text

Who are Briallyn's spies?

In this post, I will try and guess who are Briallyn's spies based on the text.

Confirmed spy:

Bellius

Suspect:

Merrill

Elain

First, let's cover what went down with Bellius:

“My intent was to grab the maimed one.” Nesta’s blood boiled at the mention of Emerie. “Bellius fed me the information about your friendship and I saw how much she meant to you when we were linked through the Harp and the Crown. I knew that if I captured her, brought her here, you’d follow, law or no law. You’re”“reckless and conceited enough to think you could save her. But you made it easy for me: you went right to her house in Windhaven. Spared me the trouble of luring you. I let those witless Illyrians take her and the half-breed as an amusing bonus.”

Briallyn explains here that her intent was to take Emerie and use her to lure Nesta. She was told of Emerie specifically by Bellius. So, how did she know about Gwyn, who Bellius hadn't keven mentioned or met, and how does she even know that she's a half-breed?

But earlier, when Nesta used the Harp in the Prisoner and saw Briallyn, this is what Briallyn tells her:

“My spies have told me who your friends are. The half-breed and the broken Illyrian. Such lovely girls.”

She says "Spies" instead of "Spy" meaning it's more than one person.

She knew about Gwyn here, so who could have possibly told her about Gwyn if she said Bellius only fed her information about Emerie? Who would consider or even call Gwyn a half-breed?

Here comes in Merrill

“Nesta smiled, savage and cruel. Merrill only glanced between her and Gwyn before saying, “Get back to your work, nymph.”

She's the only character we have seen that uses the word "Nymph" as an insult to Gwyn. Who else would call Gwyn a half-breed? we also know Merrill's power is the Wind and she is the descendant of the Lord of the Western Wind, Rabath. Koschei sends his messages through the Wind, this line here seems to be antagonistic especially towards Nesta. And again, she degrades Gwyn.

“The wind whispers to me even here, under so much stone,” Merrill said. “It finds its way in through the cracks and murmurs the goings-on of the world in my ear.” Merrill snorted. “Do you think you are entitled to do as you please now?” -- “I am descended from Rabath, Lord of the Western Wind,” Merrill seethed. “Unlike Gwyneth Berdara, I am no lackey to be dismissed.”

Moving on to what Briallyn says to Nesta and Cassian shortly after Bellius died:

“You kill me,” Nesta gasped, “and you don’t get the Trove. You’ll never find it.”

“There are others in your court as delusional as you are. They’ll get it for me one way or another, with the right incentive. Granted, I’ll need your blood to unlock the wards on the Trove.”

Here's where I added another suspect to my list: Elain

Bellius is dead, Merrill is a possible suspect but Merrill is not exactly part of the Court is she? Briallyn says to Nesta that there are others like her that are as delusional. If she has a loyal spy, why would she need to use an incentive, a way to persuade that spy, to do her bidding? What motive could Briallyn give that spy?

And what Spy could get their hands in the Trove when it's heavily warded by Helion and Rhysand? The only ones that can get to the Trove undetected are the ones made by the Cauldron. Nesta... and Elain.

This is where "Elain seeks to be human again" comes in and I believe it is something Elain is planning. It's hinted in ACOFAS when Amren called her out on it. Even Feyre was surprised and thought she was getting better because Elain hasn't mention Graysen or her humanity in months. It's also been noted that Elain seems a tad suspicious in ACOSF. Nesta notices her stealth and silent movement and Cassian doubts that gardening is all she is doing at the brink of Dawn.

If she is indeed a spy I doubt she know she is dealing with Briallyn or Koschei as her plans aren't malicious. She probably kept trying to find ways to go back to being human and Briallyn/Koschei found her weakness and took advantage of it. And speaking of the Cauldron's darkness, if it found ways to reach Nesta how do we not know that it's doing the same to Elain? Amren did say the Cauldron could use them as puppets without their knowledge.

So this is a short analysis of who are Briallyn's possible spies in the Night Court.

#acosf #acosf spoilers #elain archeron #nesta archeron

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sensingdejavu · 3 years

Text

A scene I would’ve liked to see in ACOSF

She could not get the look out of her mind – the way he looked at her for the briefest of seconds after catching the sight of an Illyrian female running off with a bow in her hand. She pretended not to notice it at the time, but she could not pretend it did not hurt. And now, an hour later, sitting across from each other at the cabin eating dinner, she could not find the appetite to eat.

Usually, she ignored it. Reveled in the reputation crafted for her. Never tried to correct anyone or offer her perspective. And she was content with that.

However, she felt as if they both reached a place where she could enjoy her time with him without the need walk around any judgement. Apparently not.

She spoke before she could stop herself. “Have it ever occurred to you that when you look at me and try to fathom how I could ever let my younger sister, a child, go into the woods, that I was also a child?”

He dropped his spoon and looked up. Surprise marred his features, and although he opened his mouth to speak, she could tell that he had no words.

So, she continued. “Have it ever occurred to you that to Feyre, it was a matter of taking care of the parent who favored her. Where to me it was being stuck with the parent who has absolutely no idea what to do with me after losing the one person who I felt understood me.”

Still no words. His mouth stopped gaping.

“You look at me and see a horrible sister, and I may have been a horrible sister, but I was also a grieving child who’s only purpose in life was to marry rich. I was schooled in languages, decorum, dancing, smiling, lying on my back and so on, but by the time we went under I had absolutely no idea how to tie my own laces or cook a decent meal.”

She could still remember her mother, fawning over new dresses as a maid filled their cups of lemon tea. Looking back at it now, Nesta wondered if her mother ever loved her or she loved living through her. But at the time their mother died, at the time she was grasping straws, she clung to the one thing that was familiar to her – protecting Elain who was the mere porcelain doll her mother crafted her to be.

“So, I lashed out. And taking my age into consideration, I would say that was a normal response. And I am not holding my breath waiting for you or Rhysand – or god forbid Morrigan – to offer me redemption for something that is quite honestly none of your business. I’m not sure if the three of you are looking for some kind of apology that I didn’t try to mold myself into the only passable female image your brains are able to comprehend. And not that it is any of your business, I may not have been a huntress, but I was engaged to a man who stands by while his father beats his own mother. That was the only way I knew how I can offer support to my family.”

She did not mean to let that slip.

“I reserve any judgement I may have when I watch you around Morrigan and how you seem to treat her like a sister knowing how that started, when I watch Eris’ eye twitch whenever he sees you standing close to her, when I see they way the males here look and talk to you, because quite frankly I know how to not impose my opinion on something which I know nothing about. I ask of you the same and expect it.”

She held his gaze. She could’ve looked away, could’ve walked away. But she held it. She knew that whatever grounds they were walking on were delicate, and a part of her enjoyed her time with him, but she also knew if he couldn’t agree to that she will simply walk away.

It took him five second to nod. Swallowing slowly. “I apologize.”

She held his gaze for a couple more seconds before going back to her food. She felt a bit weird, never in her life having said any of those words before, and not knowing now if she will grow into regretting them. She did not want them to come across as an invitation for him to look at a new angle at which he may change her – mold her into a Morrigan.

“You are under no obligation to humor me…” he started. She looked up, and apparently he was waiting for her eyes to meet his before continuing, “but you could talk to me about your mother if you’d like. I can tell you what I remember of mine.”

There it is… the molding. Something must have shown in her eyes because he was quick to add. “I promise my only motive is my selfishness to know you more. Nothing else, nothing more.”

To know her more? What an absurd thought. And maybe that is why she nodded. Maybe because deep down, where a fragile heart still beats below the shield of her cruel self, the self that managed to keep that beat hidden from anyone who might take advantage of it, the self that manifested when she was barely ten because it already knew what kind of life she’ll be delt, that heart wanted someone to understand why she’ll never apologize for who she is and will never take kindly to anyone who bestows judgment to her cruel self. Because during cold nights, her cruel self was her guardian. And yes, its methods were not the gentlest, but what would you expect from something that was solely honed for basic survival.

#nesta #nesta archeron #acosf #nesta being a badass because why not #cassian #nesta x cassian #my writing #not my characters #nessian #a bit of nessian angst #nessian angst

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ladynestaarcheron · 3 years

Text

Fears All the Way Down - Chapter Four

ao3 - masterpost

hello all. not entirely back from my hiatus, but i decided i did want to share this on tumblr just in case someone isn't on ao3. i've been having a rough month and as it turns out, writing this really helped boost my mood, so maybe reading it can help boost someone else's. so enjoy!

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Elain is hysterical, but Nesta expected that. Feyre takes her by surprise, though.

"How did they get in?" she keeps saying. "How did they get in?" Almost as though she can't say anything else at all.

"Azriel's taken them in for questioning," Rhysand tells her, rubbing her shoulders. "We'll know everything soon enough."

Nesta's mildly irritated that she's the one who was attacked and yet it's her who has to comfort her sisters, but no matter. They're upset and she...isn't.

"It's really all right. The House kept me safe." The House keeps her safe, actually. Safe and comfortable and healthy and warm and clean....

"You'll come to stay at home tonight," Feyre says, squeezing a shaking Elain's hand tightly.

Home being Feyre and Rhysand's mansion by the Sidra. "I...don't think I will, actually. Thank you."

Her sisters blink at her.

"You don't want to stay here," Elain says, the first thing she's managed since crying.

Nesta bristles slightly at the implied insult to the House. "I do."

"It kept her safe," Cassian says, speaking for the first time since he brought in Elain.

"But they got in!"

"Maybe it let them in so you could catch them," Nesta suggests. "But it's safe for me here. And...I don't want to go." How could she possibly give up her standing bath, her magically-warmed room? There's not a price one can put on a proper night's sleep and then starting the day clean.

Feyre and Elain glance at each other for a moment, then nod at her.

"All right," Elain says, brave face on. "We'll stay with you."

Unnecessary. But if it'll make them feel better. "All right, then."

Rhysand gives Feyre a kiss on her cheek and puts a hand on Elain's shoulder. "We'll leave you ladies to get settled, then." He gives Nesta a charming, reassuring smile--ugh. "Everything's going to be fine."

"You're going to those Illyrians?" she asks.

"Yes," Rhysand says. "You get some sleep. You don't need to worry about any of this."

She's not worried about any of this. Why is no one listening to her?

No matter, she decides again. She was never in any danger anyway. She can just...calm her sisters, and go to bed, and put this from her mind.

Except she can't. The House's damaged wall stays etched in her mind, and the sound of those Hyben soldiers chasing after her in the library in her ears. What if they get in? Illyrians, or Briallyn, into the library? During a session with Thalia or one of Calliope's lectures or jewelry making or weekly check-in?

As she gets more agitated, tossing and turning, the room warms slightly. The House lulling her to sleep.

Fine. Fine, she can sleep tonight. Thalia says that she shouldn't agitate in bed, anyway. It's counterproductive and illogical--she'll sleep now, then be well-rested in the morning, and then she can come up with...something. To ensure the library remains safe while she is here.

Because if she doesn't...she might have to leave.

And she realizes she's not prepared to do that.

Something a soldier learns quickly is that torture during interrogation needs to be handled with precision and care, because people will generally say absolutely anything to get the pain to stop, and then none of the information can really be trusted. On top of that is the act itself, which damages the perpetrator as much as the victim. Cassian knows all this, and yet, as he thinks of Nesta, he can't bring himself to care.

"Calm down." Azriel's icy voice cuts through the images of her in duress hitting him like a series of punches.

He only snarls in return, but Az isn't shaken.

"She's all right," he says. "Calm down."

"She could have died." There it is, the simple truth. She could have died . They could have killed her . Briallyn wants her revenge; she'll probably do it slowly and painfully.

"She was safe the whole time, Cass."

"She didn't even know anything was going on," Rhys says, agreeing. "She's not even scared."

So what? So she wasn't scared this time, so what? The other times she was scared. Next time she might be.

"I should have been there." He should have never let Feyre and Elain go through with this. Fought to keep her in Rhys' home in the city; surely even these Illyrians would not dare attack the High Lord's residence.

"That's enough," Rhys says sharply. "It's not your fault. She's safe. And you were there. Right as the alarms went off."

"You were there faster."

"What does that matter?"

"It's a good thing she was at the House, Cass," Az says.

Yes, good thing. Good thing the House can keep her safe, even if he can't. From his own people.

"What did they say?" he asks, voice a growl. Rhys had not let him in the rooms if he could not promise to control himself. He could not.

"Not much," Rhys admits. "Just confirmed what we knew."

"It'll take time," Az says, spinning Truth-Teller in his fingers. "But I would like to state for the record there is a way to speed up the process."

"We can't make them martyrs," Rhys says. "We can't just senselessly slaughter them."

"It's not senseless. They're collaborating with an enemy to overthrow the crown. They attacked a Lady of the Court. There should be punishment for that." Az's eyes are cold in a way Cassian's never could be when talking about his own. Yes, he wants them to die for what they'd do to Nesta. But the way his brother feels about their people as a whole will always hurt in its own way.

"So they're scattered throughout the camps?" Cassian says, steering them back towards the matter at hand.

"With their strongest presence in Windhaven, yes."

Cassian frowns. Even though intelligence had led them to suspect it, having it confirmed...Windhaven is a more moderate camp, with Devlon, it's leader, being mild enough that he had let him and Az participate in the Rite centuries ago. But perhaps Windhaven's structure had led to its rebels being organized enough to form a strong base.

"We should start by cutting them off at Windhaven," he starts slowly, "and then we might not even have to bother with the dissenters in the other camps. Should we start interrogating the males there?"

Az raises an eyebrow. "You want to interrogate every male in Windhaven?"

"I think it'd be easier to just kill anyone who won't swear fealty to Rhys and Feyre, but since you two want to go about this diplomatically--"

"That's not the diplomatic approach," Rhys cuts in. "And that's not what we're doing. That's a colossal waste of time."

"Keeping Nesta safe is not a wa-- "

"I didn't mean that," Rhys interrupts again. "But there are far more productive methods of ensuring her safety and also furthering our cause of diminishing theirs."

"And I'm not going to like it," Cassian says, scowling.

"No," Rhys admits. "I don't think you will."

Nesta had been looking forward to going back to the library, because Elain had looked at her all weekend as though she was already mourning her and Feyre had driven her spare with her constant reassurances that all would be well and safe. But being here now, with the girls who were so close to having their sanctuary breached--yet again, because of her--brings forth a new layer of guilt.

"You're quiet," Gwyn whispers to her in weekly check-in.

"I'm always quiet."

"Bad quiet. What's wrong?"

"Just tired," she says, softly.

It's something of a lie, actually. Despite her concern over the safety of the library and the House--and herself, she supposes--Nesta actually awoke today feeling refreshed. She sleeps well and can stomach a few small meals a day. She's even begun inserting small jogging segments during her walks outside, just to get her blood pumping. Sometimes she catches herself aching for a drink, but her head no longer throbs in pain and Thalia's exercises help her to rid her mind of the thought.

It's working with her hands Nesta likes best. The lectures are fascinating, but she still ends up drifting down some spiral, but the jewellery-making and book-sorting keep her focused enough that she can't think about how miserable she is.

And the thing is, here, now, she's not miserable. She's not happy, not by any stretch of the imagination, but she's not miserable. And that's...worth something.

She wonders if any research she might get assigned to will also help in distracting her...or if that might make her happy.

No, she thinks, looking around at the dozens of girls, plenty of whom don't even speak after decades or centuries of being here. Research does not make people happy. Perhaps there are some people who just aren't meant to be. After all, she does not think she has ever been so. Not in her wealthy childhood, not in her poverty-stricken adolescence, and certainly not here.

Not miserable is good enough. She can be not miserable for her sisters, be presentable and not so embarrassing for their sakes.

Elain and Feyre are still there when she leaves the library for the day, joined by Rhysand and a particularly stoic Cassian. In fact, she thinks as she studies him in the reflection of the mirror in the living room out of the corner of her eye, she cannot recall ever seeing him this...upset. He's glaring at the floor, bright hazel eyes dark and yielding nothing of his typical irritating, incessant character. He spins a dagger between his fingers, siphons glowing bright each time he nearly slices his fingers clean off.

"Did it...go well with the Illyrians?" she asks, trying to keep her focus on something else.

"If you're an optimist," Rhys answers, grinning.

Ugh.

Feyre catches her annoyance at his answer and throws him a sharp look. "We've confirmed that Briallyn is taking advantage of the rebel situation in Illyria to get to you."

"Is that different from what you already thought?"

"It's good to have it confirmed," Feyre says. "We know more about the rebels in our context--" she gestures to herself and to Rhys, "--than in hers. So we know the best way to combat it."

Nesta waits a few moments, but no one says anything. "Which is?" she prompts.

Elain's throat bobs. Nesta watches Cassian's jaw clench even tighter in the mirror.

"The Illyrians need to be reminded of their place," Rhys says. "They forget, because of the distance between us, that they answer to us."

Nesta doesn't particularly care about the inter-politics of the Night Court, but she suspects that if an organized Illyrian rebellion is now working with Briallyn to kill her in order to unseat Rhysand or separate themselves from him, there's probably more than just distance involved.

"So you're going to remind them?" Nesta asks.

"That's where we thought you might have something to do with it."

Cassian starts tossing the knife between his hands faster, almost stabbing at the air. Nesta ignores how her heart speeds up when he nearly drops it through his foot.

"If the Illyrians end up going to civil war, we'll win. But we prefer to tamper down the rebels. We think the best way to do that is show them, first and foremost, this isn't worth dying over. And they will die." Rhys' words are a cold promise.

It's--frightening. What does he want her to do?

"Come with us to Windhaven," he says, as though in answer.

Nesta blinks. "I...thought I was here to stay safe."

"You'll be safe the whole time," Rhys says firmly.

"We would never entertain this otherwise," Feyre adds, eyes wide.

"What would going to Windhaven do? A display of strength?" Seems like it'd be right up the Inner Circle's alley, but overall, in her opinion, useless.

"Precisely," Rhys says, satisfied she's understood. She stifles an eyeroll. "You don't have to do much. Just walk around. We'll give you a tour of the camp. You remember how terrified they were of you, don't you?"

She does. Witch, they had called her. "But they won't be," she says. "They must know I don't have any magic." There's simply nothing to be scared of. She is, perhaps, not quite as sickly and pathetic today as she was a month ago, but certainly nothing to look twice at. Nothing to fear. Nothing to note.

Feyre opens her mouth to object, but Cassian beats her to it.

"You're a female twice as powerful as any of them. They'll fear you." She has no choice but to look at him when he speaks, and he catches her gaze tightly, fiercely, and she can't look away, can't turn her head or even blink--

"We'll be with you the whole time," Feyre says, breaking the spell. She forces herself to look at the floor instead.

"I'll come too," Elain says, determined.

"You don't need to," Nesta says, voice softened. "It's fine. I can do it. I'm not scared."

Elain deflates a bit, in relief or in disappointment, she isn't sure.

"I'm sure you're tired. We'll go tomorrow, if that's all right with you," Feyre says.

Nesta of a month ago had no plans for the day or her life, but now... "Actually, could we go to Tuesday?"

The four of them look at her in surprise.

"There's a new lecture circuit starting." History of limb and organ transplants, led by Daphne, their healer. "I wanted to go."

"Oh," Feyre says, blinking. "Oh! Well! That's--yes, of course, we'll go Tuesday instead. Yes, that's...that's fine."

Her sister's attempt at being casual. Nesta stifles another eyeroll.

"Well, I think I'd like to wash the dust off before bed..." Lie. She wants to go for a walk and eat a small dinner and read. But she wants them gone. She's had quiet enough company for the day.

"Of course! We'll leave you to it, then." Feyre leaves with a smile, and Elain gives her a soft kiss on her cheek before leaving with the pair of them. Cassian follows, but he lingers in the doorway.

"You don't have to go, you know," he says, turning and taking a few steps towards her. Too many.

"I know," she says. "I meant what I said. I'm not scared." The House won't be there to protect her, but... "Aren't you coming?"

"I am," he says, voice low--lower than normal, that is.

She nods once, eyes trained on the floor. She can't look at him again. Not when there's no alcohol to muddy the intensity of his gaze, no promise of some other male to drive him from her thoughts tonight.

I have no regrets in my life, but this.

I have never in my life thought you were pathetic.

"Good night," she says abruptly, turning around and rushing down the stairs.

No, no other male. A book or a game with the House will have to do.

They travel to Illyria the same way they came up to the House, but in reverse. Cassian flies her up until they are out of the House's protective sphere, then Rhys and Feyre grab on to each of them and winnow them to solid ground, miles and miles away.

She had been here once, during the war. It was miserable. It hasn't changed much. The lack of the stench of death is a significant step up, though.

"We'll be meeting Devlon. Camp lord."

Feyre links their arms together and Nesta bites her tongue to keep from saying anything. She doesn't think she and Feyre have ever walked arm-in-arm like this before. She and Elain had plenty, once. She and her other human friends, back when she had them. Way, way back.

They reach a sort of training center soon enough, and the Illyrians do double-takes when they see them-- her . She sees familiar religious gestures and even recognizes some of the males.

"Morning, Devlon," Rhysand drawls to the one approaching them.

"What is this?" he growls.

"Lady Nesta heard some soldiers were interested in her wellbeing. She was curious too."

Devlon narrows his eyes and scowls, but some of the younger males behind him grow faint.

And she supposes...considering how all this might look to them...she understands.

For Rhysand is their all-powerful High Lord, magic rippling from his being. Cassian is their most feared warrior, and he flanks them from behind, seven siphons radiating enough heat that she can feel it through her cloak. And she stands with Feyre, their High Lady, their cursebreaker, in a fine gown indeed that the House had picked out for her (one the nicest she's worn in quite some time)...yes, perhaps this does look a sight to behold. Perhaps they do seem powerful, not worth the effort.

Still, she knows that she herself is nothing to fear. Any one of these soldiers are as strong as the ones from Hybern who pulled her out of bed, and she has not exactly improved in physical prowess since then.

"My sister would like a tour, please," Feyre says sweetly.

Nesta almost blanches at her tone. She doesn't think she's ever heard it before.

Devlon probably isn't allowed to glare at Rhysand or Feyre or maybe her either, so he settles on Cassian. She can hear him chuckle slightly, but she doesn't turn to see.

"This way, Lady," Devlon says finally.

Devlon's tour-guide skills leave a bit to be desired, but in his defense, there isn't much here.

"Don't you have a school?" she asks, interrupting his riveting description of the shops and the living quarters .

Devlon freezes in his tracks. "You will not touch our children, witch," he snarls.

Nesta rolls her eyes and makes to answer, but Cassian moves before she can.

"Don't threaten her again," he hisses, knives at the ready in his hands.

Feyre and Rhys don't act as though this disturbs them in the least. On the contrary.

"Answer Lady Nesta, Devlon," Rhys says, almost lazily.

After another glaring-match with Cassian, he does, pointing to a dilapidated building. "There," he grunts.

"Not in session, I see," she says.

He grunts again, and walks them a little more along the main road, not bothering to point out any more attractions.

"Well," Nesta says, when they reach the training center again. "Thank you for that...riveting experience." In truth, while she doesn't like Devlon much, all this day has done has shed some light on why the Illyrians hate living under Rhysand so much. Velaris' luxury seems ostentatious in comparison, even vulgar. She doesn't think she ought to bear the brunt of it, obviously. But there seems to be an easy path to calming the rebels.

"I didn't see any girls this morning, Devlon," Cassian says, stepping in front of her and Feyre to talk.

Feyre pulls her closer. "All right," she whispers. "Now, we're going to go back to the training center, and you can walk around the shops. Don't be scared," she hurries to say. "You'll be perfectly safe. I promise."

"I'm not scared," Nesta replies.

"Good."

After a few more minutes of discussion--with Cassian angry at Devlon for a lack of female soldiers, Nesta gathers--the four of them trail off, Feyre squeezing her hand in goodbye.

A few Illyrians loiter around her, pretending not to stare at her as she turns around and heads back towards the shops.

There aren't many here--a butcher's, a liquor store (Nesta had clenched her jaw the whole way past the first time, and she does again now), some clothier's. One of them, Nesta notes, is stocked with winter goods, while the others seem to be selling out quite nicely.

She makes her way inside. If only to escape the gaping from the Illyrians who can't seem to decide if they want to follow her or run away.

The shop is warm, quiet, and empty but for a female at the front, with her back to the door.

"Good--morning," she says, the pause in her words when she turns to see her customer and sees that it is Nesta. "Lady," she adds.

"Good morning," Nesta says.

"Can I help you with anything?" the female says bravely.

"Just browsing."

They both know it's a lie. The shop is far too small to pretend to browse. But she lets her.

The female looks younger than Nesta, but she might be older. The fae take longer to age, with Cassian's five hundred-odd years giving him a face that Nesta would guess is thirty-two, and Nesta's own body, frozen at twenty-three, probably looks to fae to be two hundred or so. She wears a simple dress--everything in the shop is simple, and makes Nesta feel uncomfortable in her finery. Like Velaris' vulgar beauty that she had thought of earlier. Nesta's clearly not here to browse.

"I had heard you were interested in a tour," the female says politely. "Was it to your liking?"

"Yes," Nesta says. "News...travels fast around here, does it?"

"Not much to talk about." The female turns to put away a folded sweater, and Nesta sees a horrible set of scars down her wings. She can't stop her mouth from falling open, and manages to say something with slightly more decorum than her original intended gasp.

"I'm Nesta."

The females turns. "I know. I'm Emerie. I own this shop."

Nesta cocks her head. "You do?"

"I do."

"That's very impressive," she said. "I used to own a business." Her own trading on the continent. She hadn't trusted her father with all of their finances again, and had insisted on running some of her own.

"Really?" Emerie says, clearly mirroring Nesta's sentiments. Which is--nice. That camaraderie. And outside of the library, too. "Well, it's nice to know there are other females interested in making a name for themselves."

Nesta huffs a noise of amusement. "It is." She's silent for a beat, then asks, "Is it...difficult? Here? For you, as..."

"As a female who's not cowed by this?" she says, gesturing outside. "It's...not as lonely as you might think. And that makes it less difficult."

Nesta nods. She understands what Emerie means, even if she doesn't quite feel it herself. Friendship, she means. Sisterhood.

All the same, it's nice to know. That it's out there, outside of the library, and in it. Even if she doesn't have it. Even if she...

"Did it work, then?" she asks Feyre, hours later.

"It did," she says, a smug smile on her lips. "You did great. Good job, Nesta."

Nesta nods, even though it doesn't feel as though she's done much.

"I'll see you, then," Feyre says, reaching Nesta's hand to squeeze it in goodbye. "Elain will be so pleased to hear," she says, partly to herself, Nesta thinks. She practically skips towards Rhysand, who sweeps her in his arms as they descend into the city.

"Wait," Nesta calls to Cassian, before she realizes what she's doing.

He freezes in his tracks, wings still poised to follow after her sister and Rhysand. He turns.

"I wanted to ask you," she said, suddenly very aware of her heartbeat. "If you'd--once you asked--I--"

Her face flushes crimson, but he doesn't mock or even grin. Only nods once, patient, and that spurs her.

"If you could perhaps teach me some self defense? Not--not training, not like those soldiers...but maybe, if they attack again, and they get to me, just so that I know--just so I'm not entirely--"

"Yes," he cuts in. "I will."

"All right," she says, nodding slightly. "Thank you," she adds, realizing she probably should.

He swallows. Starts to say something. Then, nearly flinging himself off the veranda, he flies away.

#nessian #acotar fic #nessian fic #once again never know what to tag this as #the formatting here is really weird but even so i know there are people who prefer tumblr to ao3 #dadrie thanks for your help keeping me on the right track lately<3

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thespianbooks · 3 years

Text

A Court of Nightmares and Starlight //Chapter 20//

Masterlist

tags: @thron3ofbooks, @df3ndyr, @courtofjurdan, @art-e-mis, @herondamnn, @the-third-me, @im-still-trying-here, @emikadreams, @paytin77, @mis-lil-red, @sleeping-and-books, @lucieisabooknerd, @amandaraey-sunshine, @easy-p-lemon, @azymondias05, @dagypsygirl, @makeshift-utopia) *bold tags don’t work ;-;

Posting a little earlier because last week I posted a little later than I meant to 😅

XXX

"Eris is High Lord of the Autumn Court?" Mor asked carefully, her warm eyes widened in subtle horror.

In the weeks that followed the news of the civil unrest taking place in Autumn, all the courts of Prythian had been on a collective edge. As our spymaster indicated in his reports, Eris indeed sent letters to every court—asking for aid in the fight against his father, and almost every one had begrudgingly sent a small contingency of their armies; Kallias being the only one to outright refuse. After bearing witness firsthand to Beron's insolence at the summit, they all were hesitant to trust that Eris would be any better—especially Kallias, whose heavily pregnant mate had been targeted by the older male. They were surprised, however, to see the legion of Illyrians that Cassian sent; realizing later that we were retaliating directly against Beron for not only his assault against me at the summit, but for his attack on Velaris as well. They also knew of the tenuous alliance Rhys and I had with Eris for his help during the war, and one-by-one they offered their support for the male in a fortnight.

Azriel nodded in response to Mor, taking a subtle step closer as she loosed a shaky breath. After meeting with his brothers, Rhys had called for the rest of us to gather in the library in order to disclose the information they received earlier this morning—that Eris had beaten his father and was crowned as the new High Lord of Autumn, while his despicable father rotted in their prison, for now.

"What now?" I asked as Mor remained speechless, her eyes still darting from side to side as she processed the news.

The last decade of peace hadn't lessened the hatred she bore towards the Autumn male, and I understood how it must've felt to learn that the male who caused her unbearable pain—had left her for dead, was now elevated to a high position of power.

"Now that bastard keeps a leash on Keir, until we and the other courts can pull back our forces and recuperate before tackling our next issue." Rhysand answered, keeping a watchful eye on his cousin.

"How long will that take?" Amren asked from her seat next to Mor, subtly moving closer and offering the blonde her glass of wine.

"Two or three weeks, give or take." Cassian responded as Mor took that glass and gulped down the remainder of its contents.

"How exactly will he do that?" Elain asked timidly, she hadn't been very involved in the meetings where we developed our plan of action—the war with Hybern still too fresh in her memory for her to actively participate as she had back then. She was finally in a good place, nearly recovered mentally, and talks of going to war again only gave her painful reminders of what she had lost then.

I placed a hand over hers gently. "Rhys has been writing back and forth with Eris over the last two weeks. Once he started gaining an advantage over his father, Eris received a letter from Keir offering to create an alliance," I explained.

"You mean renew an alliance," Mor said bitterly as she stood and crossed over to the set of windows, hands on her hips.

I frowned, sharing a look with Rhysand. "But Eris is our ally in this coup. I have already instructed him to keep Keir sidetracked with false promises of a treaty while we work together with the other courts and replenish our armies," he reassured.

"You really think we can trust him?" Mor asked, turning back to face us. "He's been biding his time until he could win his father's throne, using us as leverage, how do we know he'll keep his word now that he has it?"

"He is ruthless, cousin, there's no doubt about that. He also knows that he would be at a severe disadvantage if he paired with Keir in the coup. His court just underwent a civil war, it is in shambles and he now has to navigate how to deal with his father's supporters and piece his court back together. Partnering with Keir would be disastrous and result in his court falling apart completely," Rhys explained calmly.

"If for some batshit crazy reason he does decide to side with Keir, we outnumber them now." Cassian added. "With the other courts on our side, they can't win."

Mor still looked unconvinced as she turned back to the window without another word. I saw Azriel watching her, a flicker of yearning in those hazel eyes, but he looked away as Elain spoke up again.

"Is there any news of Vassa…?" She asked quietly.

"She was recovered and returned to her home in the Mortal Lands, by Lucien." He answered her just as softly.

A pall of silence fell over us—Mor's rage continued to simmer as she stared out the window; while my sister and the shadowsinger exchanged a prolonged look before she finally looked down at her lap. Whether or not she acknowledged the fact that it was her mate that rescued the mortal queen, or whether or not she cared, I could only guess.

Rhys cleared his throat. "In the meantime, we keep waiting while Eris keeps Keir distracted. During that time, the other courts will be steadily sending their forces until those who fought in Autumn are recovered and can accompany the rest. If all goes according to plan, we have approximately two weeks until we're hosting the other courts and High Lords," he continued.

"Where are we going to host five High Lords, their entourages, and armies? We can't use the palace above the Court of Nightmares, Keir will know." I asked, bewildered.

"We'll host them here, in Velaris," Rhys answered with a rouge smirk.

"And their armies will camp out in the Northern Forests of the Illyrian Steppes," Cassian finished, crossing his arms over his broad chest with a crooked grin of his own. "We'll give them a little taste of what it's like in those mountains."

"What if Kallon gets reports of those gathered armies? He'll alert Keir," I challenged.

Rhys placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently. "They'll be stationed outside of Windhaven camp. Kallon is too busy rallying his rebels to bother checking in on his rival camp. We'll be setting up wards to shield them once they've become large enough; the other High Lords and I will take turns keeping them up."

I squeezed his hand back, leaning back against the cushion of my chair and running a free hand over my belly. Madja continued to assure Rhys and I that our son was growing at the expected rate and remained perfectly healthy. My recovery continued to improve, and the healer had alleviated some of the conditions for my confinement. I was now allowed out of bed for short walks around the estate; I could also paint and tend to some of my duties as High Lady, like writing letters and sorting through reports, but needed to maintain a light and easy schedule—nothing involving anything too strenuous. Since I was on the cusp of entering the last stage of pregnancy, only a few short months away from giving birth, she advised that I remain in the estate until my time came—when my period of nesting began, and Rhys would whisk me away to the Cabin in preparation for the birth of our son.

"Will there be fighting?" Nesta asked.

She stood beside Cassian; hands neatly folded in front of her as she turned a raised chin to the male. Though I couldn't see it, I knew the memories that flashed behind her fierce grey-blue eyes—of Cassian on the battlefield during the war; of the injuries he sustained.

"It's doubtful," Rhys replied for the commander. "We outnumber his Darkbringers and rogue Illyrians six-to-one. Once he and Kallon get word of the troops gathered in the Steppes, they'll come to meet us with their own. If they're smart, they'll realize sooner rather than later how ill-fated their cause has become and surrender."

Mor scoffed from her place at the window. "Like hell they will. You know that bastard won't go down without a fight."

"Then there will be a slaughter. Either way, they lose." Rhys said easily. "They'll be reminded of why previous coup attempts have been thwarted, and the Illyrians will be put in their place once again. As for Keir," he shared a meaningful look with his cousin as citrine and amethyst clashed. I pictured the paints I would use, emphasizing just the shape and fierceness of that shared look.

"So...we have nothing to worry about?" Elain asked hesitantly.

I took her hand again, "We're safe Elain. With our allies and this plan, the coup will fail. This confrontation is nothing like how it was with Hybern."

She nodded, her tense shoulders easing a bit. Amren crossed one leg over the other as a crooked grin lined her lips. "At least this time I won't be needing to sacrifice my life for you lot."

"We could always add you to the front lines. They don't know you don't have any powers; we could just use you to intimidate them to death," Cassian quipped.

"She's far too small for that," Azriel added.

Cassian roared in laughter as Amren glared at the spymaster. I half-heartedly laughed, noting the edge that lingered between my mate and his cousin; until Mor turned away and walked out of the library.

Is she okay? I asked through the bond.

As okay as she can be. She hates that Eris is High Lord, but I just informed her that I will be turning her wretched father over to her after this coup is over

Did that help?

Not as much as I would have hoped

Let me go talk to her. It's been a while since we've talked alone, maybe I can help her sort through her feelings.

Rhys only nodded in response before crossing over to stand in front of me and helped ease me to my feet. Despite my remarkable recovery, my growing belly still made my movements slower and slower. I was also beginning to notice that my balance was growing increasingly skewed but blamed it on the bed rest for now. The others hardly noticed as he escorted me to the door; their continued conversations and my departure a subtle indication that our meeting was over.

"How are you feeling?" Rhys asked once we were in the hallway, wrapping an arm around my waist as we walked.

"I'm fine. It's been nice to walk around again, even if I'm stuck indoors for now," I said.

A small frown came to his face and I quickly realized how my words sounded. The last time I had been confined inside an estate…

"It's not the same," I quickly amended. "I'm doing it for our little Bash," I said while rubbing my stomach for emphasis. "For both of our health. You're not locking me away and forbidding me from entering the city."

He took my hand in his free one, bringing it to his lips. "Never," he said. "Maybe in another couple of weeks Madga will deem it safe for us to resume our walks out along the Sidra. We'll get to enjoy the weather while it's still warm."

I smiled. "After this coup is over, and those responsible are taken care of, we'll get to enjoy it. We'll get to enjoy this," I said as I looked down at my middle.

Rhys's eyes softened as his gaze moved to my stomach, and I felt our son stretch in my belly. We stopped short of Mor's room and he pressed a kiss to my brow, his hands holding either side of my swollen abdomen. "Yes, we will."

I breathed in his scent and sighed lightly before pulling him in for a quick kiss. "You go take care of business. I'll talk to Mor and spend the day with her."

He nodded before taking a step back, "I'll be in my office if you need me."

"I'll be fine," I reminded him.

He smirked and kissed my belly goodbye before winnowing away. I took in another inhale before I stepped around the corner and approached Mor's door. Before I could knock, however, the door swung open with the blonde on the other side of it. She ushered me inside wordlessly and I followed suit, walking into her suite.

"You didn't need to come check on me," she said as she closed the door behind me.

"I figured you needed someone to talk to after hearing the news," I said as I worked to lower myself on the plush settee in the center of her room.

She sighed and plopped herself onto the seat beside me, helping me down and stared at her feet. "I knew it was bound to happen someday, especially after the deal Rhys made with him, but…" she trailed off.

"But it's different actually seeing it become a reality," I affirmed and touched her shoulder gently.

"I know, and you're completely entitled to your feelings. After everything that's happened, on top of this coup orchestrated by Keir," I shook my head and squeezed her shoulder. "I'm sorry Mor."

She continued to stare at the ground until her dark-honeyed eyes finally met mine. "I'm well over five-hundred centuries old, and yet any knowledge of the two of them working together—even under a guise for our sake just…" she shook her head, truly unable to voice the rage boiling underneath her skin, her elegant fingers curling into fists.

I touched one of those fists, levelling my gaze with hers. "Mor, I promise you, if Eris so much as looks at us the wrong way, we'll take care of him. The last thing we do is trust him, and I know Rhys wouldn't hesitate to rip him to shreds if he tries anything like his father did." I promised.

The corner of her mouth twitched upward slightly, and she sighed. "I know the alliance is necessary. I'm just not happy about it," she lamented.

"Neither am I," I assured, and she dipped her head in approval before uncurling her hands and bringing one to touch my stomach gently.

"How is he?" she asked.

Ever since revealing to my sisters that I was expecting a boy, the news hadn't remained a secret for long. Elain had been so delighted and shared the news with Mor and Amren during dinner that same night; Cassian then boasting that he had known for some time, which launched into a debate with the entire inner circle. I then sheepishly promised Rhysand that I wouldn't reveal our son's name until after his birth.

"He's good, moving a lot right now," I answered and smiled at feeling a kick. "Feel that?"

Mor's widened grin was answer enough as she continued to stroke my belly, encouraging my son to kick more and laughed as he responded to her movements and words.

"How does it feel for you?" She asked.

I shrugged. "It's hard to describe, the more he grows the different it feels. Viviane once told me that once I reach the end stages, I'll start to feel feet, fists, and elbows in there."

Mor cringed. "Does it hurt at all?"

I shook my head. "I think he's still too small. His movements are noticeable but not painful."

She nodded and studied my belly for a silent minute, caressing it lightly. "I can't wait for all of this to be over so we can turn all the attention on you, little one. Auntie Mor already has so many presents for you," she cooed.

I blinked, "Presents?"

She grinned mischievously, "Wanna see?"

I nodded with a laugh, but as she got up and crossed over to her enormous closet, a knock came at her door. Raising a brow, she walked over and opened it; a sentry waiting outside of it before she allowed him in.

"Pardon me, milady, but Lucien Vanserra is here to see you," the sentry informed me, albeit a bit hesitant.

I balked at him. "Here on the grounds?" I asked to confirm.

Lucien was about the only male welcomed in and out of Velaris; due to his connection with Elain, and his desire to be closer from time-to-time after the war, he had his own apartment in the city. However, since constructing the estate, he only visited on a few occasions.

The sentry nodded, "Yes. He arrived moments ago, insisting on an audience with you. Lord Rhysand greeted him, but he still maintains in meeting with you alone."

I paused to think. Knowing my mate, he was leaving the decision to me. "Is he alright?" I asked cautiously. "He isn't hurt, is he?"

The sentry shook his head. "He seems well, but unyielding."

"Maybe it has something to do with his swine of a brother," Mor offered. "I'll go with you. If he's angry, the last thing we want is for him to lash out at you in your condition."

"Lucien wouldn't hurt me Mor. If anything, he's probably hurting too. I have a feeling something else has happened," I said before motioning her to help me stand.

I grunted a bit with effort as she helped me get to my feet, a little wearier than I had previously been. Mor frowned, "We can send for him after dinner, once you've gotten some food and rest."

"I'll meet him in the sitting room attached to my suite. I can rest there and talk with him, and I know you all won't be far," I insisted and linked my arm with hers.

"Tell Lucien I will meet him in my sitting room in five minutes," I said to the sentry, who bowed in response and left the room.

"Are you sure about this Feyre? If he upsets you and puts too much strain on you and the baby…" Mor began.

"It's all right Mor," I assured her as she escorted me out of her room. "I think it's Lucien's turn to vent to a friend about the new High Lord of Autumn."

Mor cringed, recalling the cruel revelation Eris had unleashed on his youngest brother at the summit months ago. Still, as she led me back to the sitting room adjoined to my suite, she waited with me for Lucien's arrival. Moments later, my disheveled friend strode in, his russet eye wide while the mechanical one whirring as he took us in. He didn't so much as look at Mor as he cautiously approached me.

"Did you know?" He asked me by way of greeting. "About Helion and my mother? About-" he began but cut himself off as he finally realized Mor was standing beside the chaise lounge I perched on.

I turned a look at her and she understood my request. "I'll be down the hall," she said before leaving us alone.

"Did you know about their affair? That Helion is my-" he cut himself off again, unable to say the words as he paced the room.

I only offered a small nod, watching him empathetically. "Yes," I said softly.

"When?" He asked, still pacing back and forth across the carpet. "When did you figure it out? Or who told you? Was it my father? I mean, was it-"

"I figured it out after I first met Helion; before the war with Hybern started and we all gathered for the first time at Thesan's palace. He told me the story of what happened to your mother, her sisters, and how he rescued her during the first war." I answered, interrupting his rambling questions.

He stopped pacing and faced me. "Did Rhysand know?"

I shook my head. "Not until I figured it out myself. I made the connection; Rhys didn't realize it until I did."

His arms grew slack at his sides. "So, it's not some well-known secret that all of Prythian knows about and just hid from me?"

"No Lucien, it-" I began but then he interrupted.

"So why didn't you tell me, Feyre?" He asked, both of his eyes wide and bewildered. "You've known all this time and you didn't think to tell me? I thought we were friends!"

I frowned as he snapped at me, my hormones surging and causing tears to well in my eyes. It must have been evident, because he sighed and took a mild step towards me before turning away and running both hands through his bright auburn hair with an exasperated sigh. I quickly put my emotions in check, not wanting my irrational mood swing to interrupt Lucien's moment.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"No, Lucien, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. Honestly, I didn't think it was my place, and after what happened at the summit, I thought it was the last thing you wanted to hear." I explained.

He sighed heavily and crossed his arms over his chest, staring at the ground. "My father...I mean, Beron, told me. When he attacked the Mortal Lands and took Vassa. He...claimed I was 'no son of his' and said I was nothing more than a Day Court bastard. I was shocked, and then he started the attack. I tried to fight him off, to protect Vassa, but then…" his voice faded as his eye turned hazy, the other whirring out of focus as he recalled whatever details that occurred that day.

I slowly offered my hand, still seated, and it took a minute before he registered my movement and took it. I motioned for him to sit beside me and he did, his shoulders slumped over slightly as an invisible weight pressed on them.

"When Eris was crowned, my fa...Beron, imprisoned; my mother summoned me back to the palace. She broke down and explained everything, told me of her relationship with Helion and that he was my biological father. She never told him," he went on, voice barely above a whisper.

"She loved him, Feyre, and her husband kept her there. Imprisoned to serve as Lady of the Autumn Court, even while she carried another male's child," he pressed a palm onto his good eye, massaging the stress from it.

I placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, squeezing it softly. "How is she?"

He sighed. "Relieved. Eris is granting her a separation from Beron before he...finds a way to deal with him, but when she told me about Helion, she seemed...broken." He met my gaze again,

"You were almost her. All those years ago with Tamlin, when I didn't do anything to stop it. I almost let what happened to my mother happen to you," he said, a subtle horror laced in his voice.

"What happened to your mother wasn't your fault, Lucien." I said, moving my hand from his shoulder to his hand.

"I knew. A part of me knew she wasn't happy with my father," he cringed. "Beron. Yet I didn't try to take her away. I didn't do anything, and neither did Helion."

I sighed and moved a little closer to him. "Lucien, there was nothing you could have done. Beron had complete control over her. Even if you could, she probably wouldn't have left for fear of him and what he might do."

"But that's the point, I could have," he jumped back to his feet, pacing again. "I could have done something for her, for you, and I didn't. I couldn't protect her, or you, and I couldn't protect Vassa! I couldn't even protect your sister, my mate, from what Hybern did to her and Nesta. What kind of male am I that I can't protect the ones I care for, the ones I love?"

I frowned, "Lucien-"

"No, I...he took Vassa, Feyre. He managed to find that sorcerer that controls her and forced her into her firebird form. The way she screamed; it was...I couldn't bear it. Then learning what he did to my mother, and remembering what happened to you...to Elain, to even Jesminda, and how I allowed it all to happen. I...what…" he looked around frantically, his chest heaving a bit as he paced.

I did my best to rise as quickly and cautiously as I could before I approached him and threw my arms around him in an embrace. His arms were pinned at his sides as I held him, his body going rigid at first—until slowly he relaxed, his arms going limp before slowly wrapping his arms around me in return. Despite the complicated past with Tamlin, the one instance where he did have a say, he was my friend and had more than made up for it since. Beron had given him a life of turbulence; him and his brothers making Lucien's life hell until he found reprieve in the Spring Court. Then, once his closest friend had begun turning into a tyrant reminiscent of his father, those feelings of being trapped returned—unable to help me to the extent he wanted. After escaping that, after the war, he once again found solace with his human friends...until Beron's latest attack.

Lucien had felt so out of control in his own life, and every time little moments of freedom were offered—whether by finding a home in the Spring Court, then being welcomed to Velaris and the Mortal Realm, it seemed to crumble before him. Now with this latest truth revealed to him, it was no wonder that he was beginning to crumble next.

I wouldn't let that happen.

"Your mother is safe. I am safe. Elain is safe, and Vassa is safe," I said. "We are all safe now Lucien. Yes, we each endured some version of hell, but we survived. Just like you are doing now," I pulled back at arm's length to meet his gaze.

"You saved Vassa. As for me and Elain, who knows what would have happened if you hadn't done your part during the war; if you hadn't guided the Mortals, and Drakon and Miyram's army down the right path. As for your mother, you did what you could. Unfortunately, there was nothing you could do while she remained subservient under Beron, but now she is free of him. There is so much to look forward to Lucien," I took his hands again, squeezing them. "There will be good days and bad—don't let the hard days win."

Lucien blinked at me; his russet eye growing soft while the golden one whirred quietly. He continued to stare at me before he embraced me again, pulling me in a little too tightly and I cringed at the pressure on my stomach. He gasped and stepped back.

"Are you okay?" he asked

I nodded with a weary laugh, holding my stomach. "I'm fine, you just squished him a little."

He looked at my stomach, as if he just noticed it and helped me back to my seat carefully. "I almost forgot how far along you were. I haven't seen you since the summit."

"It's weird huh?" I motioned to my enlarged belly. "Sometimes I'm still a little surprised when I see myself in the mirror."

"Is he okay? I heard what you did...after what happened in Velaris," he asked with a frown.

"We're okay. We had a little scare, but my healer took care of us right away. I was on bedrest for a while, and technically still recovering, but I'm better now." I answered, resting my arms over my stomach.

He shook his head. "Rhysand must've lost his mind. I nearly did when Vassa was taken, and she isn't," he stopped himself with another shake of his head—as if trying to erase the memory of what happened to the mortal Queen.

I raised my brow at the tone in his voice, his worry for the fierce mortal woman. I paused as he loosed a long breath, finally cooled from his panic. "Do you want me to call Elain? I know she was worried about Vassa too, maybe you can assure her that she's alright?"

Lucien shook his head. "No, it's alright, I should get back to Vassa," he said, but paused when he met my questioning stare. "And Jurian; the mortal lands."

I laughed. "But…" he started. "Will you tell her I was here?"

"Yes. I'll let her know you're taking care of Vassa."

He dipped his head in a subtle nod and sighed again. "Thank you Feyre," he said softly.

"Anytime Lucien, just remember what I said okay?"

He offered a stiff smile before leaning down to give me a parting hug before escorting himself out. Rhys appeared in the doorway a second later.

"Well," he started. "That was intense."

I sighed, slumping back against the lounge and running my hands over my stomach. "He was upset. Beron told him about Helion and his mother."

Rhys released his own deep exhale and crossed over to the lounge, scooping me up easily and I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, resting my head against his shoulder. He walked us into our adjoining bedroom, laying me across the bed carefully and spreading out beside me. I rubbed my stomach lightly, watching it before Rhys placed a hand at the apex of my belly.

"He'll recover. It'll take time, but he will come to terms with the news," he said quietly as he ran his hand over the expanse of my stomach.

"Do you think Helion knows?" I asked.

"He probably suspects after the comment Eris made at the summit," he responded, voice still low. "Though I'm not sure what he'll do about it."

"What would you have done, if it were us? If I had actually married Tamlin, and in my time spent here to fulfill the bargain, you and I fell in love regardless? If we had conceived our son and I was stuck in the Spring Court, forced to name him Tamlin's…" I flinched at just the mere thought of it, of how easily it could have been me.

Rhys took my chin gently, tilting my head back to meet his violet eyes, sparkling intensely. "I would have torn the world apart for you, Feyre," he reminded me.

I smiled half-heartedly before he pulled me closer. "We don't know exactly how hard Helion tried to get her back, perhaps now they'll get the end they deserved," he said.

"Maybe," I mused, playing with the collar of his black tunic. "Did Eris...say anything about what he plans to do with Beron?"

"He's keeping him imprisoned until further notice. Said he might turn him over to us once we have Keir and Kallon in our custody," he said as his fingertips traced my side lightly.

I shivered at his touch, a part of me resenting Madja for deeming any sexual activity still too strenuous during my recovery. I hummed in response, "He'd actually let us execute his father?"

Rhys shrugged. "Beron will die regardless, along with Keir and Kallon."

"Mmm, what a fitting end for the three of them." I murmured, my eyes beginning to feel heavy as my mate's warmth continued to envelop me.

He noticed the fatigue in my voice and pressed a kiss to my brow. "All this talk of war and its lasting effects is wearing you down my love," he teased.

I rolled my eyes, closing them as I laid my head on his shoulder. "It wouldn't be if I weren't so busy growing a powerful high fae," I muttered.

I felt his dark chuckle rattle in his chest. "Sleep Feyre," he whispered as a hand ran down my back gently.

Sebastian must've wanted the same, because despite his constant movements and kicks just a while earlier, he was now calm—perhaps slipping into his own nap. I felt myself fading, too tired to respond with a witty remark and only stirred slightly when I felt Rhys move from my side and press another kiss to my brow.

I dreamt of Sebastian running through a pile of bright red and orange leaves, laughing and giggling as they crunched under his feet, Lucien standing at a distance with a content smile on his face—Vassa at his side.

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nestable · 3 years

Text

Just to clarify on my previous post, I was not attacking elains character or doing any sort of character analysis because I can see how it may be interpreted as this way. I was merely focused on describing women as strong even if they arent and how I believe this is done for the sake of trying to make women valuable in any narrative. Fictional or in reality.

If a woman is weak, it's okay. If a woman is strong it's okay. No woman should have to be forced into the strong narrative in fiction just so that they are worthy of respect. Weak women are deserving of respect too. And in my perspective, based on the evidence presented, elain is weak and THATS OKAY.

Of course she has other aspects of her character that may be noteworthy but I'm not talking about that, (and her stans can go ahead and make character analysis' about her to their hearts content) I'm talking about weakness. Women should be allowed to be weak, it really isnt a bad thing guys let's just remove the stigma attached to that word. Everyone suffers from moments of weakness,it's a part of being human.

It may sound harsh, but I'm saying this from a factual point of view based on the books and even OTHER CHARACTERS perception of her, elain is weak which is why shes allowed to get away with a lot of her behaviour.

The argument is that elain is excused for her inaction in acotar because shes kind and likeable, but I think it's also because the other characters are aware that shes weak and dont expect much from her. This was perfectly depicted with Rhysands 'elain is elain' line. He said this because even he is aware that elain is weak and wouldn't be able to take care of feyre and step up in the house to help out. No one expects much from her because of this trait of hers.

Another example is right back to acotar when feyre says that helping around the house 'just never occured to elain' (this line/ justification makes her seem like a complete dimwit but whatever) this line alone you can tell that even feyre sees elain the same way and that is weak. I mean how else can you describe a person who sees her sister struggling but it never crosses her mind to help out even though shes described as the nicest person out there?

Theres many other examples that prove my point and you just have to read the books to find them. And let me reiterate because the word weak has a bad quanitation. ITS OKAY TO BE WEAK, SHE IS STILL DESERVING OF RESPECT.

Weakness isnt a negative thing, especially if you are a woman because it has its advantages. We see elain get excuse for her behavior in acotar because shes weak and nesta attacked because she strong. This is because strength on women is seen as a target and people try their best to pull it down, and apart from the female aspect, strong people tend to get tried alot and put through unimaginable hell because people believe that they can and should handle it.

This happens with nesta a hell of a lot because her exterior and general attitude may shout mean, but that is associated with her strength. The ability to be unfazed and stand her ground regardless of how many people take shots at her. The first time this happens is how feyre seems to be more frustrated with nesta for not helping around the house because she is strong but doesnt expect the same from elain. The next time is when cassian reads her for filth in acomaf for not helping feyre and doesnt do the same to elain because at that point hes concluded that nesta is strong and at his level(remember how feyre said that he looked at her as an opponent) so she can take his verbal 'abuse' and not be deterred by it. Then we watch her be thrown into the IC dynamic and watch them badmouth her when shes present even though theyd never even attempt that with elain. There are a lot of other occurrences where the IC take shots at nesta and think that she can take them because shes strong, and again we have rhys confirming this fact with his 'nesta is illyrian line'. This implies that nesta is strong and is capable of doing more to help (and I agree) whereas elain is the complete opposite because shes 'weak'. (Although I think this has more to do with choices, because feyre had to do backflips to call nesta out on it yet finds an unreasonable excuse for elain. But i digress)

Being described as strong can be a compliment but can be damaging as well because people think that you are made of steel and immune to feeling. 'Strong' peoples mental health is often over looked and downplayed because people believe that they are always okay and can handle anything. Acofas and nestas situation while everyone ignores her plight, was a perfect example of how this happens. If it were elain who was exhibiting nesta behavior then the whole IC wouldve bent over backwards to help her, because 'elain is elain' yet ignore nesta because shes strong and can handle it. Even though it's clear she cant.

Personally, I would love to be labelled as weak because then people know about your boundaries and go out of their way to respect them, but if you are seen as strong then people constantly push you and ignore your feelings because you can take it.

Alas, unfortunately that will never happen for me because I'm black and a woman and immediately fall into the dangerous rhetoric of 'strong black women' so me being strong is seen as a given by society.

To end this convoluted essay I leave you with this 'Tough times never last, only tough people last.' And 'When the going gets tough, the tough get going' And that can be applied to every character in the acotar series to determine their 'strenght' or 'weakness' as a person and both descriptions are valid.❤

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #feyre archeron #rhysand #elain #nesta archeron #weakness is okay

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emilia3546 · 3 years

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Brothers

The bat boys find each other on the blood rite, fighting and banter ensue, and Rhys' mom comes in at the end.

*****

Cassian swore at the sound of someone else behind him, whirling and dropping into a fighting stance, his breathing already coming too fast, his limbs too weak. He almost dropped his sword as the other male saw who was there and promptly turned and ran in the opposite direction. Cassian collapsed against a tree, too exhausted to search for any decent shelter, and passed out.

He woke to the sunrise a few hours later, the soreness in his tired muscles slightly lessened and forced himself to his feet, thanking all the gods that no one had found him sleeping. He glanced up towards Ramiel, the snow shining on the peak in the pale sunlight. He tore his eyes away, carrying on into the tangle of trees before him, each step bringing him closer to the mountain, to the inevitable bloodbath at its base. He stopped just before noon, taking advantage of a river to nap again, the water was too deep to be crossed quietly, so after he had drunk his fill, he settled down for a quick hour nap.

He woke to someone shouting, and immediately scrambled to his feet, sword in hand, but relaxed as he saw the intruder,

"Cass!"

"Az! That you?"

"You still alive?"

"Just about," he groaned, sitting back down as Azriel crossed the river, sinking down beside him, "Any sign of Rhys?"

"No. No one I've asked has seen him, dead or alive."

"He's alive."

"How do you know?"

"He's alive." Cassian insisted, "He has to be,"

"I hope so too, if he's alive we'll find him soon enough, the mountain's getting closer, and so is everyone else."

"We'll be alright. We have each other now." Azriel grinned, and mussed his brother's hair, "Let's go and beat the shit out of those damned high-born dipshits."

"Who are you and what have you done with my brother?" Cassian gasped, "How little sleep have you gotten recently Az?"

"Oh, almost none, I'm fine."

"I can see that, although, more colorful language than usual."

"Oh, fuck off," Azriel shoved his shoulder, but lapsed into chuckles, only stopping when Cassian pushed himself to his feet, and offered Azriel his hand,

"Come on then,"

Rhys rotated his shoulder, cursing the stiffness there, then the unconscious male at his feet, the one blow he had managed to land. He had lost track of the days, but there couldn't be much time left, he had to move quickly. The mountain loomed ominously close as he jogged through the forests at its base, he avoided the obvious path, not in the mood to invite trouble, he would get there quicker if he only picked the fights that he had to.

He froze at the sound of voices ahead, but his adrenaline faded a little at the recognition of those voices, was it? Yes. He could have laughed with joy, but was content to creep up on his brothers while they rested for a moment. The plan backfired when they both turned to fight the moment he made himself known, he threw himself backwards to avoid Cassian's blade,

"Whoa idiots, it's me!"

"Oh, sorry Rhys, maybe don't jump out on the adrenaline fueled Illyrians next time," Az snorted at Cassian's words,

"Noted. Still alive then, I see."

"Oh yeah, it'll take more than these morons to kill me," Cassian chuckled, tacking Rhys with a bear hug, sending them both tumbling into the mud. Azriel snorted in laughter, and danced away when Rhys chased after him,

"No! Get away! No!" He yelped when Rhys finally caught up to him, and made to sure to cover him in the mud coating his leathers. "You prick!" Azriel slapped his shoulder, freezing at Rhys' slight wince of pain, "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's just stiff, asshole landed one blow, glancing but, it's still a bit sore. It'll be fine."

Their reunion was cut short by another male,

"Lookie here, bastards, and a half-breed. What do you say, boys? Easy meat." Six more males stepped out of the trees to flank their leader, "Maybe you'll never live to be High Lord, I mean what kind of High Lord can't defend himself?"

"Shut your mouth," Cassian snarled, instinctively stepping slightly in front of Rhys, on the side of his injured shoulder.

"Ooooh, protecting him, are we? That won't get you far,"

"You do like the sound of your own voice, son't you?" Azriel drawled, "Now, are we going to chat, or fight?" The male snarled, but launched himself forwards, his eyes widening in surprise as Azriel's blade met his own with the cool precision of someone entirely sure of his abilities. He backed off under the flurry of blows, but smirked as Azriel refused to move from the circle he had formed with his brothers.

"There's seven of them, that's two each, and one spare," Cassian whispered, "Take your pick, on three." Rhys glanced over his shoulder, keeping an eye on the one holding back, "One," he was still waiting, perhaps for an easy kill when they were tired, "Two," he narrowed his eyes, marking the two males closest to his side of the circle, and readied to fight as Cassian's voice sounded through the forest, "Three!" They lunged forwards as one, taking their assailants by surprise, and Rhys immediately knocked one out, whirling to meet the other's blade as it began a death arc towards his head. He easily knocked it aside, the other male scrambling backwards, stumbling once, and Rhys took the opportunity to send his sword flying aside,

"Please! Please! Don't kill me, please, my mother, my lord, please. They made me, they made me."

"How exactly did they do that?"

"My mother, they said they'd kill her, I have to protect her, my father, he died a while ago, I have to protect her, please."

"I'm not going to kill you-"

"Darren,"

"I'm not going to kill you, Darren, I haven't killed anyone this whole week, I've knocked plenty out, but I haven't killed anyone, and I won't unless I have to. What camp are you from?"

"Windhaven."

"Come find me, I'll help with your mother, now make yourself scarce." Darren's eyes widened for a moment, "Go." Rhys whispered, feigning anger as he sprinted into the trees, Cassian shouted after him, having heard the whole exchange,

"Leave him! Don't bother." Three unconscious bodies lay around him, it seemed that Cassian had fought the extra male, well, utterly destroyed, if his broken nose was any indication. Rhys turned to check on Azriel and frowned at his brother's face.

Azriel stared wide-eyed, unseeing at one of the males he had fought, blood coating his scarred hands, he was hardly breathing as he glanced back, tears lining his eyes,

"Az?"

"I - I killed him. He's dead." Az shook his head, more tears forming as his hands began to shake, Rhys and Cassian were at his side instantly, "I - I've never-" he broke off and met Rhys' eyes, "He's dead because of me, I - I tried to stop him, but, there were two of them, and I -"

"Az," Rhys whispered, "You're okay, you didn't have a choice, you tried to leave him alive, that's what matters, you're not a bad person." Still, Azriel's breath started coming in gasps, horror filling his eyes as he looked down at the dead male at his feet, "He was so desperate to prove himself, he didn't even consider backing off. Both of them, I knocked one out, but-"

"Hey," Cassian threw an arm around Azriel's shoulders, "Hey, you did everything you could, you shouted at him to get back, you warned him,"

"I don't even know his name," Azriel whispered.

The trek up the mountain was exhausting, although it seemed that they had avoided the battle at its base, they didn't meet anyone else on the slopes, and Azriel gradually recovered from his guilt, although it still tore at his inside, still made him want to throw up. He smiled at the sight of the monolith, the sunlight gleaming off it.

His brothers at his side, he stepped towards the stone, the marker of success, meeting both of their eyes before raising his hand,

"Together," he whispered, and closed his eyes.

When he opened them, he was back in Windhaven, Rhys' mother was already waiting for them,

"Boys!" She grinned as she ran towards them, "You're back pretty early, Azriel? You okay?" She frowned at the distant look in his eyes, "Come inside," she ushered the three of them into the house, grinning as they collapsed onto the couch, on on top of the other, and tried to shove the others away, in the end, it was Cassian who yelped as he fell onto the floor,

"Pricks," he muttered, but just flopped down between them once they had sat up,

"You boys hungry? "I've got some stew going for lunch." Azriel chuckled as Cassian's attention immediately went the kitchen,

"Yes please," he said, the first manners that he had displayed the whole week, sending both Azriel and Rhys into fits of laughter,

"Oh, that's rich, Cass, 'yes please' my ass!" Rhys laughed,

"Rhysand!" His mother reprimanded, "Language!"

"Sorry mom," he muttered, still grinning at Cassian's gaze on the three bowls that his mother served up, and Az nudged him in the side and whispered,

"Mighty High Lord,"

"Oh shush, you both know I'm not in charge here,"

Damn right you're not in charge, Rhysand, you're eighteen, you're practically a baby, none of this 'High Lord' business on my watch." His mother chuckled, "Cauldron knows what would happen if you were High Lord now,"

"Anarchy?"

"Civil war?"

"Free wine?"

"Showing off?" Rhys glared at his brothers, before immediately being distracted by the scent of his mother's cooking as she set three dishes before them,

"Food, then bed,"

"Yes, mom." Az snickered again, earning a shove on the shoulder, but quickly shut up to eat his own food.

They couldn't be bothered to find their own rooms, instead peeling off their leathers and collapsing onto the nearest bed, Cassian's, and sleeping through 'til midday the next day.

#fanfiction #fanfic #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #bat boys #bat bois #illyria #illyrian blood rite

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