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assassinsblade · 4 months

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Arrows and Ashes | 2

Azriel must balance his need for vengeance and his need to take care of you.

WC: 4.3k

Warnings: Pining, friends to lovers, gross gore, injury, violence, blood, vomit, all that kind of stuff, fluff too though.

a/n: Holy shit everyone, the response to Part 1 was incredible! Seriously! All your comments and thoughts and everything are what make me want to keep writing, so thank you!!

Part 1 Part 3

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If someone would have told Azriel when he woke up that morning that he would later be kneeling in front of your bloody body, begging you to stay awake, he would have locked you inside of the House of Wind so you couldn’t leave.

He would have never let you get out of bed that morning. He would have come up with some excuse to keep you safe near Velaris, safe near him.

But he hadn’t known. So when you and Cassian left that morning to meet with Autumn Court heir, he was only slightly nervous. He hated the idea of you being anywhere near Eris, but Cassian was there, and he trusted his brother to keep you safe. He trusted that he would see you in only a few hours, sitting across from him at the dinner table, giggling at something snarky Nesta threw at Cassian while picking at the food on your plate.

So when his and Rhysand's talk was interrupted by a letter arriving from Eris Vanserra, one that made Rhys tense in his silent reading, Azriel felt his panic start to rise.

The way his heart had stopped in his chest when Rhys had read the words on the paper aloud: Your two spies missed the meeting window outside of the forest cabin, and upon investigation, were found in the dungeons of my father's establishment. We are doing what we can for the one you call Daisy, but I would advise arriving to the forest cabin expeditiously and with a healer in tow.

Azriel hadn't even waited for Rhysand to respond. He had barely gotten the words out before Azriel was winnowing to the forest cabin, his blood rushing in his veins, making him lightheaded with panic and rage.

And when he had seen you there, lying on a wooden table, bare and vulnerable with nothing but gore and a light blanket covering your form? He had nearly collapsed.

Your eyes had been swollen and wet with tears, cheeks splotchy and bruised. Everything around you had been red. The blanket, with creamy white fibers of wool woven together, was soaked red along your back. The natural brown of the table underneath you dripped with the dark red falling from your form. Your hair matted with both old and new bright red blood.

Something Azriel saw so frequently, and red quickly became his least favorite color.

He had tried to comfort you, tried to soothe any pain you were feeling, but nothing seemed to work. Each sob, cry, whimper, and croak had cracked something in his chest, and he was sure irreparable damage was being done inside of him with the agony he felt from your state.

The memory of your body shaking from the pain, of what your back looked like when the blanket was pulled back, was what made Azriel immediately demand to see what had happened in that cell.

Cassian had at first refused, tears in his eyes, insisting it was something neither of his brothers should see or experience. But Rhys also demanded to see, if only so they could track down the three males who had been with you in the dungeons.

Azriel could feel the self-hatred coming off of Cassian in waves, but the general acquiesced, giving Rhys a short nod.

Then Azriel was watching his brother go into Cassian's mind. And as Rhysand tensed and paled, stumbling at what he was seeing, Azriel found himself breathing harder, attempting to prepare himself to see you hurt.

When Rhysand came to again, both he and Cassian had tears in their eyes. Rhys met Azriel's and gave him a cautious look. Azriel only nodded.

And then he was in the dungeons, seeing from Cassian's point-of-view.

He watched as the soldiers walked into the dungeons and shackled you to the wall. There were wounds already covering your body from what looked like whips and manual beatings, and Azriel wondered what Cassian or Rhys was omitting from these memories.

But his thoughts were cut short by the sight of a sword coming down on your wings and your back arching in pain. You didn't even make a noise, your mouth open in a silent scream and body scrambling to get away.

Blood sprayed everywhere, and the motions of the soldier hacking your wings off were haphazard and angry, but also uncaring and almost bored.

Azriel had never felt as heartbroken as he did then, watching you lose your wings, your screams beginning to echo through the cell.

Cassian was trying to get you to look at him, trying to remind you that he was there, that you weren't alone, but you were too far gone to the pain and torture.

When both of your wings were nothing but ripped off limbs on the ground behind you, and your body slumped into your own blood, piss, and vomit, Azriel had already committed the males' faces to his memory.

Your bare vulnerable form, twitching and mangled on that concrete floor, would forever haunt him.

"Her wings are gone," Cassian choked out when Azriel had finished seeing the memory. "And it's all my fault."

Rhys shook his head. "It's no more your fault than mine."

Azriel didn't say anything though, because all he could feel was the anger raging under his skin, begging to be let out, and he didn't want to say anything he'd regret to either of his brothers.

He was shaking, his body burning, vibrating with energy. He turned to the auburn-haired male leaning against the wall.

"Are there wards surrounding the dungeons?"

Eris smirked. "You don't think us foolish enough to leave our prisoners unguarded, do you?"

Azriel nearly growled, his patience running thin. You were unconscious on a hard blood-soaked table only feet away from him, and it was driving him insane, panic, anxiety, fear, grief all morphing in his chest and begging him to act, act, act, seek vengeance for Daisy.

"I swear on the Mother, Eris, I will-"

"Relax." Eris sighed, pulling himself from his position by the wall. "There are wards, but I can get you through them."

Azriel only continued watching him, because it was obvious by the way the Autumn male eyed him that he was not done speaking. "The only question is -- should I? Will my father not be more angry when three of his guards turn up dead? Why should I put my ass further on the line for you bastards?"

Before Azriel could kill him, Rhys interrupted. "Having the three guards dead only plays into your favor, Eris. Say Cassian killed them when escaping. Leave evidence hinting at Cassian overpowering them."

Eris rolled his eyes but didn't protest. Azriel was glad because he was one word away from cutting out his tongue.

The Autumn male did grumble, though, as he lowered the wards long enough for the shadowsinger to winnow in. But by that point Azriel was already humming with bloodthirst, already savoring the fear he was going to suck out of the males who had hurt you, who had taken your wings.

He would make them pay, he would make them bleed.

The first guard he came across, he recognized immediately. He had been one of the two to lift you into the shackles, to make sure you body hadn't slumped out of reach of the sword.

The feeling of Truth Teller piercing his throat gave Azriel a satisfaction he would be wary to admit. He wished the male had wings Azriel could peel off himself, taking his time and basking in each scream of pain that came out of his mouth.

Instead, Azriel used his dagger to slash across the male's skin as he choked on his own blood, unable to scream. He targeted the most sensitive parts of the body, twisting the sharp weapon, pulling out nerves and tendons where he could.

When his body fell to the floor, Azriel was unsatisfied. It had been too quick, and he needed more.

He kept moving, relishing in the blood coating his hands. His siphons gleamed a bright blue that warned of his approach, that told the others he was there to exact his revenge.

When he found the second male who was backing away from him with a look of pure fear in his eyes, Azriel nearly smirked. He walked slowly toward him, and the way the male's body trembled only reminded Azriel of you. His smirk immediately dropped, replaced by an animalistic urge to kill.

Azriel thought of your shackled wrists, the way you were bound and vulnerable, and immediately threw his dagger into the male's hand with such force it impaled into the wall behind him, lodging into the space where two stones cracked.

The male screamed, and Azriel welcomed it. It filled his chest with purpose, with justice, as he screamed louder. Azriel took his sword out and cut the males arm off in one motion.

Didn't feel too good losing a limb, did it?

He did the same with the male's other arm, his legs, and then finally his head, watching as it rolled to the concrete floor.

He kicked it out of his way before moving forward once more.

He had one more target, and this one he was going to make sure lasted long. You had been held captive for hours. Tortured for hours. And he was going to repay that action, just as he told you he would.

Azriel reached where you and Cassian had been kept, and the smell in the air nearly brought tears to his eyes. It smelled of fear. Of urine, as if you had been so terrified you couldn't control your own bladder, and of blood. It permeated the room, your despair, and Azriel's hair stood on end at the scent. It made him want to return to you, to hold you and make sure you were safe, to make sure you knew you were safe.

But as he eyed the shackles on the wall, the stained red on the ground, the discarded wings in the corner, he knew he needed to slaughter this last male before he returned home.

He shoved the image of your wings, bloody and mangled only feet away, out of his mind and moved forward.

He found the last male one more room over. He was prepared, a sword raised in defense as Azriel sauntered in. His siphons blazed brighter, ready to fight and make this male feel the same pain you did.

This was the one who had cut off your wings. And he was holding the very sword he used to do so.

Azriel felt his power rumbling within him, and all at once, almost out of his control, he threw it toward the male.

It slammed into him with the force of a mountain, slamming the male into the wall behind him with a crack. The male groaned, the sword clattering from his hands, and Azriel almost complained at how easy it was going to be to kill him.

He kicked the male's sword away once he reached him, not wanting to touch your dried blood coating its edge. It made his skin crawl, and he needed it out of his sight.

Kneeling down in front of the male, he pulled him forward by his ankle, dragging him to one of the cells in the room.

He thought of you bare and vulnerable, naked and bleeding, scared and trembling.

He thought of your flayed flesh, the blood dripping down onto the floor under the table, the charred skin of your back.

He thought of your screams, your cries, the way you heaved in pain.

Azriel snapped the shackle around the male's ankle.

He flipped Truth Teller around in his hand, gaining comfort from its weight. He would do some carving with it. The male didn't have wings, but he had other things he could take away from him. He would make him feel the same vulnerability you felt, the same fear and pain you felt. And when he was done, he would burn just as you did.

For once in his life, Azriel was excited to watch flesh catch on fire.

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When Azriel returned to the forest cabin, the only people remaining were Rhys and you.

You were still unconscious, and Azriel felt his heart beat painfully in his chest at the sight. Fortunately, the excess blood, dirt, and other bodily fluids seemed to have been cleaned off you, presumably by Rhys and his magic. You now only looked pale and weak, skin still bruised and healing its wounds.

Azriel, on the other hand, was coated in blood. His fingers dripped with it, his face was splattered with it, and if his leathers were any color other than black, they would have been dyed with the red of blood too.

Rhys eyed his appearance cautiously. “I take it they are dead?”

Azriel only nodded, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. His fight was over, but he was still restless, still searching for something to quell the anxiety in his chest.

“I took Cassian back to Velaris. Madja fixed up his wings, and he’s healing there.”

“Must be nice that his wings are fine,” Azriel spit out before he could stop himself.

He immediately felt guilty. It wasn’t Cassian’s fault. Cassian loved you as much as they all did, and those guards would have hurt you regardless of what Cassian had done or said.

Rhys gave him a hard look, his following words stern. “Yes, it is nice. You should also be grateful our brother is still alive.”

Azriel was quiet. He didn’t need a lecture or scolding right now. He didn’t need a high lord.

But he also didn’t know what he needed.

He turned to look at you, still laying on your stomach on the table.

“I was waiting for you to take her back home.” Rhys’ voice was softer as he watched the shadowsinger eye your form.

“She hasn’t woken up?” Azriel asked.

Rhys shook his head.

Azriel felt a pit form in his stomach as he walked toward you. Your eyebrows were slightly furrowed even in your sleep, and he wondered if you could still feel any pain or if your mind was replaying traumatic memories while unconscious. The thought made him nauseous.

He reached out with a hand to lightly move the hair back from where it curled in front of your neck, but he paused seeing the blood coating his fingers.

The liquid matched the injuries on you, seemingly connected. Like a tether tied the red to the bruises on your cheekbones and undereyes, to the whip lashings on your arms, legs, and torso, to the haphazard gouges and burns on your back.

Azriel was grateful the blanket was covering the majority of your body, because just the bruises on your face made him feel weak. He was tempted to fall before you, to curl his body around your own and shield you from anyone else.

He would do anything to ensure not even a scratch was made on your skin again.

Rhysand eyed him from the other side of the room, watching Azriel hesitate to touch you.

"Let's get her home," Rhys spoke tiredly. As Azriel glanced at his red-rimmed violet eyes, he realized how emotionally drained everyone else must have been as well. "She'll be more comfortable there."

Azriel agreed. He couldn't imagine how sore you were going to be, and the wooden table underneath you was only going to aggravate your tired body. He wanted to wrap you in the softest blankets he could find, tuck you into his bed, and make sure you rested for days.

When he reached for you again, he noticed his hands were now clean. Rhys only nodded at him before Azriel could even thank him.

He eyed your bare shoulders peeking out from underneath the wool blanket and moved to grab the light nightgown presumably left by Eris. As much as he hated the male, he was grateful he had been mindful enough to grab you clothing, let alone clothing that was thin enough to not cause your injuries any irritation.

Azriel wrapped the blanket around your shoulders before pulling your body up to a sitting position. He then carefully pulled the nightgown over your head, gently moving your arms through the openings. Once in place, he readjusted the blanket around your body and picked you up into his arms.

Barely any time had passed, yet your body felt so different in his arms compared to the times he had carried you in the past. It was lighter -- a fact that caused pain to swarm in his chest as he realized it was due to your missing wings. It seemed more vulnerable as well. Fragile in such minimal clothing and covered in bruises and slashes and scars.

That protective instinct inside of him caused his scarred hands to grip you just a bit tighter.

Rhys approached, giving him an understanding look, and then you all were winnowing back to Velaris, back to your home.

As soon as he could feel the floor under his feet, Azriel was moving, filled with purpose. He needed you comfortable, he needed you warm, and he needed you safe.

So, he immediately made his way to his bedroom, not even sparing Rhys a glance or a goodbye. The high lord instead spoke into his mind: Madja left some healing tonics and creams on the counter. Directions are attached. Please keep me updated.

Taking note of that for later, Azriel laid you down onto his bed. He would have taken you to your own room, but he wanted somewhere he knew you would be safe. Somewhere he knew every inch of, somewhere he had fortified himself.

He turned you onto your stomach so as to not irritate the wounds on your back. In doing so, the wool blanket from Autumn slid from your body, and Azriel was left facing the bandages Madja had placed on your shoulder blades.

The sight of the white gauze caused Azriel to pause.

You had lost your wings.

Oh, Daisy.

Azriel slowly lowered himself to his knees beside his bed, needing a moment to compose himself before continuing to gather all the supplies he would need to care for you. Tears burned his eyes as he watched your back rise and fall with your breathing. He focused on that motion, on the reminder that you were here in his bed, alive.

He had never been more scared than when Rhys was reading that letter from Eris. When he had heard you had been hurt and that it was bad.

But there, kneeling before your battered body, Azriel was terrified all over again. You were safe now, living and breathing, but . . . he had no idea how he would fix this for you. There would no longer be any flights together during sleepless nights or teasing pokes or comments at each other's wings. No longer would he see your joyous smile when leaping from the House of Wind, allowing the wind to carry you to where you wanted to go.

Your wings had been so beautiful. Something he had admired from a young age, just like you.

He couldn't imagine losing his own wings, what it would do to him.

So, he was absolutely terrified at what you would face when waking up.

But he would be there, he vowed. He would do anything you needed. Anything you wanted, and it would be yours, and he would do it with a smile on his face and love in his heart.

Taking a deep breath, Azriel wiped his tears and rose from his position. He removed the blanket from Autumn, disliking the scent of it clinging to you in his bedroom, and instead pulled his covers over your shoulders.

Your face seemed more relaxed than it did while laying on that table, and he hoped you were comfortable, that your dreams were allowing you some peace.

It took all of his willpower to leave your side. But he needed to collect some things to make sure you would heal okay. So, reluctantly, he left his bedroom, keeping the lights off, and made his way to the kitchen to find what Madja had left.

He filled a glass of water for when you woke and approached the numerous vials on the table.

Apply once daily for the wing removal, one jar filled with white cream read. Apply once daily for the whip marks, another that had a bluish tint said. Lastly, a taller vial with a tannish-colored liquid, looking almost like tea, that read Drink at night for sleep and pain.

Azriel gathered all of them in his arms and carried them to his room. He assumed Madja would check in soon enough to see how your healing was going, and he knew he could always get in contact with Rhys to call on the healer if need be.

He just wanted to make sure you weren't in pain. The tears streaking down your cheeks earlier still haunted his memories, forming a pit in his stomach. And he knew, with absolute certainty, that his nightmares would be filled with your screams and cries for years to come.

So he would make sure these creams and tonics were applied and taken. He would advocate for you if you needed more, and he would track down every healer in all of Prythian if need be.

Setting the supplies on his bedside, he went to his bathroom and collected extra gauze and tape for when he needed to change your bandages. Once all was prepared, he looked around the space, wondering how he could make it more comforting for you. Less like the space of a spy and more like a space worthy of you.

He fiddled with his scarred fingers while his brain raced, remembering what your bedroom looked like or what you did to the rooms you read in when you wanted a night in.

Azriel quickly made his way to your room, praying to the Mother you wouldn't be angry with him for entering without your permission.

Your bedroom had been exactly what Azriel expected it to be when he first entered it all those years ago. The walls were a dark blue, decorated with drawings and artwork bought in Velaris and drawn of the inner circle. Books littered the space, along with a music player, a chest filled with trinkets from other courts, and an entire shelf of your favorite teas. Your bed was unmade and messy, white sheets and white comforter bundled altogether. There, Azriel spied what he was searching for: a little stuffed bat you slept with.

He and Cassian both had teased you relentlessly when they had glimpsed the small thing on your floor one day. Your cheeks had gone bright red as you floundered trying to explain that you didn't get to have anything like that as a child and you wouldn't be shamed for finding comfort in it now.

Azriel found it endearing. Even during his teasing, an admirable smile had still tugged at his face, his eyes gleaming with care. Such a tough girl but still soft.

He picked it up in one large hand, turning to see if there was anything else in the room you might like to have with you. A book on your nightstand you were reading, your favorite candle -- Azriel grabbed it all before going to make his exit.

When he went to leave, however, he spied something on the desk next to your door.

It was a flower. Long dead, but preserved by being pressed into artwork, framed delicately and displayed on the wooden desk. Azriel recognized that flower. One from nearly a year ago. A daisy.

Azriel had been making his way to Elain's garden, infatuated with her at the time. Knowing how much she liked plants, he had bought some beautiful flowers for her under the guise of sprucing up Rhys' and Feyre's house. But he had seen you on his way over, and your eyes had lit up seeing the bouquet. He remembered the guilt that had swirled in his stomach, seeing how just the sight of the flowers had made you happy. So he had pulled the most perfect daisy out of the variety of flowers and held it out to you.

"For our Daisy," he had said. And you had smiled so sweetly, it had warmed the guilt in his chest away.

The daisy stared back at him now, and he felt like crying again.

Because you were such a sweet soul. He knew at the time the flower would make you happy, that's why he had given it to you. But for it to mean so much to save it?

One small flower had meant so much when he had been carrying an entire bouquet for someone else.

He suddenly felt like he needed to give you the entire world.

You were such a sweet girl, and he had almost lost you.

Azriel swallowed hard, readjusting the things in his arms and leaving your room.

He would give you your stuffed bat, set your book nearby, light your favorite candle, and then he was going to order some fucking daisies.

#acotar x reader #azriel x reader #acotar fic #azriel x you #azriel angst #azriel fluff

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