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nikethestatue · 6 months

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A Match Baked In Heaven

Part VIII

Heavy Soul

Azriel Night felt like shit.

Not emotionally, or anything lofty like that, but physically. He was ill. Felt like he was running a fever, and his limbs felt laden.

His brow was hot, his neck was hot, but chills ran down his body. He rubbed his hands together and shivered. Fuck. Fuck. What a day to catch something! This monster of a game was looming in front of him, and truthfully, all he wanted, all he needed was a cup of strong tea with plenty of sugar and lemon, and a handful of those delicious biscuits that Elain baked. Come to think of it, all he actually wanted right now, was Elain. He wanted to be in her house, curled up like a toddler on a sofa and preferably with her in his arms. That was a tall order, he knew it, but a man could dream. There was no possibility that Elain would end up laying in his arms, but did he love imagining it!

Yeah, two days ago, he realised that he had a problem.

He was shaving in the morning and it dawned on him that the first thing he thought of every morning was Elain. And then he thought of the dog. And then, he inevitably fell into the sea of wild daydreams, where he and she were together. In his dreams she loved him, and they lived together and they shared a home. Everything Elain had told him that one night–about her ‘perfect day’--turned out to be his perfect day as well. He yearned to do everything that she dreamt of, every single outing, the excessive number of meals, the walks, the exploration that she craved. He wanted to be there, by her side. He wanted to have the dog with them, and the children…he wanted to have the children.

He didn’t lie to Elain when they spoke of Nuala. Nuala was a sweet, wonderful, exciting personality. Truly brilliant. So smart, she intimidated him a bit. But while only six months ago he would’ve found her to be perfect for him–sexy, vivacious, independent, clearly not someone who would use him for money or fame, witty–now, he couldn’t think of anyone other than Elain. It had to be Elain. All his thoughts of the future revolved around her–how they’d live, how they’d have children together, how they’d raise them. He was feeling broodier than any woman during ovulation lately. Apparently, his hormones were raging and not in any normal manner. He was plagued by visions of Elain’s sweet soft body rounding and thickening with his baby. Son or daughter, it didn’t matter to him. As long as it was Elain who carried his seed in her body, as long as it was Elain who nurtured and loved their child, as long as it was his and Elain’s. And how the fuck was he going to make any of that happen? She was staunchly professional, unlike him, and she might have been in a relationship with the ginger horse-face. She was uppity and well-born, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if there was a title somewhere that she wasn’t using. Lady Elain, Lady Nesta, Lady Feyre…yeah, he could see it. And who the fuck was he? A gutter rat, who fell arse first into money and fame.

No matter how much he thought about it, he couldn’t figure out a way to make Elain his. At least there was one bit of good news–he was quite sure that she liked him and his company. But whether it was romantic interest or simply friendship, or even a business arrangement, he couldn’t quite tell. Though he wasn’t a novice with the ladies, someone like Elain was completely foreign territory for him and usually, she left him…vexed, to put it mildly.

Anyway, all of it was mostly wishful thinking. The dreams that he had remained just that, dreams. Making those dreams a reality remained elusive.

He looked out the window on their team bus. He was wearing a suit, though he was shivering within it. Rain drops were pelting the window. Fucking bollocks. He’d hoped for a game where he wouldn’t be running wet and freezing, but no. Frankly, it should be against the law to have roofless stadiums in Britain considering that most of the games took place under pouring rain.

Many of the blokes on the team had their own pre-game rituals–some played with amulets, keychains, bracelets, wedding rings...Others mindlessly scrolled through their phones, trying not to think about the game. Some did the opposite, and watched replays, trying to devise their strategy despite it having been discussed and practised a million times before. Some heads bobbed to the beat. Many were texting.

Azriel didn’t have many rituals. He relied on himself and his team, and that’s about it. He didn’t believe in red horns, or crossing himself, or wistfully glancing at some photo. He didn’t have any photos to glance at anyway. Who was he gonna look at? Cassian?

But that kind of jolted him and spurned him into action. Maybe, for once, he did have a photo or two to glance at.

He pulled out his phone and tapped on IG, quickly finding the page that he loved The Adventures of Piglet the Pug.

The latest post made his heart skip, and despite how fucking awful he was feeling, he couldn’t help but grin like a maniac.

#GettingReadyFortheGame

#SupportingHisTeam

#PigletIsaGooner!

#GunnersForTheWin!

Those were the hashtags which accompanied a photo of Piglet outfitted in his brand new kit. He even posed next to a football and to a Gunnersaurus Rex toy. Where Elain got that, Azriel had no idea, but he loved it.

Azriel was smiling like a crazy person. He tapped on stories and sure enough, there was Piglet in his puffer, and then in his new t-shirt, and even in a bright red bow. Azriel sent a heart emoji. A heart-eyes emoji. A thumbs up emoji. Yep, he was officially thirteen.

Suddenly, his phone dinged with an incoming message. He opened it and grinned even wider. And then he was getting emotional like a thirteen year old girl. Because his girl was also dressed for the game. In his jersey. His name plastered across her back.

And he couldn't help the impulse. Biting his lip, he went into his Contacts and changed Elain’s contact name once again.

It used to be 'Cute Matchmaker’, and then, it was ‘Pretty Elain’ for about a week or so.

But now…

Now he typed it in and smiled to himself.

‘Mrs. Night’.

Fuck. Yes.

His Mrs. Night.

That girl knew how to take a killer photo.

She sent a few in a row, but one was truly a stunner. She was positioned with her back to the mirror, holding Piglet. Azriel’s name was clearly visible on the back of the jersey in the reflection. She thrust her hip out coquettishly with a football balanced on it, her hand draped over it leisurely. Her long, thick braid was flipped over her shoulder–just waiting for him to tug on it–and she was also smiling, her lips a delicious bright red colour, to match the red kit.

This girl could heal the sick and raise the dead, she was so gorge.

Without hesitation, he made the photo his screensaver, and then selected another for the wallpaper.

It was literally perfect and encompassed the three things he loved–Elain, Piglet and football.

Yeah, it was going to be a shitty, dreary, cold and wet 100 minutes, but somehow, Azriel didn’t feel as miserable as he felt 15 minutes ago.

Go, Captain, go!

Elain typed.

I’ll win for you, beautiful.

He promised.

We’ll be cheering for you. Feyre too, though I don’t know if she knows the rules.

That made him chuckle.

Tell her that the ball has to end up in the net. Otherwise, it’s just blokes running around for 90 minutes.

Oh, and by the way, I think she is going to overdose on soup! She’s been asking me for recipes daily and apparently, she’s been ‘practising’ cooking them.

Azriel couldn’t help but laugh.

I guess that one is my fault?

Most certainly. Now, you are obligated to introduce her to your cousin.

I can arrange that. He’s been told about her and wants to be matched!

I am the matchmaker!

She reminded him sternly.

Sorry, beautiful. Of course you are.

…Pause…

Have a nice game!

Thanks, baby. Will do.

Elain was not crazy about this weather outside.

The players on the field were soaking wet, running around in nothing but t-shirts and shorts, while the fans were bundled in puffer coats and thick scarves. It was almost the middle of November. She certainly didn't like Azriel running up and down the field, with his hair and his shirt sticking to him because of the relentless rain.

The commentators were discussing the performance of the players, and Elain’s attention piqued when she heard them mention that ‘Azriel Night is not in top form tonight, though you wouldn’t tell that by looking at him…

…Yes, word is that he is suffering from a bad cold, but look at his body language. He is confident, he is powerful on the field, his sheer physicality is so impressive…

Hell yeah, it is! Elain thought to herself. But the news of him being ill didn’t sit well with her at all.

The game was brutal. There was no other word for it.

Liverpool were aggressive and dominated for the first 20-25 minutes, netting a goal in the 7th minute. At least it was a home game, and the Arsenal crowd was raucous and loud, energised and supportive of the team. Truthfully, Arsenal were pretty dreadful in the first half, running aimlessly, and barely preventing Liverpool from scoring another two goals. In addition, they had an injury, a substitution and three yellow cards. Liverpool were playing better, and cleaner, though they weren’t above diving and tackling harshly.

Elain was pacing and jumping for 45 minutes, praying for a short stoppage time, which of course wasn’t short at all, but an additional 6 minutes. 51 minutes of playing, in awful conditions, without scoring. She wrung her hands and yelled at the screen, and Piglet kept pace with her, watching everything with great intensity, as if he understood what was happening. He hopped and barked, and every time Azriel came on the screen, he went absolutely wild, dancing and gyrating and barking a happy bark.

But Elain could see that Azriel was indeed ill. His demeanour wasn’t his usual confident, quick, robust self, and yet, the man, the captain, still managed to create opportunities for his teammates. In the 49th minute, Arsenal scored an equaliser, made possible by Azriel’s assist.

“Incredible play by Night!” the commentators lauded.

“Stunning. A brilliant pass. At almost thirty years old, Night is playing at the top of his game–despite the young talent of the team, he manages to maintain morale and cohesion. Everyone wants to be a superstar,”

“But he is the one who leads this team, and he is the captain for a reason,” agreed another broadcaster.

And Elain? Elain was smiling and feeling proud. Because he was…amazing. Tired and weakened, he still managed to avoid unnecessary dramatics, and simply played well, with his usual determination.

“This is what a captain should be–he is the strength of the team.”

“Night will never be flashy. He is not Ronaldo,”

“More of a Messi–solid, reputable, experienced.”

“He inspires confidence, in an uninspiring lineup. Arsenal has too many injuries and yet, he manages to play with all of these young, and somewhat inexperienced players without hesitation.”

Elain’s phone rang and she picked up, seeing it was Feyre.

“Eeelllaiiiinn! Oh my god, I am sweating like a hooker on Quid Night!”

“Feyre!!” Elain cried out.

“What? What?! This is so stressful! How do people do this every week? I am a wreck of nerves and screaming. Listen, listen to my voice. I am hoarse! Can you hear it?”

“Yes,” Elain agreed peaceably, though Feyre’s voice was sounding normal.

“Azriel is amazing!” Feyre continued ranting loudly. “He is…I don’t know. He is brilliant. And his body! Do you see this,”

“I see, I see,”

“I mean, he is my brother-in-law, so I am not looking at his body, but still,”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, if I am gonna marry his cousin and you are gonna marry Azriel, we are going to be sisters and sisters-in-law. Hahahaha. Can you imagine. What about this other brother? Can we set him up with Nesta? Three brothers and three sisters?!”

“You seriously need to calm down,” Elain ordered. “What are you on? Are you on drugs?”

“Nooo!”

“No more football for you,”

“Yes! I love it! Sorry if I love watching my brother-in-law play!”

“Stop calling him that!” Elain snapped at her sister.

“Why? He will be! You already cling to him for some peace and quiet. So we know what will happen…You’ll look so handsome together,” she added dreamily.

“You are insane,”

“Whatever. He is incredible and I am rooting for him. Is Piggy watching? Is he loving it?”

“Yeah he is watching. He barks every time Azriel is on,”

“Awww, I love it. They are such good mates.”

“Okay, the game is starting,” Elain told Feyre, “we need to get back.”

“Next time, we are gonna go to a pub and watch there, like normal people,” Feyre decided.

Piglet was racing back and forth, jumping every time there was a replay of anything that involved Azriel, making sure that he alerted Elain and that she was watching.

At the start of the second half, Arsenal looked better. They walked on the field looking determined, serious, regrouped.

And then the goal arrived almost immediately and that sustained them through an opening half that Arsenal went on to dominate.

And then...

Team Captain Azriel Night scored a STUNNING overhead goal in the 58th minute.

The long diagonal pass came from the left. The ball missed everybody, though, which left only Azriel at the far post and he seemed to have moved a yard or so too close to goal.

But a big stride backwards away from goal improved his position and with quite astonishing timing he managed to leap and hook the ball back over his head, across goal and in to Alisson Becker’s top left hand corner. It was a goal that only looked better with each passing TV replay. The cross was struck too firmly for that kind of finish, surely. It just wasn’t set up for a bicycle kick. But Azriel’s confidence solved the first half of that equation and his outstanding technique solved the second.

The stadium gasped. Then erupted in deafening cheers and celebrations.

It was a shockingly complex play, which resulted in an unexpected goal, performed with incredible precision and athleticism. The man literally did a backflip and landed on his feet while slamming the ball into the net and bypassing one of the best goalies in the world.

Elain froze, hardly believing her eyes. Then, replay after replay.

Shouting victoriously, she grabbed Piglet and squeezed him in her arms, circling the room and yelling ‘look what daddy did! Isn’t he absolutely amazing?!’

Piglet was barking happily, excited by all the commotion.

Arsenal were now leading 2-1. And Azriel scored. A gorgeous goal.

“See, we are cheering for daddy, and he scored!” Elain sang to Piglet. “Maybe you are his lucky charm?”

Then, she paused and stood still in shocked silence.

Because she didn’t notice it initially, swept up in the celebrations, but now that she glanced at the replay yet again, she watched Azriel trace what definitely, definitely looked like an E with his index finger and then point at the camera.

A glorious goal. For Elain. The only ‘E’ in his life.

And at that, Elain burst into tears. Pathetic. Perhaps. But she didn’t even care. She rocked Piglet against her chest and cried, because no one’s ever done anything like this for her before. It was an intangible thing, just a gesture, but Elain knew that Azriel thought of her in the moment of his triumph and that was something that words couldn’t describe. It was a gesture of utter devotion, and Nesta’s words sprung fresh in her mind again.

That man is in love with you.

No. It couldn’t be. Azriel held affection for her, she knew that. And she held affection for him. They were surely very companionable, but love? Love… Love was a big thing. The biggest thing that there was.

Piglet whimpered in her arms, licking her cheek, confused about her tears. She squeezed him tighter and murmured, “No, daddy is good to us’.

The hoopla over the goal had subsided a bit and the game resumed, Arsenal coming into the second half pumped and energetic. Everything that they lacked 40 minutes ago was now old news–it was a team reborn.

They were light on their feet, sure and thoughtful.

It was Liverpool that switched it up and went on the attack.

Elain set Piglet down on the floor and he dropped on his butt, watching the screen, mesmerised.

When the tackle came, it was completely unexpected, as most things are in football.

One moment Azriel had possession, running with the ball, and the next moment, he was caught in a veritable hurricane. A player, whose name Elain didn’t even know, dove and tripped him, the man’s shoe slamming full force into Azriel’s shin. The collision had Azriel flipping and sprawling onto the wet grass, the impact so strong, he actually rolled over a couple of times, as he clutched his leg in agony.

She cried out alongside him, watching his handsome face grimace from pain.

Everything halted, the game stopped, Arsenal players started throwing it down with the Liverpool players, and the referee got involved, tossing out yellow cards like candy. Meanwhile, Azriel was wincing and he held his knee to his chest, unable to stand. The medics rushed the field to inspect him, and boos came from the stands.

The commentators were saying something, throwing words like ‘penalties’ and ‘ unprofessional conduct’ and ‘frustration’ and ‘team dynamics’, but Elain couldn’t understand anything that was being said.

Piglet was back up on his three feet, pacing back and forth, sobbing sadly, yipping and looking at Elain, demanding an explanation. Azriel’s tortured expression was plastered all over the screen, as the medical staff fussed with his leg. Piglet ran to Elain, rubbing against her legs, seeking comfort and barking. She just stood in one place, immobilised by indecision and horror. Azriel’s words about ‘career-ending injuries’ sprung in her mind. What if this was it? What if he couldn’t play anymore?

‘Sprain’

‘Achilles tendon’

‘Catastrophic injury’

The commentators’ words weren’t helping at all.

She held her hand to her mouth, staring at the screen.

The Liverpool player received a Red card for the tackle. Like that was enough of a punishment when Azriel was being carried off the field in a stretcher.

Elain’s hand curled into a fist, and she wished she could smash the guy’s face in. She didn’t really know how to fight, but she figured that she could beat him to death just through sheer rage alone. She was shaking with anger, disbelieving the cowardly tackle and the resulting disaster.

Her phone chimed, and she knew it was Feyre. And then it rang again, and she figured that it might have been Nesta. But she didn’t pick up. She was angry. And her heart hurt. It’s as if she couldn’t get enough oxygen into her lungs, as she hyperventilated, even ignoring her crying dog. She felt…like she was in pain. Azriel’s pain was her pain.

…

”Yes? Who is this?”

Silence.

“Hello?”

“Hello. Cassian?”

“Well, hello sweetheart, who are you and how can I be of service?” Cassian slumped in an armchair and stretched his legs.

“Well, um…this is Elain.”

“Elain who?”

“Elain Archeron,”

He thought long and hard: the name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place her.

“The matchmaker for your brother,” she finally clarified.

“Oh yeah! Of course. Elain Archeron with the pug…You both wear bows,”

“Ummm. Okay?”

“How can I help you, petal? What’s he done? I thought that things were going well? Az’s been unusually verbose lately, mostly about you.”

“Oh,” she seemed surprised. “He has?”

“Oh he has. Not one to talk about the ladies, he isn’t, but he’s been talking about you. Elain this and Elain that. You’d think he was dating you, not your matches.”

All Cassian heard was ‘hmmm’ in response.

At last, he prodded her, “So, what can I do for you? He been handsy or what?”

“Well….” she said softly, “I…have you seen the game?”

“I have! That goal–my brother is an artist!” Cassian marvelled. “It was a damn stunner. I represent him as his agent, and whenever he pulls this beautiful shit, I remind everyone that he is as good as any other top tier player. So you been watching him?”

“Uh…yes,” she confirmed shyly. “Yes. The goal was unbelievable. But then the injury,”

“Oh yeah, that tosser got him good,” before he could say anything else and go on a rant, she interrupted.

“I’ve been trying to reach him,” she continued, her voice urgent, almost hysterical. “Is he okay? How bad is the injury? He is also ill. I could see it, you know. I could see that he was ill, but…I’ve been trying him for the past two hours, and he hasn’t picked up. Cassian, is he okay? I rang him six times, no, seven, and he hasn’t responded. I mean, is he in the hospital? Will he recover? My dog is in distress, he’s been crying since he saw Azriel fall,”

“Wait, what? Your pug’s been crying?”

“Yes, yes,” she sounded like she was sobbing herself, “they are great mates, you know. Piglet loves him so much. He loves Piglet too…he calls him Pinky, which is silly, but I am used to it now, and Piglet is in distress, and I need to know,”

“Wait, Elain, it’s okay,” Cassian urged her gently. “Breathe, sweetheart. He will be okay…So you’ve rang him seven times?”

“Yes!”

“Alright then. He is probably getting his leg X-Rayed and I am sure they are running tests to see what the damage is…”

“But what if…oh Cassian, what if he can’t play anymore?” she cried. Honest to god wept on the phone. “It would devastate him. What can I do? I want him to be well, oh god, I am,” she was sobbing loudly, and Cassian was taken aback by the genuine level of her grief.

“No, Elain, darlin’, that’s what happens to footballers. They get injured. It’s not his first one, and won’t be the last,”

“But…but…how do you know?” she sniffled loudly.

“I mean, the tackle was bad, wasn’t it,”

“It was!”

“But Az knows how to fall so he minimises the impact. Don’t be upset, he’ll manage his way out of this,”

“But…I want to see him,” she insisted, “I want to make sure he is going to recover. What should I do? I will bake…yes, yes…I will bake his favourite biscuits! And if he plays with Piglet, that would make him feel better too…Yes, that’s what I will do,”

Cassian sensed that he was forgotten.

Elain was completely freaked out and it was clear as day that she harboured some very strong feelings for his brother. She was absolutely out of her mind with worry for Azriel, and Cassian wasn’t expecting this at all. The intensity of Elain’s sadness and concern was both surprising and…endearing? Cassian was almost envious. No one’s been that anxious or apprehensive about him and his well-being ever in his life.

What was happening between these two? And that dog?

“Elain, I will keep you posted about his condition. When I hear, you will hear as well. I promise.”

“Oh thank you, Cassian. You are so kind. Thank you,” she breathed happily.

“No problem at all. Of course. It’s my pleasure.”

This wasn’t how Cassian normally spoke, but Elain’s old-fashioned mannerisms, her cultured ways, and her hysterical worry made him want to comfort her and assure her that she was being taken seriously.

What Cassian was sure of now, was that Elain was just odd enough and authentic enough for his brother to in fact…fall in love?

Elain had spent the rest of the evening worrying and pacing, but Azriel did not respond to her calls and texts. She just had to believe that he was occupied and was hopefully getting good medical care and his leg wasn’t seriously hurt, and that nothing that was detrimental to his overall well-being happened.

Piglet was in a bad mood, didn’t even ask for a second dinner, which typically would be unfathomable. Elain wanted him to give a bath, but he refused, growling and screaming loudly, until she gave up.

She received 5 messages from Feyre, asking about Azriel, and even two messages from Nesta, asking the same. She didn’t feel like talking to anyone. Instead, she dragged herself to bed and Piglet went and buried himself in his own bed, disinterested in socialising.

And that was the end of Saturday.

Annoying phone dinging woke Elain up. It was still so dark outside, she thought it was still nighttime, but when she grabbed the phone, she saw that it was 6:48am.

Feyre: Did you see today’s DM?

Elain: What’s DM? Direct message?

Feyre: NO!! Daily Mail!

Elain: What now? Why? Why would I look at Daily Mail first thing in the morning?

Feyre: I always do. Open it now! You made the front page, hon

Elain: WHAT are you on about?

Feyre: OPEN IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Elain: STOP SCREAMING!!!!!

Feyre: YOU ARE THE ONE SCREAMING

Elain pulled up the Daily Mail on her phone and read the headline.

A New Romance for Football's Bad Boy?

Is Azriel Night, footie’s perennial bad boy, the man who’s never been seen with a steady girlfriend, and who’s been unapologetically playing the field for the past decade, finally found his match?

Less than two weeks ago, he was snapped by curious onlookers and tourists near London’s famed The Shard, where he apparently pursued a mugger, whom he managed to catch in the end and retrieve the loot. Furthermore, following the incident, he was seen carrying a woman in his arms whose purse the mugger stole.

The Rescue

The mystery woman is yet to be identified, but it seems that Mr. Night is fully enamoured with the beautiful stranger.

(Below, there was a grainy photo of Azriel carrying Elain, and Piglet at their side. Dialogue bubbles were drawn above their heads)

“Are you hurt?” said Azriel’s bubble.

“You came for me.” That was Elain’s bubble.

While no romance has been confirmed by Mr. Night or his publicist, this would be the first official relationship for the notoriously private, but scandalous Arsenal superstar. Mr. Night’s reputation for debauched behaviour has been well documented, though in the past few years he seemed to have modified his ways and is no longer involved in scandals and is not the subject of sexual gossip. At 29 years old, Arsenal’s captain seemed to have found some inner peace and has been shining on the field, while keeping a lower profile off the field.

Is his new friend the cause for this change? Is she the mysterious ‘E’ whose initial Mr. Night traced after his phenomenal goal against Liverpool on Saturday? And did he dedicate the historic goal to her? While this has not been confirmed, speculations have been running rampant about the unusual gesture. Since he’s been playing professionally, Mr. Night has never dedicated any of his plays to anyone.

Is this the beginning of a beautiful friendship? Time will tell.

If you have more information about the identity of the woman in the photos, contact Nelly Suriel at [email protected]

Oh god. Oh god.

Her phone dinged again. Jesus Christ, she was not in the mood to listen to Feyre’s taunts. She didn’t even look at the message.

The next moment, it rang. The tone of the phone’s ring seemed impatient.

“WHAT?” Elain snapped, her eyes skimming the article again. The photograph. The speculations.

“Hey beautiful,” Azriel’s deep, gravelly voice came on the line. “Who is annoying you?”

Elain was speechless.

He chuckled.

“Not often I leave you without words.”

“You…”

“Me. Why are you always so surprised? Who else would I be ringing?

Before she could descend on him with a million questions, he said firmly,

“I need you, Elain. I am coming over.”

#elriel #pro elriel #elain archeron #azriel #azriel and elain #elain x azriel #elain #elriel fanfic #Eriel fanfiction #my writing #A Match Baked In Heaven #new chapter #ACOTAR Fanfiction #modern au

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theleavesarecinders · 3 years

Text

Of Shadows And Cinders I

Here is the first chapter of my Azriel x Eris fanfic! It was supposed to be a one-shot, but it quickly got a life of his own... so get ready for a kinda-slowburn-but-only-at-feelings fic!

Also, this chaper was beta’d by @stars-and-scripts (Who I like to think as my partner in crime), with comments and input from @inejjg and @qamariana as well (Thank you so much!)

Sooo here we go!

The first chapters occur during ACOSF, then the plot moves on.

You can find it in AO3 here!

✬

Summary:

The Courtier and The Spymaster, a son of fire and a son of shadows, a male who thrives in secrets whispered at glimmering ballrooms and another one who finds them under the edge of his knife. Both wear masks, the males beneath them unknown to the other.

Azriel has spent centuries plagued by the memory of Mor’s wounded body at the Autumn’s Court border, his hate for Eris only growing stronger with each one of his visits. Now, after rescuing him from the influence of the Crown there seems to be a tentative peace between the Inner Circle and their ally in the Autumn Court- a peace still threatened by the secrets between both Courts. So when Eris appears at the House of Wind’s doorsteps asking for help, Azriel sees the perfect opportunity to discover more about the red-haired male and his true motives… as well as his role in the shadowsinger’s own present and past.

CHAPTER I

Azriel’s POV

Azriel was seething.

One of his shadows curled over his shoulders, whispering into his ear that Cassian hadn't taken his eyes off from the dancing couple since the moment the music started. His shoulders had stiffened. Take care.

The Shadowsinger clenched his jaw, a rush of memory blurring his eyes for a second. He could understand his brother, the line of tension climbing up his spine and making his wings lift and hold steady- his silhouette bigger, more intimidating. He could understand the twisting in his gut at seeing Eris- that scheming, worthless male- touching his beloved, his mate, in such an intimate way. The autumn male was currently dancing in the center of the room, one hand clasped on Nesta’s and the other one caressing her back, chasing the skin left exposed by the lines of her dress. Both dancers were encased by the music, framed by both sound and the fluttering black fabric of their clothes. One twirl and their eyes crossed, reflecting each other’s golden and silver fire. Not even five minutes before he had been looking that very same way at both sisters, his eyes gliding over Nesta’s indifference and instead assessing Elain, who had tried to create a front of interest after Feyre’s cautious coaching the previous day.

Azriel had been unable to shake the image from his head since then.

His fingers hardened over the leather that covered his bicep, masking his irritation in the shadowy fold created by his crossed arms. His face was frozen in the vacant mask he and his family always donned in the Court of Nightmares, providing a shield between his thoughts and the exterior world. He knew that in this throne room every one of his actions, down to the twitch of his wings or the swirling patterns of his shadows, would be observed and analyzed in the hope of finding and exploiting a weakness. That night, however, maintaining a perfect composure was proving to be harder than expected. And it was all the Heir of Autumn’s fault, his presence having been felt through the Inner Circle’s bonds like a ripple. Mere minutes ago, it had taken everything in him not to snarl at the red-haired male, at the entitlement in those eyes that seemed to coolly evaluate every little thing around him. To judge them. Azriel’s eyes narrowed, a spike of pain piercing the center of his chest. To judge them and then throw them away.

Cassian-

His eyes snapped to the warrior at his side, his steps strong and solid as he crossed the dancefloor towards the dancing couple. Nesta’s eyes were glittering, already getting lost in the waves of music that had started to swirl around the room. In front of her Eris smiled, a glint of white showing between the lines of his lips. The music surged, the dancers twirling and stepping with the beat, starting to pick up the rhythm when-

Azriel couldn’t hear what words had left his brother’s lips, but he could see the effect they had on the couple. Eris just turned his head, the other corner of his lips raising and exposing those white teeth with a snarl. Nesta just seemed… shocked. Like the music had left her spellbound and now, when its influence had lifted its weight from her shoulders she could see the world anew. Could see Cassian anew. Another crack gouged itself between the Shadowsinger’s ribs, its sharp edges burrowing a little closer to his core. He closed his eyes, willing those cracks to freeze, for ice to settle in the hollow spaces the fissures had created and hold them together, to numb them.

When he opened them again, Cassian and Nesta were dancing together and Eris had disappeared. He sent a few shadows to make their patrol around the hall, a whispered command coaxing them into finding and following the red-haired male. He wanted to know every single one of his movements. He frowned, a few lines of worry pressing down the sides of his head. Even though he agreed with the benefits an alliance with the Autumn male would bring, he still felt guilt at the manner it had been executed. He could still picture the pain and betrayal in Mor’s eyes when she had discovered their plans, cornered in this cursed city in a meeting she had been essentially tricked into. There had been a light that had disappeared inside of her that day, a light that in all the following months had barely let itself be seen again. Another set of brown eyes flashed in his mind, bright and soft as a spring dawn. His frown deepened. He would do anything to keep those eyes from losing their light as well.

The last notes of the piece drifted and disappeared; their final echoes drowned by the polite clapping of the courtiers. Cassian bowed to Nesta, his untrained feet a little bit wobbly after the final speed of the dance but quickly gaining back their confidence. Azriel sighed, hundreds of years of experience telling him that the next piece would be a waltz. That very same experience also let him know that Cassian was under no way or form ready to face Nesta in that kind of dance. He walked around the crowd, stepping forward and touching his brother’s shoulder when he was close enough. He threw a quick smile at him, dipping his head softly in a bow towards Nesta.

“May I have this dance?”

She snorted, her silver eyes piercing Cassian’s under perfectly arched eyebrows. “At least someone has manners.”

Azriel smirked, moving Cassian gently to one side and offering his hand to Nesta. “Don’t worry, what he lacks in manners he compensates somewhere else, I’m sure.” Out of the corner of his eye he could see his brother’s mouth hanging open, the warrior’s eyes moving from his mate’s face to the shadowsinger’s and back again. Nesta’s smile only grew.

“Oh, he is charming in his own way, I have no complaints about that.” Cassian looked like he was about to faint.

“I do recall hearing some very interesting exchanges between the two of you lately, I’m glad to hear you were left satisfied.” Now a choked noise.

“Oh yes, his company is extremely stimulating when he wants it to be.” Nesta’s smile was like a knife.

Cassian just raised a hand, one finger pointed at them. “You both. Are horrible.” And with that he turned around and stormed away, his stomping steps leading him towards the wine table. Mor was already there, offering him a glass. Azriel let out a laugh and turned his attention back to Nesta, both of them getting into position and starting to whirl gently with the first sweet notes of the waltz.

“I think I haven’t seen Cass so flustered since he lost that strip poker game against Amren.”

Nesta scrunched her nose. “Against Amren? I can hardly blame him for that.”

He snorted. “Oh believe me, she didn’t want to be there either.” Nesta just raised one of her eyebrows. “Have you ever seen Amren playing cards? She swore off them that day, still claims to be disgusted every time she even thinks about a deck.” Nesta’s lips curled, a little bit of the glow that had surrounded her face after picturing the scene faltering. He knew that something had gone down between her and the tiny immortal, something that had broken the tentative trust that had been built between them during the war. He didn’t know what words had been exchanged, what blows had shattered each other’s shields, but neither of them had looked at the other the same way since.

He cleared his throat. “So, what did he tell you?” Both of them knew he wasn’t talking about Cassian.

Nesta rolled her eyes. “The typical high-breed bullshit. How I was ‘wasted’ at the Night Court. How Rhys had been ‘hiding me away’”. She hissed. “I am getting tired of others telling me where I should be, what I should do. Who I should be, or be with.” The grey of her eyes turned to frozen silver as she lifted her gaze to his. “That includes Rhysand as well.”

Azriel hummed, lowering his head a little bit, his shadows covering one side of his face. He loved Rhys like a brother- he was his brother, but he didn’t agree with the resentment he had felt for Nesta from the moment he had learnt about her relationship with Feyre. It just didn’t feel right to judge her for the actions of her past, actions they didn’t really know the full context of. He was not going to go against his High Lord- somebody who had long ago gained both his loyalty and love- but as far as he was concerned Nesta deserved to be treated like anybody else in the Inner Circle. Especially knowing how its members were, how they all had been broken at some point or other of their lives. How they all had managed to survive through it, to emerge victorious on the other side.

His shadows caressed the back of his head, their cool tendrils soothing him and making him shiver. He consciously straightened his back, making sure not to miss a step in the dance that was still unfolding around them. He was about to open his mouth to keep the conversation going when one of those tendrils curled around his ear, letting him know the location of the Autumn’s Court male. He smirked down at Nesta. “Communication incoming.”

“Wha-.”

And then they were looking through Rhysand’s eyes.

Eris was standing in front of the dais, his hands irreverently hidden in his pockets. He was asking Rhys for his conditions in exchange for Nesta’s hand in marriage- Azriel felt her hand tightening her grip on his shoulder, pure rage trapped in those bones for being discussed in such a way behind her back- when some secondary presences let themselves be known. It seemed like the invitation to join the conversation had been extended to every single member of the Inner Court in the room.

Az kept moving slowly, rocking his body and leading Nesta’s to the rhythm of the waltz. He was pretty sure that Eris hadn’t realized that he had an audience, but he didn’t want to give him any excuse to suspect the full importance of the conversation, of how it had been scrupulously planned by the High Lord days before the events of the night. He felt Nesta picking up his silent signal, blindly turning and turning following the beat of the piece. Nevertheless, their attention was still focused on the red-haired male. There was something unsettling trapped between the gold of his eyes, a kind of shrewd cunning hidden under the surface layer of lust that clouded his gaze. It had an iciness that the shadowsinger was very familiar with, a depth of frost that kept the mind sharp and emotions numb. There was something different in his coldness, though. Instead of hushing with ice, it was like a slow-burning fire, laying what it touched to waste before moving to its next target. It didn’t have the quietness of frozen things, but the shimmering tension of leashed destruction.

The exchange between the red-haired male and the High Lord kept going for a while, with Feyre’s occasional comments peppered in while on the other side of the room Cassian’s fury and jealousy only grew. In the meantime, Az wondered about their ally’s motives. It was true that there seemed to have been a pull between Eris and Nesta during their dance, but that look of almost calculated lust led him to believe that there was something happening behind the scenes- at the Autumn Court, probably-that was pushing Eris into finding a bride. His jaw tensed, annoyed at himself for failing to discover what it was. It seemed like Rhys had not been the only one doing some planning beforehand. He concentrated on the woman in front of him, pulling his mind to the hems of their connected vision so he could see more clearly without leaving the conversation altogether.

To the outside eye Nesta seemed slightly glazed, but not much different than when she had been lost in the music some time prior. A slight crease between her eyebrows told Azriel that she was experiencing somef internal turmoil, though. He couldn’t pinpoint its exact nature, but she appeared to be in deep contemplation of a new development. Azriel’s eyes snapped to Cassian, pure rage apparent on the line of his brother’s shoulders. She couldn’t possibly be thinking about accepting Eris’ offer. There was no way- there was no way that a pair of loving-as much as it seemed to pain them to admit it- mates just left that connection behind, not after finding each other. Not when their feelings were so clear each time they were together in the same room, how they seemed to hurt when they were apart. Azriel’s mind swirled. Something hollow and wrecked unfolded inside his chest, reaching for the walls of his ribs and the barrier of his throat, scrapping at them with claws that burned. The ice that was holding him together-that had been holding him together for a long time- cracked.

Then there was a spike of wrath coming from Cassian’s presence and the shadowsinger’s mind snapped back into the vision, held down by the bonds that connected them. That gaping corrosion inside of him settled under the pressure of the other’s minds, coaxed back into quiet. Just in time to see Eris calling Nesta his wife, his lips and eyes sharpening in a sneering smile. The hollowness left in his core froze, ice tendrils climbing up his spine, wrapping around each vertebrae and settling inside his bones. There were no more words after the end of the vision, but the deadly fire in Nesta’s eyes started feeding itself on the frost that now covered his senses, coaxing it into expanding into his body, encasing his throat and drowning his ears. Shadows zipped between them, going from one corner of the ballroom to the next and then returning to him, frantic. After the last note of the waltz Azriel bowed and left, not even sparing a glance to the other dancers.

Back to his original position at the side of the dais, Azriel stared unseeing at the ballroom. That male. That entitled, fucking male. How dare he. How dare he come and take that who was not his, who didn’t want to belong to him. A tension in his mouth increased, pulling his lips into a silent snarl. He could smell the rain, the heavy scent of rotting leaves seeping into rich soil. There had been tears in her brown eyes when he had found her, their tracks even more terrifying than the red paths the blood had drawn across her abdomen, as if it had been trying to rejoin its rightful course under her skin. Her nails had been soiled to the root, wrecked after hours of scratching the earth in an attempt of standing up. Of moving. Of leaving that place. And then she had- the moment she had seen his mouth open, all the words he had kept inside his heart ready to be set free, she had turned her back and disappeared. She had looked haunted, her face blank and eyes hollow, as hollow as Elain had looked when- You are my mate, he had said, holding her. The son of Autumn, his hair glinting red and one mechanical eye widening and gleaming golden. As red and golden as the way Eris had looked under the candles, not even half an hour ago, when he had turned that poisonous attention on Elain. Elain, whose tears would also be worse than any spilled blood- Enough.

Azriel could not see.

There was a dun heartbeat thrumming on his ears, behind his eyes. He was moving through the edges of the ballroom merged in darkness, his vision composed of flares of light, their lines crisscrossing his shadows and marking a way. His breath left little droplets of condensation over frosting lips. There was a quietness in his path, a suspension of the soaring notes of music that joined the revelers during their dancing break, the crowds having retired to the tables full of refreshments. And there, seeming to attract all the candle flares, a red that shone like fire.

He slammed him against the stone. His skin was scalding under Azriel’s icy hand, the bob of his throat creating a path of fire down his palm.

“Touch her again and I will kill you.”

He licked his lips. “Who?”

“You know who.” His eyes were glassy under the candlelight, trapping the dancing flames on their reflective depths. They seemed to flicker with the volatility of their element, twisting and turning the same way he had done on the dancefloor. A wild companion, body fully in sync with his partner. Azriel growled. “You keep coming here, where you are not welcome. I would like to know the reason why.”

“Oh, that’s between me and myself, I’m afraid. And sometimes Morrigan, but I have a feeling you already knew that.” The roiling flames raised to an inferno. “Or rather, Cassian knows. Am I right?”

Azriel stepped closer, hand sliding away and instead grabbing the base of his hair, the then empty space of his neck immediately covered by a forearm. He hissed. “Leave them out of this, they have suffered you enough.”

“Ah, not them then. I’m impressed, shadowsinger. Has the brooding executioner moved on at last?” He raised his eyebrows, leaning his weight against his arm and pushing it away. “It’s a shame, you know. Jealousy becomes you.” The bastard was enjoying this.

“You know nothing of what happened back then. Don’t flatter yourself, Eris. We may allow you to roam these halls, but that does not mean that you know the first thing about us.” His smile was icy, its coldness at battle with the flames in the other male’s eyes. “You are not as important as you think.”

Eris snorted, one hand waving away his words as easily as breathing. “Is that the best you can do? I honestly expected better from a spymaster.” He was scanning the crowd, his scarlet hair sliding from the shoulder the shadowsinger’s hand had pushed it on to, glimmering treads in contrast with the black of his clothes. “So, if not her, who? It couldn’t possibly be Nesta.” A sidelong glance. “Unless you actually are into messing with my and Cassian’s leftovers.” He knew. The bastard knew and still wanted to take her with him, to rip her away from Cassian and- “Although I understand the appeal, after all she looks absolutely enticing in that dress, not at all like her sister-” Blue syphons flickered, candlelight dimming under the weight of a sheet of shadows. Eris just smiled. “Oh.”

His lips were very, very red. His teeth as white as the bones they were part of. In Eris’ face, that smile looked like a knife wound, shining with fresh blood.

“So the sister, uh?”

“Do not dare put a hand on her.”

“Pretty, sweet Elain. As soft as morning dew, and equally as delicate. I wonder if she would taste like it when-” The shadows grabbed his jaw, jerking it upwards and forcing him to his toes. He clicked his tongue, grabbing the hand that had landed over the center of his ribs, pushing them inward. With a flick of his wrist, he was free again. “So violent.” He stepped away and into the light of the ballroom, the couples drifting again to the center of the dance floor and mingling together with the first notes of a new piece. “I will allow it, though. After all, jealousy does look good on you.”

He was left in the shadows, hands cold again.

Azriel was seething.

#eris vanserra #azriel #azriel pov #acosf spoilers #acosf #ACOTAR #acotar fanfiction #my fanfic #of shadows and cinders #azriel x eris #azris #eriel #we need to choose a ship name

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