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sirendeepity · 2 years

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[ Valkyries one-shot ]

A/N: I recently did an Acosf skim-through and realized many things, but first of all how deeply I really care for these three and just how much they mean to me, so I couldn't let this idea rot in my head, never seeing the light of day. I don't know about you, but in this rather self-gratificating fic Emerie is me and I am Emerie, period, so to all the other Emeries out there, enjoy <3

T/W: -

W/C: 2.7k

Four days has passed since the Blood Rite officially ended, and only a couple more were left before Nesta and Cassian’s mating ceremony—before she wouldn’t be able to see her best friend and sister for almost two weeks. It should’ve been a month, but given the circumstances and the unpredictability of everything there still was on the table—Nesta’s brand new powers, Koschei and the Human Queens, Beron’s involvement, and the possibility of a new war looming on the horizon—they decided to cut it down and wait for better days to come to properly celebrate. It was Nesta who insisted on having no less than two weeks, and once she set her mind on something there was no changing it.

“I did not forget how the bastard left me high and dry for an entire week after Solstice,” Nesta spat, tossing empty boxes aside with that passive-aggressive way of hers. She’d surprised Emerie by showing up at the shop that afternoon. It was unusual of Nesta, knowing how little she enjoyed coming to the village—even more so now, the memories still fresh in their minds, but they were both too stubborn to show the Illyrians any kind of weakness or fear. They had taken Emerie and her friends from her own house and thrown them to the wolves, quite literally, expecting them to fail, to break and perish, not even taking into consideration the possibility of them—of females—to be capable of more than just cook and clean and give birth to a new life. Jokes on them. The Valkyries had proved everyone wrong, daring to survive and winning the damn thing. Pride sparked inside Emerie’s chest every time she thought about it, turning her knees a little weak.

“The same week when I should’ve had the best sex of my life,” said Nesta, calling back her attention, “I should’ve seen stars with every orgasm.”

Emerie grinned, delighted by how freely Nesta talked about some aspects of her sex life whenever they were alone. They did it with Gwyn too, of course, but given how little vanilla content there was to share, Nesta filtered out some tiny details every now and then, just to be sure. They tasted the waters every single time, always making sure to know how far was too far, lest they unintentionally triggered their friend. She was far from being frail, but she was also far from being indestructible. The Blood Rite marked a solid “one step forward, three steps back” turning point on her journey to normalcy outside the library’s safe walls, unfortunately, but Emerie was confident her sister would overcome anything life threw at her, coming out stronger than ever. She is the rock against which the surf crashes, after all. Nothing can break her.

Nothing can break any of us, the Illyrian thought.

“Seems only fair to me. After everything you’ve been through, you deserve a two-week-long intense sex session,” she said, piling a bunch of folded shirts before setting them next to similar articles. Spring was coming to the Illyrian mountains, too, and that meant taking winter garments off the shelves and replacing them with lighter items. Which she just did, in half the time it would normally take her, thanks to Nesta reaching out her hand.

Emerie blinked, looking at Gwyn through the mirror. Her friend was standing in front of it in all her tall and red-haired beauty.

“How is it?” She asked, spreading her fingers over the rigid corset of the dress. It was entirely made of silk and covered in little diamonds and pearls, the skirt falling to her knees. Only two tiny straps of the same material prevented it from slipping down her body, keeping her chest covered but leaving the scattering of freckles on her shoulders and upper back for everyone to see. Emerie’s fingers tingled, wanting to trace constellations out of them. She’d often wondered who’d be the lucky male allowed to do that. Who would make her laugh and kiss every reddish mole on her cheeks and listen in awe to her many ramblings. Whose face she’d have to punch if they ever dared to break her heart. When she and Nesta first met, she was already in a novel-worthy situation with the General, so there wasn’t very much to wonder about. All Emerie could do was train and be ready to face the centuries-old warrior if it ever came down to it. It did, sadly, but it quickly fell at the bottom of her list of problems and was resolved before she had to break his nose.

Emerie loved her sisters to pieces and found them to be the most beautiful females to ever exist—and she knew plenty about females.

“Would it be enough?” Her friend asked again, turning to face her. The color of the silk matched the teal in her eyes almost perfectly.

“Babe,” Emerie said, “You’re the one wearing the clothes, not the other way around. Meaning that you’re the one who needs to feel comfortable wearing them, and no one has a say in it.”

Gwyn’s eyes widened at the words like they were the dumbest thing she’d ever heard, “It’s still the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court. They can have a say in it. They can have a say in everything.”

“Nesta assured it wouldn’t be anything formal.”

“For her, maybe. They share the same blood, of course it’s nothing serious for her. We, on the other hand, are not that lucky, ” the priestess said as she went back to her own reflection, adding with an arched brow, “And it’s not like you’re wearing the first thing your eyes landed on.”

A faint shade of red colored her cheeks. Indeed, she was wearing a fine dress as well—a dark green velvet pencil dress, decorated with gold embroidery from top to bottom. Courtesy of Nesta’s closet and the dozens of brand new clothes the High Lord gifted her—the majority of which she admitted she wouldn’t wear anytime soon, not wanting to venture too much out of her comfort zone for now.

“You’re not wrong.”

“I never am.”

They both laughed at that, the sound covering the soft knock coming from the door before it opened and a blur of red slid in.

“What are we laughing about?” Asked Nesta, coming to a halt between them. Her curious gaze bounced between the two before she stopped to look a moment longer in Gwyn’s direction, drinking in her reflection. “You look lovely.”

Emerie imprinted her friend’s lit-up face in her memory as she stood, following Nesta’s instruction and letting her sister see her own outfit for the night. She blew Nesta a kiss when she showed her how much she appreciated the way she looked.

“Pity we’re staying in tonight, these dresses were meant to be shown off,” Emerie said, and both of them eyed the priestess at the comment, looking for any reaction at hinting a night spent outside the House of Wind.

To her credit, Gwyn gave away nothing. “Pity,” she conceded, at last, nodding once before stepping away from the mirror.

Emerie’s eyes turned on Nesta, giving her a once-over. “Damn, Archeron,” she grinned, “You already have him wrapped around your finger, no need to make him suffer like this.”

“I’ve known you for almost a year and it’s the first time I see you wearing red,” Gwyn added, coming up to her side.

A red so deep it almost looked black, but red nonetheless—there was no questioning for whom she was wearing the color. The velvet hugged her curves in all the right places, with long sleeves falling just an inch off her shoulders and a light V neck exposing her sleek collarbones. It was a good thing Nesta wasn’t a particularly ambitious person, because just a look from her would be enough to make Prythian fall to its knees. And not just the male side of the population, Emerie thought.

“He gave me such a funny parting shot this afternoon,” said Nesta, a smirk curving her dark-tinted lips upward, “I wanted to have a laugh, too.”

If you only knew, Nes…

The three of them shared a mischievous look that meant nothing good before Nesta announced, “Place your bets.”

“He’s going to cut dinner short and kick everyone out before dessert is on the table,” Gwyn proclaimed, quickly adding, “Edible dessert, I mean.”

Emerie couldn’t stifle her snickering. “What are those books of your teaching you?” She joked, placing a hand on her chest, fully aware that she was the one to blame for that.

“The only acceptable treatment for a Carynthian.”

Emerie felt the exact moment Nesta’s emotions switched.

She turned toward her, taking in her set jaw and furrowed brows as she said, “I’m not a Carynthian.”

Gwyn and Nesta stared at each other for a moment longer before the older huffed a laugh. “Of course you are.”

“Gwyn, I didn’t reach the top of Ramiel.”

“I don’t care.”

Emerie’s head whipped toward Gwyn, watching her as she twirled and aimed for the jewelry. It was the first time she heard her friend using such a cold tone, and it went completely at odds with the smile plastered on her face and the lightness of her movements.

Nesta’s eyes narrowed to slits, “Excuse me?”

Uh-oh.

Emerie opened her mouth—to say what, she didn’t know. Something, anything, to prevent things to go south, but Gwyn beat her to the punch.

“You heard me, Nesta.” She picked up a fine string of diamonds, holding it to her throat.

Nesta’s chest expanded to the point of breaking the seams of her dress. “I am not a Carynthian because I did not reach the top of Ramiel, and you know it,” she said slowly as if she was talking to a toddler, dragging every word out of her mouth.

“You reached the top.”

“I did not touch the stone.”

“Neither did I.”

Nesta’s eyes shot to the ceiling, her hands curling into tight fists at her side. “We’re not having this conversation now.”

“Fine,” Gwyn shrugged, going back to the hairpins and earrings and rings. “My opinion is not going to change, anyway.”

“Because it’s not an opinion!”

Emerie stepped between her friends, but Nesta raised a finger at her before she even had the chance to utter a word and calm the waters.

“I didn’t touch that stone—”

“Neither did I, Nesta,” Gwyn said again, her voice rising over Nesta’s.

The cold ricocheting of pearls on marble was the only sound filling the room for a few beats. Gwyn’s smile had fallen, baring the determination in her eyes.

That’s not good, Emerie thought, turning once again and assessing the cool expression on Nesta’s face. Her eyes were silver just like the shield around her heart. That’s not good at all.

“I was unconscious when Emerie carried me all the way up and touched that stone, remember?”

“It was the only way.”

“No, it was not!”

The hurt in Gwyn’s eyes made Emerie flinch.

“Why should I be considered a winner when other people did the work for me?” She went on, voice thickening. “Why do I get to take the praises, and not you, mh?”

“Because those are the rules—”

“Fuck the rules! Not one thing in there was following the rules.”

Emerie’s heart cracked as the first tear rolled down Gwyn’s rosy cheek. She took a step forward, extending her arm to embrace her friend, pleading, “Gwyn, please.”

“I mean it, Em,” she rasped, using the back of her hand to dry her cheek. “You were there, Nesta. If Briallyn didn’t show up you would’ve made it in time.”

“I know.” Nesta’s voice was small, so small compared to the one Emerie was used to, and she had to swallow a couple of times, as if trying to swallow the memory of that night, too. “But Briallyn did show up, Gwyn. And she kept me… Busy, until sunrise. It was already too late.”

Emerie stepped back to better look at her sisters staring each other down, so many unspoken words shining behind unshed tears and melting ice.

For anyone who asked, Nesta didn’t tell them what had really happened once they split up, just as she didn’t tell them what had really happened at her sister’s house. Those were Court secrets. But they were not just anyone, though, and they just happened to know exactly what went down and how it all ended. And what Nesta did… It was so much more than just touching a stupid magic rock.

“It’s not fair,” said Emerie, squaring her shoulders and facing Nesta. She didn’t hide from her gaze—she never felt the urge to do so, as many others did. It had intrigued her from the first moment, that silver fire burning behind those long lashes. “Gwyn is right. Everything was against the rules in the Blood Rite, from the very first day, but no one made a fuss over it when it came down to considering it valid. Why can’t we make one more exception?”

“Because I can’t make that exception.”

It took a moment for the words to properly sink in. So the only reason why Nesta wouldn’t allow that was… Herself. What bitter irony.

“Why not?” Gwyn asked, stepping to her side, and then went on tentatively, “I’m sure both Cassian and Feyre will support it, and you know Rhysand would say yes to anything you ask him.”

Nesta looked at them and just shook her head, as tears pooled in her eyes and threatened to spill. And that was it.

“Oh, babe,” murmured Emerie, reaching for her friend at the same time Gwyn did.

“I wouldn’t be able to look at any of you in the face, knowing I didn’t do what I had to do to deserve it. I can’t live like that—like a fraud.”

On her side, Gwyn shook her coppery head but kept quiet, so Emerie said, “You’re not a fraud.”

“I would feel like one, and that’s enough for me.”

Emerie interlaced their fingers and squeezed, hard, at Nesta’s sniffle.

“Then I don’t want to be a Carynthian, either.”

Nesta’s head whipped so fast it was almost comical, but Gwyn wasn’t in the mood for a laugh. “I was playing sleeping beauty, so technically I didn’t touch the stone and earned the title myself.”

“What—”

“Look, Nesta,” the redhead said in an exhale, “I know what the rules say, but I still don’t care. My climb stopped at Enalius Pass, just as yours did.”

“You don’t mean it,” stated Nesta.

Gwyn just ignored her, “Except I do. I don’t care if you want to call yourself Oristian, Carynthian, or the Mother herself. Whatever you are, I am too.”

“And so am I,” Emerie quickly added.

To anyone else, they were like the states of water. Free like air, shifting like water, firm like ice. But to their very core, they were one and the same. Always have been, always will be.

None of them will be complete and balanced without the others. And by the fullness and surety gleaming in her friends’ eyes, Emerie knew they felt the same way.

Only after she blinked away her tears and cleared her throat, did Nesta say, “Well, I’m not Illyrian, but I am a Valkyrie. And you are, too.”

Gwyn huffed a laugh, “On this, we can all agree.”

“Screw the Blood Rite,” Emerie declared, mirroring her friend’s grins.

“We are Valkyries.”

Emerie wrapped her arms around her sisters’ shoulders and hugged them, pressing their heads together as close as she could. She wished her souls could fuse into one, wished the universe—the Cauldron—let them belong to one another on some kind of astral way, let them be soulmates because the skies wished it so. She had the feeling Cassian wouldn’t be too happy about it, though.

“Emerie?” Nesta’s voice slowly dragged her back to reality and found her already looking her way when she opened her eyes. She just furrowed her brows, waiting for her friend to spit it out, whatever it was. Nesta’s expression hinted at nothing as she said, “Feel free to call yourself Carynthian how many times you want if it’s going to piss some old Illyrian off.”

Gwyn threw her head back and laughed, earning an open smile from Nesta. These two forces combined lit up the whole room, and Emerie was pretty sure her heart would grow wings and take flight at any moment.

#dee writes #I Am Because You Are #the valkyries #emerie #nesta #gwyn #emerie of illyria #nesta archeron #gwyneth berdara #pro valkyries #acotar fanfiction #acosf fanfiction #valkyries acosf

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vulpes-fennec · 1 year

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The Fae Equality Initiative (Ch. 2) 🌊

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: Ch 1 | AO3

It had been difficult declining Tamlin’s offer to rejoin the Spring Court five months ago. “I’m happy to help out, Tam,” Lucien had said. “But I can’t stay in the Spring Court forever.”

The High Lord of Spring only smiled sadly and placed a hand on Lucien’s shoulder. “I get it, you’re tired of doing all the heavy-lifting in my court,” he’d joked. His face grew solemn as he added, “You’re always welcome to visit, Lucien. It was your home, too.”

Home. Lucien had thought home was with Jurian and Vassa—ironically—in the human lands. We had a few good years in that dilapidated manor. It’s not that we aren’t friends anymore…if anything, facing down Koschei brought us closer than ever.

But things aren’t the same with Vassa—QUEEN Vassa—on the throne. Now that she was officially recognized by neighboring kingdoms, she and Jurian had more responsibilities. Lucien had been dividing his time between Vassa and Tamlin’s court, mediating their discussions on human-Fae relationships. And even though Vassa and Jurian aged more slowly than the average human, they were still getting older. Lucien dreaded the day they would leave this world, and he tried not to think about it. Though it’s hard not to when Jurian complains about his back every damn day.

I don’t belong with the humans. Perhaps once Jurian and Vassa have passed, I’ll permanently move to the continent. Start a new life there and be free of the past.

Before winnowing to Adriata, Lucien had dropped off his weekly report at the Velaris townhouse, where Azriel and Gwyn Berdara were residing. His relationship with the Shadowsinger had warmed over the last few years, but it was really Gwyn whom he was closer to. “Where are you going?” the priestess had asked when she saw Lucien with two travel bags.

“Adriata,” Lucien had replied, giving Gwyn a quick hug before leaving. “Tarquin invited me to participate in his conference. I won’t be able to send reports in the next month, I hope that’s alright.” He had caught the discreet look that passed between the couple, but didn’t know what to make of it.

“O-of course! Noooo need to worry! You should enjoy the nice weather.” Gwyn’s teal eyes had been strangely mischievous. “Bye Lucien! Better get going!” She had practically shoved Lucien out the door.

Lucien savored the salty scent of the sea when he landed on the Summer Palace platform. Being back in Prythian was different. The magic of the land tingling his skin had replaced the prickly unease whenever humans openly gawked at him. He could see the shimmering latticework of wards over buildings, the spells that encircled the Fae. The human land was bereft of those features, too.

“Lucien Vanserra!” he heard a joyful shout. Tarquin was running towards him, a Summer Court entourage jogging awkwardly behind.

Lucien smiled broadly at the familiar face before bowing. He’d met Tarquin when the male was a fresh-faced prince of the city Etrona. For some reason, Lucien had confided in Tarquin about his lingering regrets with Jesminda’s death. In turn, Tarquin had opened up to Lucien about his disgust with the nobility’s treatment of the Lesser Fae.

Decades of sporadic contact during Amarantha’s reign didn’t diminish their strong friendship, for the two males enveloped each other in a back-slapping hug. “Enough of this formality,” Tarquin chuckled, giving Lucien’s shoulder a friendly shove. “Come. I have some time, and I can personally show you to your suite.”

Lucien had stayed in Adriata in the weeks following the war with Hybern, helping Tarquin’s court recover. Although Elain Archeron had invited him back to Velaris, he figured she needed time to grieve her father’s death, to heal from her ex-fiance’s rejection and the horrific things she’d seen. He guessed she also needed space to adjust to being Fae without the ever-present mating bond in her face. So he had stayed away. When Lucien returned to Velaris three months later, he’d confidently set down rent for a small apartment before hastily making his way to the townhouse. He could picture him and Elain strolling the streets, slowly courting each other and visiting the cafes along the Sidra. He had smiled at the idea of Elain growing flowers on their balcony, how the ample natural lighting would make her skin glow.

Thinking she would be eager to see me was a huge mistake. Lucien had no idea what happened in the three months that passed, but this new Elain was awkward, shrinking away from him whenever he tried to address her. And so Lucien frequented Velaris less and less over time, their mating bond languishing like the dusty apartment he still paid rent for.

Enough self-pity, Lucien admonished himself. Elain is far, far away…and that’s the way it will be for the rest of eternity. He focused on the repaired Summer Palace, so different from the bloodied rubble during the war. The presence of Lesser Fae servants was also more prominent, as they bustled about without invisibility glamours. Not “Lesser” Fae, Lucien tried to correct himself. I’ll have to ask Tarquin about the semantics later.

“The delegations’ suites are in the same hall,” Tarquin explained. Indeed, the doors had colorful little signs that differentiated between the residences. Lucien passed by the Night Court’s door, wondering briefly who Feyre and Rhysand would send. Probably Mor, or Amren because she would want to see Varian. A door with “Lucien Vanserra” etched on a golden plaque was the outlier, making Lucien cringe inwardly. Not Tarquin’s fault, but even the doors are reminding me that I don’t have a court to call home.

Lucien’s suite was smaller than the rest, but it was still tastefully decorated with ocean-themed art and fresh flowers. Wispy mesh curtains swaying in the large window teased gorgeous views of the glittering city on the mainland.

“How is your court responding to the changes?” Lucien asked Tarquin cautiously once the servants had left. Tarquin probably insisted on escorting me so he could have a private chat.

Lucien was right. Tarquin let out an exhausted sigh as he sank into the pale green couch. “It’s been rough,” the High Lord admitted. “I’m glad you’re here. I need your help.” His deep voice took on a desperate tone few were privy to.

“What’s going on?” Lucien sat down on the matching armchair across from Tarquin.

“It’s the blasted clothiers,” Tarquin ground out. The disdain in his voice was palpable. “Half of them in Adriata have doubled down and refused to service those they deem of lower status. Same thing is happening with booksellers and restaurateurs. Reports from my other cities tell similar stories.”

“I thought you’d made such discrimination was illegal?”

“That part of the law takes effect on the Summer Solstice,” Tarquin explained. “I needed time to formalize and bulk up the reporting system for violations…yet I fear that the agency’s staff will be overwhelmed for many years regardless of what I do.” His turquoise eyes were weary.

Lucien contemplated what he’d just heard. “So the...Fae are trying to be as prejudiced as possible before their time is up,” he mused. He omitted a few choice words describing the High Fae. Wouldn’t want to insult Tarquin’s court, as frustrated as he is with his people. “Are you worried that slapping fines won’t be enough, if they’re already acting like this?”

Tarquin nodded. “Precisely.” He sighed, rubbing his face. “I apologize, Lucien. You’ve just arrived and here I am, complaining about the problems I’ve triggered instead of letting you rest.”

“I’ll never tire of your ranting about stupid Fae prejudices. And you’re not causing these problems…the discrimination was always there. Keep your head above the water, Tarquin.” The High Lord of Summer could only give Lucien a sad smile before leaving the room.

***

Lucien had somehow managed to fit a fairly extensive wardrobe into his travel bags. An hour later, when Lucien was finally done organizing his belongings, a rapid knocking sounded from his door.

It was Viviane, the High Lady of the Winter Court, in all her icy blue glory. “Lucien!” she squealed, throwing her arms around him in an aggressive hug. “I’m so glad to see you!” Her scent of fresh pine and sharp cranberry filled the air. Lucien felt the press of her fur-lined cloak against his bare arms and chuckled. It seemed like his old friend hadn’t bothered changing into season-appropriate clothes before seeking him out.

“How’s Violetta doing?” he asked warmly. He hadn’t met the Winter Court princess yet, but apparently the infant had begun manifesting her ice powers early on.

Viviane blew a sigh of relief, tossing her silvery white braid back. “Let’s just say…Kallias is going to have his hands full this weekend.” Her pale blue eyes twinkled with amusement. “Meanwhile, I’ll be getting a nice tan on the beach.” She stuck out her translucent arms and wiggled them.

Lucien rolled his eyes. “Be careful, Lady Viviane. There’s no guarantee Violetta will still recognize you if you look like a tomato.”

“Oh, shush. Don’t you dare pull rank with me, Lucien.” She elbowed him playfully. Lucien smiled back. He and Viviane discreetly worked together under Amarantha’s reign: he coordinated crucial supply deliveries from Spring to Lillestad, the small mountain fortress she held down, while she relayed valuable information gleaned from her spies.

“I’m surprised you’re here,” Lucien replied frankly. Viviane wasn’t old-fashioned; she had worked tirelessly to protect any Fae that sought refuge in Lillestad. But the Winter Court was just as traditional as Autumn, and Lucien knew Viviane had to fight like hell to become High Lady of Winter. Even though she had proven herself worthy of the role a thousand times over, he thought bitterly.

“Well, only on the weekends.” Viviane’s energy deflated a bit. “My delegation will stay in Adriata for the entire duration. But I have High Lady duties and a gaggle of toxic Fae to put in place.” She tilted her head defiantly. “Anyways…we can save this serious chat for later. Have you had lunch yet? I wrote to Alis, and she agreed to meet me at this lovely restaurant! You should join us.”

Lucien’s russet eye brightened at the thought of the gentle Urisk who tended to Feyre back in Tamlin’s manor. Alis had also been an integral part of their rebel effort by maintaining lines of communication with the Summer Court. Lucien grinned. “Of course. We can even get ahead on your tan in an afternoon stroll.”

***

Viviane had gotten rid of her fur cloak and changed into a short-sleeved blue dress before leaving the Summer Palace. Lucien courteously held out an arm for her to hold as they stood on the small boat that nimbly took them to the mainland.

Adriata’s larger, crescent-shaped portion was essentially a bustling port. Gulls squawked and dive-bombed local fishermen for lunch, merchant ships unloaded crates of cargo, and local taverns were bursting at the seams with tourists. Rows upon rows of white and tan buildings lined the shaded streets stretching up steep slopes.

Things appeared scenic, but closer inspection of several posters aggressively X-ed out with paint revealed that they were copies of Tarquin’s new laws. So this was what Tarquin was talking about. Lucien had been so focused on the recovery effort that he didn’t notice back then, but it appeared the main harbor’s merchants and establishments were primarily occupied by the High Fae. It wasn’t until Viviane led him around the farther end of the shore that he saw ships, albeit smaller ones, that were manned by the Lesser Fae. Huh. I wonder how the docks will be integrated after the Summer Solstice.

Viviane took a right turn, leading them up a narrower street. The buildings here were still white and tan, but looked more worn than the earlier ones. They were patched up with newer material in many areas. Evidence that this area had borne the brunt of Hybern’s attacks. Clothes hanging out to dry criss-crossed over the street, and Lucien also noticed more Lesser Fae children running around.

The children readily returned the friendly smiles he gave them, but the majority of them stared open-mouthed at Viviane. I suppose it’s not every day that the High Lady of Winter walks through these streets.

“Alis? And is that…Luke that I see?” Alis was standing next to a stocky male Fae with lion features in front of a quaint restaurant. Luke was a Dawn Court blacksmith who helped arm the Summer-Winter-Day rebellion. His ingenuity with various metal alloys was a huge asset when Amarantha’s troops seized control of the Dawn Court’s mines. The very dagger in Lucien’s belt had been fashioned by his friend 30 years ago, and served him well to this day.

Luke’s face stretched into a grin, revealing frighteningly sharp canines. But his cat-like amber eyes shone with fondness as he gave Viviane and Lucien hugs. “I didn’t know you were coming to Tarquin’s conference!” Lucien exclaimed.

“How could I not?” Luke chuckled. “A free vacation to the Summer Court in the middle of winter? Sign me up!” He examined Lucien from head to toe, taking special interest in his golden metal eye. “And how are you doing, Lucien? I heard that you have a mate now!”

Lucien must have winced, because Luke looked taken aback. Hah, a mate that doesn’t even like me, Lucien wanted to say. “Her name is Elain Archeron,” he supplied. “But she has not accepted the bond.”

“Ah, I see.” Luke looked down awkwardly. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’m sure she’d come around, especially knowing how popular you are with the Dawn Court ladies. If my memory of a particular birthday bash serves me right.” Lucien blushed, remembering precisely which birthday party Luke was referring to. 63 years ago I was a total rake. Oh, how things have changed.

“Lucien!” Alis put her bark-worn hands on her hips good-naturedly. “I cannot believe I had to find out from Viviane that you were coming! You have time to send Feyre letters every week but not me?”

Lucien ducked his head. “Sorry, Alis,” he apologized, flashing a dazzling smile that softened the Urisk’s face. “How about I make it up to you by paying for lunch?”

Alis smiled. “You can make it up to me by visiting my nephews next week. They can’t wait to finally meet you.” She led them into the restaurant, where various species of Fae were holding conversations over plates of fresh vegetables and fragrant meat. Lucien’s stomach growled at the thought of eating flavorful food again.

The restaurant owners were astonished that the High Lady of the Winter Court would deign to visit their humble establishment. Although Viviane had never stepped out of the Winter Court during Amarantha’s reign, her reputation was well-known. Many patrons came up to their table thanking her profusely for sheltering a friend or a relative, for being a strong force of resistance against the Hybern general. Viviane received their gratitude with humility, even offering to buy everybody dessert and drinks.

Good food, boisterous Fae chatter, and the company of old friends helped Lucien feel more like himself again. This is how things COULD be, between the High Fae and Lesser Fae, he thought sentimentally. Fae who laugh together, share meals with each other, and help each other in a future worth fighting for.

Resources linked here!

Read: Ch 3

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

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areyoudreaminof · 1 year

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Hover Corte preview

Here's a very rough draft preview of the Elucien Waltz fic. So far it's in Jurian's POV and he and Elain are ride or die besties because I have no impulse control. Elain is with the Band of Exiles, Jurian and Vassa have to go deal with some nobles and need Elain's help with dancing and navigating said nobles. Elucien fluff will ensue. But for now, this is what i'm working with.

Hover Corte is when the man bends his knees to dip his partner backwards in a waltz.

I have never written a fic in my life.

Special shoutout to @melting-houses-of-gold, @velidewrites, @ladyelain, @octobers-veryown, and @gwyns thanks for the encouragement!

“Let’s try it one more time, I’ll count us off. Ready?” Elain asked as Jurian prepared himself. Shoulders back, one hand on Elain’s waist, the other cupping hers in the air. His palms began to sweat as he moved his feet to the pace Elain set while she hummed a tune. One, step. Two, step. Three, turn. A box he reminded his feet, make a box.

“Wonderful, now let’s finish with a twirl?”, Elain said as she began to back up. “Stir the pot now! Keep your shoulders back!” At the last moment, Jurian’s clammy fingers lost their grip.

“Sorry” he mumbled as he wiped his hands along his tunic. “Oh, don’t worry about it.” Elain laughed, “All the ladies will be wearing gloves and it will be so hot in the ballroom, you’ll be more worried about your armpits than your hands. I think that’s enough for today though,” she said pointing to the piano, “I’ll have you run through it with Vassa a few times tonight while I play along. But I think you’ve gotten the hang of it.”

He had been practicing the waltz with Elain for the better part of a week and making slow progress. It was necessary, she insisted. “With these people, you’ll not find another battlefield.” Jurian couldn’t argue with her. The human nobles hoarded any money and resources that would make it necessary to create a functioning society. So, with the threat of the continental queens looming, Jurian found himself in desperate need for financial backing for some kind of military force.

Despite his initial reservations, Jurian found he quite liked Elain. Something about her quiet kindness calmed him. In the daytime hours, when Vassa took to the skies and Lucien had to deal with Tamlin, he and Elain had nothing to do but talk. They swapped stories and jokes. Jurian had begun teaching Elain some basic self-defense, while she took it upon herself to make sure he could cook more than campfire gruel. He even found himself with a little patch of onion sprouts that he was prouder of than he cared to admit.

But their most cathartic conversation came only once, and Jurian hoped to never have another like it. He never ever wanted to relive his rebirth in the Cauldron. Being rebuilt, slowly and painfully, while the Cauldron taunted him was something Jurian felt like he’d never recover from. Elain’s rebirth was just as painful, she had confided. He remembered the trembling and dirty young woman being thrown in as nausea rocked him. But the thought of the Cauldron whispering sweet nothings to her was more than he ever wanted to think about. Her own sisters refused to speak to her about it nor was he even sure they asked.

-At some point Vassa and Lucien will show up and Lucien will get to dance with his lady. That's where we're headed.

#fic #elucien #jassa #elain and jurian are besties

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acourtofthought · 1 year

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Do you have any theories about the next two ACOTAR books?

SJM also said CC3 sets up ACOTAR5. Do you think she means romantic pairing or plot (or both)?

I have so many theories and I'll be curious to see if I even get one right! 😂

To start, I think CC3 setting up future ACOTAR books has nothing to do with ships and everything to do with plots. I know in the HOSAB spoiler interview, she mentioned that now the ACOTAR characters are going to be thinking "if Bryce was able to enter their world, does that mean others would too?" Which to me means that those creatures who have been trying to find their way back to the original world that threw them out will use portals to return which means a threat even bigger than Koschei and the Human Queens will be a concern.

Theories I feel are a strong possibility (I have posts that go into detail as to why I think each of these but this will be basic summary):

Vassa and Jurian will end up together, and ruling over the small slice of land that connects the human world to Spring.

Elain will make her way to Spring and end up as High Lady (or interim High Lady) and Lucien will the one that helps her in that role. Not only is he very aware of how a Court should run but he's friends with Vassa and Jurian. There would be no better pairing to share a border with those two than Elain and Lucien, especially because SF reminds us how important the Spring Court is politically due to it's location.

Elucien Calanmai scene. If Elain is HL, performing the Rite with Lucien (the last to fulfill the duties of a High Lord in the Rite) would be exactly the sort of union needed to restore the land to it's former strength. Plus, Lucien deserves to have his last memories of the Rite replaced with new (better ones).

I know Elain is a Seer but really, I can't imagine a whole book of her having visions that are just "hints" of what's to come. With the vison of the ravens and her visions of Vassa, she was given clues but they were still unclear and they weren't necessarily things she could do. Most of her visions seem to benefit others but don't seem to be something that belongs to her in the way Nesta's power of death or Feyre's powers from the High Lords belonged to them. And visions still leave her sort of useless when it comes to a battle scene. So I think Elain's other abilities will be that she can shift into an owl and that she'll end up being a healer (physically healing wounds, bringing back the crops on the Prison Island since I'm guessing it's decline is the reason the Pegasus numbers dwindled). There seem to be hints that Koschei's onyx box is located on the Prison island so that's another reason they may end up there which ties in to the Pegasus storyline. I'm also thinking that Vassa's curse may actually be a Valg type infection in her blood and if Elain is a healer, she'd be the one to remove it. I originally thought Lucien would but neither Feyre or Helion have been able to sense a spell within her, saying it seems to be "woven into her blood" and Lucien will share in their powers.

I think Lucien, however, will play a major role in actually defeating Koschei after learning if his Day Court heritage since he was "setting his target" in SF, though both he and Elain would travel to the continent together (with Jurian too).

Things I think could happen though I'm less confident on:

Gwyn is able to find Narben and pull it from the sea (or call it to her).

I do think she's a possible lightsinger BUT not at all evil. Rhys has "evil" type powers when you consider the twins were also demati but he only used those powers to protect those he loved. Regardless of lightsingers possessing a darker sort of power, Gwyn would NEVER use it against the main characters we love. It would be used against the bad guys. I do think it's something she'd struggle with though, the desire to use it on others even if they deserved it. But I think that would make her well matched to Az who also struggles with his self worth because he enjoys revenge and knows he's done the things he's done.

I'm back and forth on whether we're meant to focus on the mystery of her grandfather or the mystery of her father. If it's her grandfather, I could see it being Beron and Azriel ends up challenging him in the Blood Duel. If it's her father, it's a long shot but I wonder if there's any way he could end up being Illyrian which I kind of love the thought of.

People like to take the "appear as a friendly face" line and try to turn Gwyn evil with it but I think a more interesting spin would be if Az fell in love with Gwyn or developed a strong friendship with her. They'd both discover her Illyrian heritage at a later point and her friendly face would suddenly be someone that appeared as a foe to Az because of his issues with the Illyrians. Gwyn would have a reason to kick Azriel's ass for his reaction and Az would have to do some much needed groveling, not to mention he'd really have to face his issues head on and embrace his heritage.

I also think Az might lose his shadows for a bit because the things his shadows want (like the power that exists within Gwyn) and the things that Az sometimes commands them to do (fight on behalf of Elain or Mor) seem to be at odds in SF. Sort of like Bruce Banner and the Hulk, when the Hulk refused to come out until Bruce Banner learned to accept that the Hulk was his own person and not something to be used at his convenience. The two eventually merged into "Smart Hulk" and I think we'll see a similar journey for Az.

Back to Elucien, I wonder if the line that "Elain would do whatever is needed for this Court" is foreshadowing for Elain coming to the conclusion that because the NC needs Spring as an ally (and they're not getting it from Tamlin), she'll suggest an marriage alliance between she and Lucien after he discovers his Day Court heritage and she's involved in Spring. There was never a stronger show of unity than marrying the offspring of two different kingdoms and where her mother predicted she would only marry for love and beauty, it would be fascinating if Elain was the one to marry for political reasons (which would obviously then turn to love). And in turn, it would be Elain doing what was best for her sisters and the first Court she belonged to in Prythian. I also think it is possible she was living (or had been living) in the townhouse but not with Az. I don't think it's coincidental that Cassian specifically told us it was vacant and open for anyone who needed it, then we see a fire burning in HOSAB. Plus, after what happened on Solstice, I imagine Elain would want a place of her own so she's not constantly running into Az at the River House where IC business is conducted.

I could also see Lucien as High King. Not as a long term thing, just as the role is needed during the upcoming time of war.

I think Mor may end up with the Golden Queen as her love interest (there are hints she's not actually dead and may be a lion shifter) and that she'll end up leaving the NC on a a more permanent basis.

I believe the Dusk Court will never actually be a real Court at all but the location where other characters from other series may enter Prythian to join in one multiverse battle. It's where I also think Nesta will raise an army of the dead (those trapped in the stone) wearing the Mask to help in that final battle.

So that's what I've got so far! Sorry for the rambling and jumping all over. I'm sure there's about a million grammar mistakes, it all came out in brainstorming form.

Thank you for the ask!! 😊

#elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #jassa #acotar theory #mor acotar #gwyneth berdara #azriel acotar

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reeeallygood · 2 months

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911 Lone Star Rewatch: 2x01

Back! In! The! Saddle! Very excited to be getting in to Season 2. This is probably the season I have rewatched the least?? So I'm excited to dive in. Andddd I'm excited for TOMMYYYYYY.

Alamo mention right out the gate.

Carlos being the first of the main cast to be shown at the beginning of this season is interesting! Especially since he plays a much smaller role in season 1. So already setting the tone for the shake ups they are doing for season 1

Owen's little speech about the survivors of 9/11 getting ignored years later is so good. Because I honestly get so angry whenever I remember senators tried to block the bill that would fund care for 9/11 victims and first responders. (because we can fund invasions of middle-eastern countries, but not healthcare. yayy usa)

Oh wow, I just realized that this episode was probably written very soon after all that nonsense.

TOMMY. HELLO MY LOVE! SHE LOOKS SO GOOD!

Fun fact, whenever my mom sees Gina Torres she says, "that is the most beautiful woman in the world" and she's right.

Oh Charles!!! I feel like we didn't get to know him super well. But I did love his and Tommy's relationship. And I did love the dynamic of a working mom and stay-at-home dad. And the way they go about addressing Tommy's complicated feelings about being a mom and being someone who works.

Goodbye Michelle.

I absolutely adore Judd saying that Tommy did him "the supreme kindness" of introducing him to Grace. Because it implies that she like set them up. When in reality what she did was walk Judd over to say hi to Grace in person, after he had been only speaking with her on the phone for months. So I find it very funny that he still credits Tommy with introducing them.

So I've never done roller derby, but I know a few roller derby chicks and I gotta say there is a very specific brand of person who does it. And they are some of the coolest people out there.

Also, I love the way Tommy talks to patients. It's so calming. And confident too. Like I would trust her so much.

OH GOD. I forgot that kitten crushers arm was fucked upppp

Tim... I'm also ready to be done with you. Your time is coming to an end. Though, I am sorry that it comes to such an awful and sad end.

Our very first Carlos hang!! Eating snacks, playing Catan, bitching about parents--peak millennial culture

GWYNNNNN. Wow. I'm having the time of my life with this episode.

So pretty much every show makes changes between seasons 1 and 2, and as someone how gets attached to things very easily I sometimes get a bit upset by those changes. But almost every change lone star makes between 1 and 2 is for the better. Honestly, I'm not sure I can think of a single thing that I think is for the worse or that I missed from season 1.

There is not a single reality where Tommy is sleeping with her hair like that.

Tommy getting upset that Charles didn't wake her up, and then when he promises to wake her up next time, warning him that it'll be "at your own peril". Relatable Queen.

Also, I mentioned this in another ep rewatch post, but I find it so interesting that Michelle refers to Tim and Nancy by their last names and Tommy refers them by their first names. Especially since Tommy trained Michelle--so I wonder why she decided last name was the way to go.

Owen and Tommy's dynamic is fantastic. Honestly, even without making TK a paramedic, her presence already makes EMS feel more integrated with the rest of the firehouse.

My mom also had cancer during pre-vaccine covid and it was so terrifying. So I imagine TK must have been so stressed out the whole time about his dad getting sick. Especially with how much Owen had to be exposed to strangers just because of his job.

Charles hiding behind the door is hilarious.

I've been to the bat bridge! The one that Gwyn mentions. The last time I was in Austin I went to check it out.

TK knows. More than any son should. Gwyn and Owen comment on him being a wise-ass, but the apple did not fall far from the tree kids!!

Wow, great kick off for the season! I think season 2 is a tad messy plot-wise. But there's just such a good energy to this first episode and it makes me psyched to watch the rest! 10/10

Previous episode thoughts

#If you can't tell this is a pro-tommy household #911 lone star #911 lone star rewatch 2024

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strangecreationchaos · 2 years

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just a rant !

but i read many of elriel story plot and fan fictions and there are many stuffs that are mostly adopted from the book itself! that many scenes and respective behaviours towards the people..there are many about elain and azriel and lucien! even mor! and the whole IC around it because obviously IC is the heart of night court! so all the story revolves around them. even eris and all the other high lords fit into the story line.

the most weird part is when there is a g*ynriel fan fiction! or even a plot or concept there is no way she can fit into the IC ! or even to the stories related to the major problems! like the war! what she is gonna probably do!

like she might go to attend her best friends wedding who saved her and thanks to emerie and nesta she survive the blood rite! and still she doesn't seems confident enough to get out of her Library! as a nesta's friend she can help the ic court in war! as in what? elain is a seer , she can see koschai , locate him, she is cauldron blessed, she also can see vassa , so she can find koschai without scrying! like she did for the suriel! and she has a mate lucien who is a heir of a high lord with spell breaking power so he can also have a great chance to explore his hidden power and on the process save vassa from the koschai.and as koschai seems to have some special interest on our spy master and also eris is in the story now so azriel has to do a lot of spying in the upcoming next book! and also in case of another war upon them! vassa has her revenge to take from the human queen so as elain! lucien have a bigger revealing for him beginning from his heritage to his power and his mating issue! how to break it or not..even elucien concept can be acceptable upto some limit regarding the unresolved mating bond stuff..its not like elain and lucien going to break the mating bond in the first page ! they both have their own personal issues and trauma to resolve before the mating bond stuff. and azriel and his emotions and elain and her feelings towards azriel is also going to have a major plot ! i mean the silver flame ends with azriel saving eris right infront of koschai! its not like koschai let it go that easily! nesta literally gave up all her power so she must be focusing on training the new valkarie troop and emerie would be the one to motivate all the illyrian women to join the troop! feyre has nyx who at the end of the book was cuddled by elain! and feyre and rhys won't allow any stranger closer to their baby ! as he is the most powerful highlord's and high lady's son! rhys would be double protective! so gwyn is no way going to play with that child ! and as per the book its mor , rhys and elain who are carrying nyx most of the time!

well except for practicing with the valkarie where gwyn exactly fit in this group?

#pro elriel #elriel fandom #anti gwynriel #acotar #elain archeron #azriel #lucien vanserra #gwyneth berdara

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shadowsingerspriestess · 2 years

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Gwyn: My neck is sore

Azriel: That’s not good. Is there anything you want -

Gwyn: Please kiss it

#gwynriel #azriel x gwyn #azgwyn #gwyn acosf #gwyn x azriel #gwynriel supremacy #gwyneth berdara #acosf #incorrect quotes #gwyn is a confident queen #az is shook #and flustered too

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silverflameataraxia · 2 years

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Sisterhood: Part Two

Elain vs. Gwyn

When Nesta needed Elain:

Nesta shrugged. “She could have eaten with me here.”

“You know Elain wouldn't feel comfortable in a place like this.”

She arched a well-groomed brow. “A place like this? What sort of place is that?”

Indeed, some people were turning our way. High Lady—I was High Lady. Insulting this place and the people in it wouldn't win me any supporters. “Elain is overwhelmed by crowds."

"She didn't used to be that way.” Nesta swirled her glass of amber liquid. “She loved balls and parties."

“If you bothered to come by the house, you'd see that she's readjusting. But balls and parties are one thing. Elain never patronized taverns before this.”

When Nesta needed Gwyn:

A knock sounded on the door an hour later, and Nesta stopped crying when she saw who stood there.

Gwyn threw her arms around Nesta. "I heard you might need us." Nesta was so stunned to see the priestess that she returned the hug.

Emerie was the one to say to Gwyn, “I can't believe you left the library."

Gwyn stroked Nesta's head. “Some things are more important than fear.” She cleared her throat. “But please don't remind me too much. I'm so nervous I really might vomit.”

Her two friends fussed over her, sitting at the kitchen table and drinking hot cocoa—a belated Solstice gift to Emerie from Nesta, pilfered from the House's larder. They ate dinner, and then dessert, and discussed their latest reads. They spoke about everything and nothing long into the night.

When we have family/friends in need, let's all strive to be like Gwyn (and Emerie), rather than being like Elain (and Feyre).

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broodybatboy · 3 years

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House of Wind Friendships

Summary: I’m obsessed with the idea of Gwyn moving into the House of Wind. Can u imagine Gwyn and Cassian shenanigans? The Azriel and Nesta friendship?!?

Azriel + Nesta as BFFs:

Nesta and Azriel enjoy companionable silences and sit reading books/reports together.

Azriel is an EXCELLENT dancer. He’s the only person that Cassian will let dance with Nesta in Court of Nightmares.

After a series of unfortunate events, *cough* ACCIDENTAL STABBING, Azriel and Gwyn are temporarily NOT allowed on the same team during games.

Azriel & Nesta like to team up for game nights. They are SO good.

One time, Nesta threatened to withhold ~doing the dirty~ with Cass and he immediately gave up.

“BETRAYAL. CASSIAN, YOU ARE WEAK.” - gwyn vowing vengeance

Azriel and Nesta just ROASTING Cassian to the point where he’s like "plz stop" 🥺🥺🥺

“Illyrian baby” - both of them

Nesta being a major wingwoman and setting up situations for Azriel and Gwyn to be alone.

Nesta giving Azriel pep talks and supporting him whenever he doubts he is worthy of Gwyn.

Azriel holding space for Nesta and bringing her sweets and chocolate when she’s having a rough time (Az has a secret stash of sweets).

The Valkyries going on missions and Nesta hugging Azriel and promising

“I’ll protect her and bring her back to you.”

Azriel going with Cassian to Windhaven and on dangerous missions. He promises Nesta

“I will have his back. Always.”

Az resuming his chaperone duties and being the worst chaperone ever.

Azriel: “Cass is eating in the dining room let’s go somewhere else.”

Gwyn: “Shall we join him?”

Azriel: “He’s not eating food.”

Gwyn: 😳

Nesta and Azriel being softies and smiling and acting surprised whenever Gwyn and Cass prank them

even tho they totally saw it coming

bc look at them they’re so cute and gosh they tried so hard

Azriel and Nesta helping each other realize they are worthy of love and overcoming their trauma.

Azriel and Nesta going home to the person that makes them laugh, makes them smile, the person who makes them feel like home.

The House: 😢❤️

the Gwyn + Cass friendship:

The gang goes out to Rita's and Nesta, Rhys, and Az are being very protective of Gwyn the first time they go out.

Nesta won’t let her go & Az is shooting death glares at everyone and Rhys is just big brother energy

And Cass is just like “ok chaperones chill out. she’s strong. she learned from the best.” *wink wink* *points to chest*

it’s time for FUN

Cassian exudes chaotic energy

"Do you want a drink??? I’m going to get you a drink!!!"

And it's super fruity but STRONG

Gwyn is like “THIS IS DELICIOUS. I WANT MORE.”

enter Mor with two more drinks

Azriel and Nesta glance nervously at each other

our sweet priestess is a lightweight

Drinking games? HELL YEAH.

competitive queen Gwyn absolutely annihilates

Proud Az

at this point, Cass is hammered

2 happy goofball drunks = KARAOKEEEE

Cass is a horrible singer. He’s basically just shouting. Gwyn is angelic and giggly and nothing but encouraging. She gives Cass the solo.

Nesta and Az are just in the background laughing their asses off

“Look at our idiots”

Nesta and Azriel announce that it's time to go and it’s like wrangling two very strong wobbly toddlers

“buzzkills”

“party poopers”

*sticks out tongues*

*imitates their icy rage eyes*

Cass realizes he can get away with teasing Nesta when he’s with Gwyn and YOU BETTER BELIEVE he uses this to his advantage.

Cass and Gwyn ganging up on Az

Cass and Gwyn teasing Nesta

Gwyn & Cass come up with these elaborate and complex pranks as if they’re plotting battles

BECAUSE THIS IS WAR and WE MEAN VENGEANCE

But like they are not sneaky...AT ALL.. and they’re so loud… and laugh…and cass is just knocking into stuff.

Gwyn: “CASS!! THEY’RE GOING TO HEAR US SHUT UP.”

the house: 🤨🤡

az and nes: ...

Gwyn learns from Nesta that Cass is STRESSED about all the Illyrian drama

She takes her butt to the library and creates this beautifully detailed research paper on Illyrian tribal politics and history

Cass is stunned and learns so much from it. And they just like bond over Illyrian and Valkyrie history

Cass asking Gwyn and Emerie about Nesta’s fave romance novels to ~spice it up~ in the bedroom

Cass will have no filter and just tell Gwyn all these ridiculously embarrassing Az stories. BONUS: Rhys will join in & use his powers to show the memories to Gwyn

Gwyn will casually reference them and Az is SHOCKED. AND FLUSTERED. How do u know that?? Was it Rhys? I’m going to kill Cassian.

“a great spy never reveals her sources” with a smirk

Gwyn will confide in Cass whenever she’s worried about Nesta

Cass and Rhys will feel so thankful to Gwyn for supporting Az

Both are SO SO SO happy and in love

Gwyn will just be singing praises about Az

And Cass is just like Az, my best bro, that brooding hunk, the other love of my life, my brother from another mother, that Illyrian bastard

He gets it.

Cass will be raving about Nesta

Gwyn is just like Nesta, my best friend, my queen, my sister, my angel warrior, my death goddess, the love of my life

She understands.

They are just GUSHING bc they finally found their equal and love them so much

One time, Azriel and Nesta overhear and exchange the most tender look

both of them trying not to cry bc they love these idiots so much

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typicalmidnightsoul · 2 years

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Hell no.

if you’re a Morrigan stan. Scroll. If you’re a Nesta stan. Read on.

A mini fic by moi.

(This is a spontaneous fic I just thought of writing so forgive the mistakes.)

VALKYRIE TRIO VS MORRIGAN SHOWDOWN LETS GO

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Mor was sauntering with false confidence up to her table. Mor had been flirting with her for a week. Well she did have this overbearing suspicion that she was just being nice. But after talking to Feyre she knew that this girl liked her back. But this girl’s friendship group was... intimidating to say the least.

She liked Gwyn for sure but her other best friend: Ice queen Nesta Archeron who had the AUDACITY to disregard Cassian when he asked her out repeatedly was insane. She was horrible to Feyre and Mor never liked her. She was sure she could convince her crush that Nesta was not a person worth investing in when they started dating.

Was she scared of rejection? about 0.1%.

She was one of the first desirables, blonde bombshell who was very picky. She was sure if she made sure everyone knew that there was only one person in this school she wanted Emerie would be flattered by he proposal and instantly say yes and they’d be the next prom queens.

As she neared their table she let out a sigh. Emerie. She was sitting on Helion’s bar with Nesta next to her and Gwyn on the bar stool in front of them. Lucien, Eris and Balthazar were around them, almost like guards.

Nesta narrowed her eyes as she noticed Morrigan walking towards them and took another sip of whatever mocktail was in her cup. She said something to Gwyn which made Gwyn turn around. Gwyn gave Mor an awkward and small smile before turning around at Nesta, cringing. Emerie was deep in conversation with Thesan about something.

As Morrigan neared them she heard Nesta audibly say, “Uh oh.”

Emerie turned at that and looked at Mor. Mor could tell she was already a bit tipsy. Emerie gave her a tight lipped smile,

“Can I help you?”

Mor nodded and took one of Emerie’s hands. “Yeah.” She dropped her hand then clapped catching everyone’s attention.

“Everyone, I have something I would like to ask this beautiful woman over here.”

Nesta gave Emerie a side glance, “Em?”

Emerie furrowed her brows, “Are you drunk?”

Mor ignored her, “Emerie I like you like a lot. I can’t say much without telling everyone what a hopeless romantic I am but Emerie... would you please do me the honour of dating me?”

Everyone at the party was waiting on Emerie’s answer.

Gwyn looked at Morrigan slowly and then turned to Nes mouthing

Since when?

The silence dragged on and for the first time Mor felt a sinking feeling in her stomach,

Emerie finally opened her mouth and laughed.

“Hell no.”

Gwyn audibly gasped and a hand flew to Nesta’s mouth. The crowd watching also gasped, a few particularly drunk ones going, “Oooohh”

Emerie hopped off the bar table holding up her hands,

“Don’t get me wrong, you’re cute and stuff but I’ve just never seen you that way. Plus you were horrible to my best friend freshman year and why would I do Nesta like that?”

Tears started falling down Mor’s eyes, “Emerie you can’t just embarrass me like this, I thought we had something-”

Gwyn raised her hand, “Sorry can I cut in? Uhh you kind of brought this on yourself, you really should’ve asked her in private. But you asked her in public basically forcing her to say yes. Or you were too overconfident.”

“But I was sure she liked me-”

Nesta scoffed, “You and your friends really can’t take a hint can you. Emerie doesn’t wanna date you. Get over yourself.”

Mor glared at her, “Don’t talk to me like that, what would you know? All you know is how to use people.”

Emerie laughed, “That is rich coming from you. Why do you lead on Cassian and Azriel again? Why did you tell Nesta to stay away from Cassian? No answer. Pity.”

Mor just stood there shocked, she could make out that some people were recording and saw Feyre push her way through the crowd as Nesta said,

“Because she’s a hypocrite.”

Mor snarled, “Shut up you snake!”

Nesta pointed her finger at her, eyes filled with rage, “You’re the fucking snake bitch.”

Eris held Nesta onto the bar not allowing her to get into a fight.

Emerie just sighed, “1 don't talk to Nesta like that 2 Get out of my face.” She turned around to the crowd. “Ok everyone you can mind your fucking business now.” And walked over back to her seat on the bar table.

Feyre came up to Mor slowly walking her away, “Come on Mor.”

As they were leaving Mor heard Eris whistle, “Damn Emerie.”

And Emerie answer, “I'm not tryna be a rebound.”

She wanted to turn back and tell Emerie she’s not but Feyre suddenly stopped. Mor looked at Feyre and then at where Feyre was staring. Cassian. And judging by the look on his face he had heard everything.

“You said that?” He asked slowly.

Mor shook her head, “Cassian I was trying to think about what was best for you-”

“YOU ARE NO ONE TO DO THAT FOR ME.” He pinched the bridge of his nose before looking back at her, “You are dead to me.”

She tried to reach for his arm again but his eyes were filled with tears as he pushed her away and walked to... Nesta.

Mor turned. She saw him walk up and Nesta give him venomous glares until he came closer and she registered his face. Nesta was off the bar table, ignoring Eris’ questioning looks, in a second, nodding her head towards the door that led outside.

Mor watched as he followed. Wondering if she just lost the love of her life and her best friend in one night.

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@idc-camille @wannawriteyouabook @skychild29 @aesthetics-11 @perseusannabeth @my-fan-side

#nessian fanfic #anti morrigan #pro nesta archeron #gwyneth berdara #emerie #VALKYRIE TRIO #acosf

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houseofhurricane · 2 years

Text

Rules for Spies: Chapter Three

Summary: While Azriel and Gwyn work to free Koschei’s captives, attraction turns into something more.

Chapter Word Count: 6,402

Warnings: No warnings for this chapter, but this fic includes mature consensual sexual situations, references to past assault, and torture.

Art & Banner: cosmikla

All chapters are available on Archive of Our Own. All previous chapters linked here.

Azriel arrives outside the library early and finds Gwyn singing just outside the door. He vaguely recognizes the melody, a folk song from the Autumn Court, but it’s never sounded quite like this, each note sparkling with some delightful promise. Her auburn hair, braided from the crown of her head, gleams like burnished gold. Even her armor seems to sparkle in the fading light. He tries not to think about her body, revealed by the close-fitting leather.

As soon as she sees him, she stops singing, a pink blush on her cheeks only adding to her radiance, and Azriel lifts his hand in greeting.

“Ready for the human realm?” he asks.

“I’ve never met a human before,” she says, and he’s so relieved at the curious, excited smile that spreads her lips. “Is there anything I need to know?”

“Most of them are terrified of us. But Vassa and Jurian are familiar with the fae. Lucien is usually in residence.”

It occurs to him that Gwyn has never met Lucien, that her entire existence has been circumscribed, first at the temple in Sangravah and then at the library. Still she stands confidently before him.

“I brought you something,” he says, unstrapping twin daggers and holding them out to her. He’d sharpened and polished them last night until they were brilliant and unyielding.

She pulls each dagger out of its holster, inspecting the Illyrian blades, the deadly cousin to the wooden daggers they’d practiced with only this morning.

“This is too much,” she says, without taking her eyes off the blades. “They’re lovely.”

“You’re going into an unknown situation. And you’ve excelled in practice, though of course these are a little sharper.”

She beams as she fastens the holsters to her thighs and he flexes his fingers, forcing himself not to offer to help.

As he’d do before any mission, especially with someone new to the field, Azriel reviews their goals for this session, what’s essential to learn from Vassa, the danger from Lord Nolan, what to do if they’re threatened with an ash arrow. Gwyn listens intently, the way she does in training, and he knows she’s absorbed every word.

Still he worries as he takes her hand and follows his shadows into the human realm, the manor surrounded by a thick grove of ash trees, and he’s not sure whether it’s the landscape or the means of transport that produces the grimace on Gwyn’s face. He squeezes her hand and leads her into the manor, sending his shadows before them to scout for any danger.

Instead a gawking human servant leads them to a parlor, where Vassa and Jurian sit on a pink couch, Lucien hovering behind them. Azriel has faced down monsters and enemy courts and even his own brothers, but he hesitates to meet the male’s eyes. Some ghost of Elain is still present between them.

Vassa, however, either does not know or does not care about these entanglements.

“You wish to speak to me about Koschei?”

According to Azriel’s sources on the continent, Vassa had trained to be a queen from a young age, and it shows in every gesture, the lift of her chin and the way her hands sit on her knee, seemingly unbothered but ready for action. Her red hair, a brighter shade than Gwyn’s, sighs against the silk of her close-cut jacket, a blue that matches her eyes exactly. Her bronze skin gleams as if the light of the firebird has not left her entirely, despite the setting of the sun.

Gwyn bends her knees in a curtsey and says, “Yes, Your Majesty,” which brings a smile to Vassa’s lips and makes Jurian grimace.

“I’ve told your court everything that I remember,” Vassa says, after their introductions are completed, the answer Azriel was expecting for her opening salvo.

“You were asked by courtiers,” Gwyn counters, a familiar smile on her face, calm and bright and unafraid. As if she’s met a thousand queens before today. “The knowledge we seek is slightly different. Even a small remembered detail could mean everything.”

“I do not know if I can help.”

“Even knowing the location of the room where you were held, or the dimensions of Koschei’s residence--”

“Vassa has answered every question your lot have posed to her.” Gwyn doesn’t flinch at the possessive growl in Jurian’s voice, only turns her gaze to him. Azriel notes all of it, even as Vassa holds up a hand to address the priestess.

“Koschei is a master of illusion. I can tell you about the room I was held at first, or the vast hall where we dined as soon as the sun set, the cell to which he sometimes transferred me, when I tried to fight or flee. But birds would fly through the walls, and the delicacies would turn to ash on my tongue. I suspect that he held us in the forest, likely in a small area. Yet I never saw another captive. Never heard another scream.”

The tightness of her lips indicates that the Queen of Scythia was not spared from whatever torture caused those screams. Instantly, Lucien moves toward her. Jurian takes her hand in both of his.

“That’s helpful, Your Majesty,” Gwyn says, with a bow of her head. “I wonder if these illusions are external, or do you think he holds the mind of his captives as well?”

“I am still bound to him by my curse. He makes his claim known.”

Gwyn’s focus is on Vassa, but Azriel looks to Lucien for an explanation. Nobody in the room, perhaps nobody outside the Day Court, understands complex magic like the emissary.

“It’s different than daemati magic,” Lucien says, answering the unspoken question. “But it is a loophole in the spell that binds him to the lake. Koschei can exert complete control over Vassa’s mind and body whenever he likes, but so far it seems as if he cannot push her out of her own mind.”

“Do you feel it now?” Gwyn asks the queen, and her voice is so gentle, so horrified, that Azriel has to fight back his desire to winnow her back to the library, to the place where she’ll be safe from every terror.

“Not every minute.” It’s an evasion that Azriel notes, the possibility that the death-lord can hear every word that’s spoken, that he knows exactly what Gwyn looks like after seeing her through Vassa’s eyes. “He likes to make it clear that although he is far away in distance, he is still in control of my life.”

“He tried to strangle her with her fucking hair while she was sleeping,” Jurian adds.

“Lucky for me that you’re handy with a sword, and that my hair looks excellent at every length,” Vassa retorts with a smirk, drawing herself a little closer to him on the couch. She’s more afraid than she wants Gwyn or Azriel to know, the smirk the product of an impressive bravado.

“There’s no way for Koschei to summon you to his side?” Gwyn asks.

“All I know is that he hasn’t used it yet,” Vassa responds. “Perhaps it is useful to him to have someone under his control beyond the lake.”

“Then there could be others.”

“I would not know them.”

“Would it be possible to recognize Koschei’s magic?”

“Easy enough for Lucien, probably, if you find a likely victim.” Vassa makes an elegant gesture at the courtier who looms over her, as if he is one of her many advisors in her palace at Scythia.

“Koschei’s magic is from another world. The signature is unlike any magic you’re likely to encounter in Prythian.”

“I haven’t seen much of Prythian,” Gwyn offers with a small conspiratorial smile. “But I can’t detect any unusual magic in or surrounding you, Majesty.”

“The spell is buried deep,” she says. “But when his power emerges--”

“There’s only a void.” Lucien shudders. “Vassa’s scent disappears entirely.”

Gwyn startles, then begins to ask another question, but Azriel holds up his hand.

“I think that’s everything we need to know.”

Gwyn meets his eye, and he thinks he’s going to object, but she only says, “I still have some questions about the Valkyries.”

Jurian grins like a wolf loosed on a pack of fat deer, and in the course of the next hour, Gwyn ends up seated between the queen and the general while he recounts the Valkyries’ every climactic moment in the war, their heroines and battle cries. He tells, in nearly excruciating detail, the one Valkyrie war council he was invited to attend with Miryam as a human ambassador, and Azriel finds himself wishing that it was his friend who’d decided to stay in the human realms, rather than Jurian, who he still struggles to read despite all his centuries bent on extracting truth by whatever means possible.

While they talk, Azriel sends his shadows around the manor, where they catalogue the munitions, the ash arrows, the books on Lucien’s desk and Jurian’s clothes discarded in Vassa’s room. They whisper to him of Elain’s scent on Lucien’s cloak, and their voices are hesitant at the disclosure, but he waves them away to see if there are any other dangers lurking. If the human realms have allied with Koschei or the Autumn Court. Whether Koschei’s magic is active here in the manor, watching them like Azriel’s own shadows. But there are no such revelations to be gleaned, no imminent threat, only idle gossip which Azriel already knew within moments of their arrival, but which he’ll pass to Rhys anyway.

When they finally depart, Gwyn looks around before tugging him past the manor wall.

“We need to talk,” she says.

“Can I winnow you?”

She only nods and extends her hand, and he takes her to Rosehall, to the garden wall that overlooks the mountains. As it always is this time of year, the ground is covered in snow, but Gwyn only sweeps her eyes through the view, the hewn snow-capped peaks that glimmer in the moonlight, the sparkling cascade of stars high above.

“This is my estate,” he says, answering the question in her eyes. “I’m certain that the house is secure, but no one will disturb us out here.”

“I’m sure it’s lovely in the summer.” She wraps her arms around herself and, on instinct, he opens his wings, angles them around her so that she’s shielded from the wind.

“We can go inside.”

“It’s fine,” she says, bouncing on the balls of her feet, and half to keep warm and half in anticipation of whatever she’s about to say, “it’s just-- I’ve scented that magic Vassa mentioned before. The absence.”

Instantly the world collapses into that revelation and its implications.

“Where?”

“The library,” she says. “I thought it was a remnant of the creature who used to live there, or some manifestation of the House. It was late one night last year, after I’d first started training with all of you. I was too afraid to get nearer.”

He places his hands on the outside of her shoulders, feeling her shiver, and waits until she meets his eyes, the teal gaze and the disappointment in it undoing something inside of him. There was a time, long ago, when he felt like this, and he wishes he could spare her from it.

“Even Cassian couldn’t take on Koschei without a strategy, no matter what he tells you.”

“Then I’ll need a plan, because he seems to have some kind of presence in the library,” she says.

“I don’t want you getting closer to that power. It’s likely Koschei saw you through Vassa’s eyes, even without her noticing.”

“Then maybe it’s futile and he’ll stay away. But I’m the only one on this mission with total access to the library.”

“I’ll send one of my shadows to keep watch over you.”

He watches her think through the next thing she’ll say, and it’s more than a little endearing, to watch her indignation war with her curiosity. These are the feelings he should ignore, but instead, the way he did last night, he simply allows them to rise in him, to curve his mouth into the barest trace of a smile.

“How far can they go from you?” Curiosity has won, then.

“I’ll simply spend more time near the library. Cassian and Nesta haven’t gotten rid of my room in the House of Wind yet.”

She smirks.

“I’d almost think you wanted to see more of me,” she says, and for a moment, there is no fear in her eyes, nothing he needs to protect. Only the look of someone who has overcome so much, who is still overcoming, and still looks out at the world with curiosity and delight and invitation. He can hear the acceleration of her heart, the way it pounds inside her chest.

It would be so easy to ignore the complications, the mission, the harm she’s still recovering from, and kiss her, claim her. But he is still the one who trained her, the person leading the mission. He will not force her, will not approach her behind the simple kindnesses he’d show to anyone he trusts.

Instead he says only, “I wouldn’t necessarily object to that,” and can’t hold back his grin at the brightness of her smile.

“Why are you spending so much time with Azriel lately?” Nesta asks when Gwyn finally arrives at the House of Wind, breathless after the climb from the library.

“It’s a long story,” Gwyn says, playing for time while she sucks in air and tries not to spot the shadow which has followed her every step for the past week.

Azriel had never said she couldn’t mention a mission in general, and it’s the easiest explanation. But Nesta will not accept a vague answer.

“I’ve seen the way you look at him, you know,” her friend says, and her voice is gentle in a way that would have surprised her if she’d heard it in that first week of knowing Nesta, when all she’d detected was sharpness and disdain, both of which Gwyn had instantly envied.

“It’s more complicated than that,” Gwyn tells her, following Nesta to the cozy private sitting room, which the House and her friend have decorated in rich blues and creamy whites, which are beautiful against the reddish-orange walls. Gwyn will never stop being happy that Nesta has found this kind of contentment, love and home and peace.

She starts to believe that Nesta’s happiness has made her forget her initial line of questioning, because her friend busies herself with snacks and the fruit juices that the House lately seems intent on offering them. She asks about the library and about Gwyn’s research, which requires a bit of dodging given that most of it has been focused on Koschei, and soon they’re laughing about something Cassian said in training.

Then Nesta hands Gwyn a mug of hot spiced cider and a plate with a cinnamon roll, exotic cheeses, and fresh baked bread, and Gwyn can tell from the warmth in her eyes and the steel in her spine that Nesta has not forgotten about Azriel even for a second.

“Is this more complicated because of what happened in Sangravah?” Again, there’s that gentle tone. Even after Gwyn’s revelation during the Blood Rite, they rarely speak of that day.

The day when she needed her powers, and they would not rise up in her, the notes of power nowhere to be found. When she was weak and afraid and Catrin died because of her, slaughtered because she could not force the soldiers away.

This is the part of the story she’s never told anybody, not even Nesta or Emerie. She was taught never to speak of her sirenic powers, to tamp them down unless she was singing at services, letting only a trickle of her magic rise into the notes, in order to inspire the other worshippers. Always an invitation.

She had sometimes wondered if something was wrong with this, when the Mother accepted so many other aspects of her, and really everybody, so completely. Her body and its desires. Her mind and its longing to know more. Even her desire to win, to be useful. The High Priestess in Sangravah did not speak of aberrations except when Gwyn’s powers revealed themselves during a music lesson and, completely by accident, she’d convinced Catrin to steal all of the cookies from the temple kitchen for her.

If she’d been able to learn how to use her powers, perhaps with one of her nymph ancestors, maybe she would have been strong enough, sure enough to save Catrin. To keep the commander from forcing his way inside her, violating her body and adding one more horror to the nightmares from that awful day. To silence the laughter of the soldiers. But then she would have become a monster herself, an abomination.

In her dreams, Gwyn is rarely able to summon her powers to save everyone. She finds the notes and Catrin is saved but she herself is still attacked. Her powers rise and she is safe but Catrin dies. Sometimes Azriel arrives in time to save her, sometimes she sings and the soldiers turn their swords on their own hearts, and Gwyn wonders if it would’ve weighed on her, ending all those lives herself. Those are the nights that Gwyn wakes in the darkness, screaming, and cannot still her heart, cannot find the solace required for sleep.

But this is not what Nesta is asking about. Her friend, Gwyn thinks, is asking about love and desire and safety. Whether that day has made such things impossible.

“In some ways, maybe, but it’s not what it used to be. I’m not as scared,” she tells Nesta, finally, floundering as she wraps her fingers around the mug of cider, concentrating on the way the heat works its way into her bones.

Gwyn has always been taught better than to scorn the wants of her body, and it’s not for shame that she doesn’t talk about the new fantasies she has, Azriel kissing her on the grounds of her estate, taking her inside and leading her to a well-appointed bed, where he stripped off her leathers and touched her everywhere, fitted himself between her legs and left them both moaning. The way her fingers work between her legs, quiet and sure, circling the sensitive nub at the apex of her sex, until her breath is loud and she plunges her fingers inside herself, again and again, imagining Azriel inside of her. The way, afterwards, she feels incandescent and without shame.

But these moments are hers alone and they are precious. Her body is becoming recognizable again, more sure of itself. She’s not sure there are words in their language or in any other to explain all of this to Nesta, or whether trying to explain would only cheapen what is happening, this reclamation.

Instead she continues, because it’s also true, “I don’t even know if he feels that way about me. If it’s worth considering.”

“He hasn’t said anything to me or to Cassian, but I see the way he looks at you,” Nesta says, “like he can’t believe you’re real.”

Gwyn huffs a laugh at that and hopes the shadow, perched on her forearm, won’t report any of this back to Azriel. She thinks even a death-god wouldn’t be so foolish as to attack Nesta, no matter how much or how little of her power remains.

“There are moments when I think you might be right,” she says, lifts her mug to her lips, prepares to change the subject. “Has Emerie told you anything about her wings?”

“I think she’s leaning towards having them healed. I told her she could stay here. Otherwise we’ll have to find someone to take us to Windhaven.” Nesta gives Gwyn a significant look.

“We’ll probably have to go anyway. I said we’d help her take care of the shop.”

Nesta swats at her, smirking, and Gwyn thanks the Mother when she hears Emerie’s voice on the balcony, laughing with Mor.

“I thought Cassian was going to bring you tonight,” Nesta says when Emerie walks in the room.

“He didn’t have time to fly all the way to me,” Emerie says, her usual matter-of-fact tone a contrast with her sparkling uptilted eyes, her whole face on the verge of a grin. “Anyway, I have something bigger to talk about then my travel arrangements. I went back to the healer today. She says it will be painful, and that there will be a long recovery, but that she thinks I’ll be able to fly again, if I let her mend my wings. And I said that I want to try.”

Instantly Gwyn is launching herself at Emerie, her squeal of joy trailing behind her as she wraps her friend in her arms, and Nesta follows her immediately, the three of them embracing and laughing and yelling.

“When will the healer start?” Gwyn asks, when they’re all seated again and Emerie has finished a pumpkin doughnut the House provided on a festive gold plate.

“Anahit says there should be room in the hospital late next week. That should give me enough time to prepare the shop.”

“You should stay here,” Nesta says, “and Gwyn and I can help with the shop.” She aims a raised eyebrow at Gwyn, who only nods at Emerie, still grinning.

“I’ll ask and see if Anahit can perform the procedure here, but I think I have a solution for the shop. I’ve found a few Illyrian females who would like to earn extra money. They’ll need a few days of training, and I’ll have to inform my suppliers, but I think it will be good for them to have the opportunity to work outside their homes.”

Gwyn reaches over and squeezes her friend’s hand.

“That’s wonderful, Emerie.”

Her friend beams and then turns to Nesta, her smile turning into a smirk. “Did you get Gwyn to tell you what’s going on with Azriel?”

Nesta levels a wicked grin at Emerie, and Gwyn stuffs a cheese-laden cracker into her mouth, any excuse not to be tricked into a revelation. Whatever might be between her and Azriel seems so tenuous. No matter what Nesta and Emerie might believe.

“She’s as quiet about it as you are about how you’re suddenly so friendly with Mor,” Nesta says. “Care to share?”

“I’d prefer to talk about how the bones in my wings are going to be broken again, quite honestly,” Emerie says, reaching for another doughnut, which the House has placed on the arm of her chair.

“You two are no fun,” Nesta sighs, lifting her mug of cider to her lips.

“I think we’re the most fun,” Gwyn counters, patting the shadow that has decided to perch on her shoulder. She summons the miniature pegasus before her friends can ask any more questions.

Azriel had warned the priestesses that today’s training might be particularly difficult for them, and so it’s a smaller group that enters the training ring only to find it dark as the bleakest night, courtesy of Rhys.

“Today, we are going to begin learning stealth,” he says to the group, illuminated by a cluster of lanterns. Though all he can see is the glint of her coppery hair, he swears he can see Gwyn smirking, like she knows that their training lately has all been in service of what she may need to know in order to prevail against Koschei.

“Today’s lesson is a test of your abilities, which we’ll build on during training over the next weeks. Each of you will move through this obstacle course in the dark. You can choose one small practice weapon. I’ll give you ten seconds’ head start, and then I’ll start tracking you. Your goal is to make it to the end of the course before I catch you.” He pauses, giving the group a moment to absorb what he’s said. To imagine the course he’d stayed up late creating with Cassian, debating the merits of the climbing wall or the height of the platforms that require blind jumps. What it might mean, to have a male pursuing them while they did their best to stay silent, to avoid a stumble. “This exercise might bring up unpleasant memories for some of you. There is no shame in bowing out of today’s lesson. Cassian has promised to make it up double tomorrow.”

Azriel summons a smile and is grateful when he hears a low answering laugh from the women. A few of them, mostly clad in the light blue robes of the priestesses, aim for the staircase, and Emerie hesitates, pointing to her wings. He nods at her, mouthing good luck for the procedure that will begin tomorrow, the breaking and remaking of the damaged tendons and bones that keep her from flying.

“If you’re going to try the course, select your weapon and then run through the conditioning circuit to warm up.”

The women move toward the racks of practice weapons, debating between knives and daggers and swords and even the practice throwing stars which Cassian had insisted were a valid inclusion.

“You don’t have to change everyone’s training just for me,” Gwyn whispers. He hadn’t heard the sound of her footsteps, and she catches the small shock on his features, even in the darkness, grinning with satisfaction.

“It seems as if you’re fairly stealthy already,” he says, allowing himself an answering smile.

“I’ve been practicing dodging your shadow.”

“Keeping secrets?” He raises an eyebrow.

“I’m not in danger all the time,” she says, and even in the darkness, he can see her faint blush.

“The shadows would tend to agree.” There are no whispers of Koschei in the library, and the shadow that waits patiently outside Gwyn’s room in the dormitory does not speak of any dangerous presence. In fact, their lack of information makes Azriel wonder if she’s charmed them out of truly surveilling her. Usually their reports are much more detailed. “Vassa sent a letter.”

Instantly Gwyn’s smile vanishes and her gaze is intent.

“Why didn’t you start with that? What did she say?”

“She says she feels Koschei tightening his hold on her. To be careful.”

“Is she in danger because of us?”

“She’s always in danger, as long as this curse binds her. The weaker we make Koschei, the better things will be for Vassa.”

“Doesn’t it usually work the opposite way for males?”

His thoughts flash to his half-brothers and their torments. How, when he’d grown up and come into his powers, he’d been shocked at their small stature, the fragility of their magic. Wondered whether they’d seen the disparity all along and decided to launch their preemptive strike, leaving him tortured in the darkness.

As quickly as the memory surfaces, he pushes it aside. It’s this artificial darkness of Rhys’, he tells himself, that’s too close to the dark cellar of his childhood, the endless night without the possibility of stars or moonlight.

“It’s our best option,” he says, and when he sees her reaction, he knows his voice was too harsh.

“Of course,” she says, the smile wiped clean from her face, “you know best.”

He moves toward her, conjuring some kind of explanation, but Gwyn strides easily towards the practice weapon, her eyes intent on the daggers, and begins the conditioning circuit without glancing at him.

Later, when he catches up to Nesta in the obstacle course, much sooner than she’d anticipated, she bats aside his initial critique.

“What did you say to Gwyn?” she asks instead, slapping her knife against her thigh, and Azriel can’t tell if it’s her frustration or an implicit threat.

“Nothing I wouldn’t say to you.” It’s not a lie. If he were on a mission with Nesta, he would speak sharply to her, though he would try to control the intrusion of his past, his reaction to it.

Nesta only lets out a little snort, and allows him to tell her all the places where she went wrong, where her steps were too loud or she gave away her location by trying to move quickly rather than understand what she was doing with her limbs.

The women run the course and over and over, Azriel catches up to them fairly quickly. The darkness robs them of their balance or their confidence. Their breath catches and Azriel finds them, even in total darkness. Although he and Cassian ran the course with their eyes closed, he begins to wonder whether the course is too difficult.

When it’s Gwyn’s turn, he considers giving her an extra ten seconds as an apology, but he knows she would consider that a punishment, and so instead he drives forward faster than he did with everyone else, through all the obstacles he’d stayed up late devising with Cassian.

Gwyn moves without a trace, only her scent of lavender and lemon and sage trailing faintly behind her, and Azriel hardly allows himself to breathe as he follows, seeking her in the darkness.

Finally, he hears the groan of the rope as she swings to the final platform, and he vanishes into the shadows, appearing right beside her.

“Congratulations,” he says, only allowing a portion of his pride in her achievement to enter his voice. To see how she’s feeling.

“The course wasn’t very difficult.” There’s a hesitation in her voice and he hates to hear it. Whenever Gwyn is not teasing him lately, or smiling, or eager to learn, Azriel feels the absence.

“You were right about Koschei.” He says it before he can convince himself to slip back into the role of her instructor. They both sprinted through the course; nobody will be waiting for a few minutes. “He will probably escalate now that he knows we’re looking for information. The way I dismissed you -- I’m sorry. You weren’t wrong.”

“I know that it’s better to do something than nothing.” There’s an ease that returns to her voice with every word, and he feels some lingering tension dissipate around his shoulders. “It’s only that seeing Vassa… her life feels so fragile next to ours. It would be so easy for Koschei to rip her apart. And even though I know there are other women held captive, now that I’ve met Vassa, I know what her screams would sound like.”

In the darkness, he reaches for her hand, the scarred skin between his fingers tight with his hold on her.

“That makes you work harder, doesn’t it?”

Rhys worked his magic well. The darkness is near total but Azriel hears her nod. She takes a step closer to him, and then another, until their shoulders are touching, armor against armor.

“I could have stopped them,” she says, and her voice is distant. “If I’d only--”

He can hear her trying not to weep, and squeezes her fingers a little tighter, to let her know that he’s there, alongside her.

“When I was a child, I was locked away while my mother was tormented by the man who fathered me. His wife and sons… it was brutal, unceasing torture for her. The shadows would tell me what happened. How to hide. And when I was brought to the war camps and learned my power, I would think, why couldn’t I have saved her earlier?”

It has been centuries since he’s told this story, and the voice that emerges from him sounds young, from the time before he learned how to let his fury sink into his bones and drive him onward. But it feels right to tell her. He saw her at her worst moment and he is asking her to put all her trust in him. Even if he feels exposed and wretched, revealing his original failure.

There’s no way for her to see him through this darkness, but he feels her turn to him, as if she’s studying the expression on his face. Her fingers are tight in his, her callused fingertips circling the back of his hand.

“Even if you’d had all the power and strength you have now, it still wouldn’t have been your fault. Those hateful people harmed her. They were the ones who could have chosen otherwise.” He can feel her breath on his cheek as she speaks, her warmth and determination.

“The same is true for you, Gwyn. You were the one who saved the temple children.”

Her breath catches, and then there is silence. The only thing that tethers Azriel to this world, in this darkness so thick that his shadows can hardly move, is his hand in Gwyn’s.

“I have this awful power,” she says, finally. “The high priestess called it an aberration. I try to never use it, only let it out when it can’t harm anybody. But that day--I could have stopped them all in seconds, and the power wouldn’t come. If I had trained, Azriel, if I had ever tried to use it instead of pretending I was someone else, someone good and decent, I could have saved everybody. Catrin would still be alive. I wouldn’t--”

She trails off and he scents her tears.

When he opens his arms to her, she leans against him, her cheek against his chest, and he holds her tightly, feeling each sob that passes through her.

“You are good and decent and brave,” he says softly, over and over. “You did everything you could. You are not to blame.” He hopes she’ll believe it.

After a while, she pulls away just slightly, enough to wipe away her tears with the back of her hand.

“They’re going to wonder what happened,” she says.

“I’ll tell them you were celebrating your victory.”

Even in the darkness, in spite of her tears and the weight of their respective revelations, he knows she’s rolling her eyes.

This late in the library, the darkness is so thick that Gwyn can’t spot Azriel’s shadow. She’d assured him after training that she was all right, but she knows that between their conversation and the anticipation of Emerie’s procedure tomorrow, sleep will be hard to come by, and there are a few summaries she’s so close to completing for Merrill.

One of the volumes she needs is held in the priestess’’ office, but as she approaches, there’s something terrifying in the darkness.

A profound absence, as if all the life and magic is slowly being drained from Merrill’s office.

“Run,” she whispers to the shadow, barely a sound, and then she tells herself she’s on the stealth course in training, tries to make herself imagine that what lies before her is simply a series of obstacles Azriel and Cassian have set up to test her capabilities, not a death-god set free in her home.

If she thinks of all the priestesses in the dormitories, drifting into their haunted sleep, Gwyn will shatter.

She creeps closer to the absence and hears low voices. Merrill. And a male’s voice, low and resonant and slithering.

“They trust me,” Merrill is saying, and Gwyn cannot tell if her words are a plea or a taunt. There’s a feeling like burning inside her but she banks it, focuses on the lightness of her steps, holding her robes close against her body.

“Bring me the one who is searching.” Is this Koschei’s voice? It wears the command lightly, with a laugh at the edges of his words. As if Merrill has no choice but to obey.

“No one here is capable of leaving the library.” She scoffs the words. Though she knows that Gwyn is leaving the library. Gwyn has had to deal with Merrill’s complaints about her short but accumulating absences, their impact on her research. Is Merrill trying to protect her, or has Gwyn vanished from her consideration entirely?

“My Vassa cannot lie, pet.” Gwyn has to bite her lip to smother her fear and indignation, not least because she knows, even after one meeting with her, how the queen of Scythia would feel about Koschei’s use of the possessive. Because it is Koschei in that room with her, however the death-god can leave the lake without violating the spells that contain him.

“A human’s mind can be easily tampered with,” Merrill retorts, the tone Gwyn knows so well, the brilliant priestess who refuses to wait for other lagging minds.

There is silence, a gasping indrawn breath. A woman in pain.

Gwyn would have thought that she’d feel sympathy towards the priestess, for the harm she is experiencing, but instead a boiling rage rises in her, and behind it, there is her power, resonant as a great bell inside her body.

She takes the final steps to Merrill’s office, letting her robes whisper around her body, her steps sound on the stone floors. Let Koschei know she’s coming.

But it is only Merrill in the room, her russet skin gleaming in the lamplight. For a second only, her night-blue eyes widen as if she is afraid, and then she peers at Gwyn, assuming her usual role.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, the same tone she used with Koschei.

There are monsters in the library tonight, Gwyn thinks, the wrongness of the situation a writhing presence under her skin, and then she opens her mouth and releases the notes she found when she was a little girl in the temple in Sangravah, when all she wanted were fresh cookies from the kitchens. They rise and fall to become a melody that is sharp and brilliant, that evokes something of the priestess who sits before her.

Her power echoes in the room, a shimmering cascade of power that beckons Merrill. Before the melody is complete, the priestess leans forward in her chair, her lips curling into a placid smile. One that Gwyn has seen before, worked years to keep from ever seeing again.

Behind Gwyn, there’s an outpouring of shadows. Azriel’s scent.

She does not let the resonance break off into silence. She lets her magic keep it ringing in the air as she speaks her command to Merrill.

“Why are you conspiring with Koschei?”

For a moment, the priestess’s lips press into a thin line, as if she is trying to resist the notes of power, the sirenic compulsion.

At a flex of Gwyn’s fingers, the resonance in the office increases, and Merrill’s lips open to let her answer slip out.

Notes: Gwyn's powers are finally out in the open! More on that in upcoming chapters.

I feel like if I ever wrote anonymous ACOTAR fic, there would be two tells that I was writing it: Vassa would always show up and be admired by everybody, and everyone would have complicated scents. That said, even though I spent an hour researching perfumes to come up with Gwyn's scent, I regret nothing.

Otherwise, I have a soft spot for this chapter. I hope you enjoyed it! Thank you so much for reading, and for all of your encouragement and support 🧡

For more theories, thoughts, and occasional sneak peeks, follow me on Instagram at house.of.hurricane or TikTok at houseofhurricane.

Taglist: @almosttenaciousmoon, @azrielbedara, @azrielsdarling13, @books0lover, @brown-and-weird, @camreadsum, @cozycomfyliving08, @girlbossenergy, @glemiessa, @gwynrielsupremacy, @imsointobooks, @katekatpattywack, @lightwood-bane13, @livelyblu, @lola-lightwood, @meher-sumedha, @moonbeammadness, @mystical-blaise, @nansr, @nervousninjasuit, @onemorenightdreamer, @rubyriveraqueen, @ruthieluvsbooks, @sanniegirl1214, @saramoonbeam, @secretlovelybeauty, @shisingh, @soffiiione, @thenerdywriter, @trashforazriel, @valkyriesbooks, @vassien-supremacy6, @vikingmagic33, @whoever-you-choose-to-love, @witching-by-the-willow, @zanywolffriendhairdo

Please let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist.

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hlizr50 · 3 years

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Gwynriel Week Day 2 - Favorite Headcanon

Bow or Bleed

Read on AO3

-Gwyn-

Gwyn examined herself in the mirror, turning her hips and looking over her shoulder. She was technically covered, but also decidedly not, navy chiffon so dark it was nearly black waterfalled down her legs, the milky skin of her leg exposed by the hip-high opening. The top of the gown had long sleeves and a deep neckline past her breastbone, but it was also sheer – strategically placed beading and applique crept up her stomach and over her breasts. It was certainly the most scandalous thing she’d ever worn.

Azriel had warned her before the meeting with the High Lord, nearly three weeks before. Times were peaceful – something they were all thankful for – but Rhysand wanted to remind the denizens of the Hewn City of the Night Court’s might, introducing the new division of their defenses. Therefore, the three female leaders of the Valkyries were requested. Her mate had kept her hand firmly gripped in his for the duration of the discussion, and that silent support was just one of the many reasons she loved him. So was his deference to her decision. That was something that had been a little more difficult to achieve, the shadowsinger being as protective as he was, particularly where Gwyn was concerned.

They had discussed in depth what she would find in the Court of Nightmares and the expectations that came along with being in attendance in a position of power. And while, in the three years they had been together, they had explored any number of intimate situations and dynamics in the comfort of their private home, it was Azriel who had suggested that Gwyn be regarded as the dominant one of the two.

The inhabitants of the Hewn City know that I am to be feared. And I want them to see the woman who has tamed the infamous spymaster and cower. Not only from a perspective of your safety, but to be perfectly frank it would be incredibly arousing.

She had laughed at that.

And so Azriel and Gwyn had painstakingly discussed every detail, the two of them valuing preparedness and knowledge above all else. Where would they be expected to stand? How were they expected to interact with the rest of the inner circle and the Valkyries? He came with her to dress fittings, discussing how the fabric would move and working with the Valkyrie and the seamstress to ensure she looked tempting enough to draw attention, but covered enough that she wouldn’t be constantly pulling and tugging. They had even come home with a replica of the skirt so they could train together, for the unfortunate possibility that violence might become a necessity.

So here she was, with her chosen sisters, examining herself one last time before their entrance into the Court of Nightmares. When she looked up she found Nesta at her shoulder.

“Ready, Gwyn?” The redhead could see the faint glimmer of concern in her friend’s eyes.

A reassuring grin crinkled the freckles dotting the former priestess’ nose and the corners of her eyes. She trailed her fingers over the hilt of the dark blade sheathed at her thigh, drawing strength from its weight and the lingering power from the hands that wielded it. Gwyn nodded, the copper waterfall of her high ponytail brushing past her ears and cheeks.

“Let’s give them a show,” Emerie quipped with a smirk.

Gwyn regarded the two females that had been at her side, constant support and friendship and love over the past four years. Nesta was a queen in every sense, beautiful and dangerous, with a neckline that dipped even lower than her own. Her gown fit tight against her, black velvet rich and luxurious. She wore her weapon for everyone to see, the sword Ataraxia hanging from the black leather riding her hips. Her leg was also revealed by a near-indecent slit in the midnight cloth, the tightness of the dress pulling the ends apart and baring it for all to see.

And then there was Emerie, who had opted for pants, tailored just right to show off the strength in her legs. Black silk fell loosely from her honey brown shoulders creating lovely drapes over her front and baring her smooth muscled arms. The back of the garment only met at the small of her back, letting all appreciate the ripples and cords of muscle and the incredible wings that marked her as Illyrian.

Emerie smiled wryly, ready to intimidate, but it was Nesta who pushed open the wooden doors with as much force as she could muster. Gwyn was inwardly satisfied at the sound that cut through the cavern. She lifted her chin and fixed her gaze forward toward the raised dais, where the High Lord and Lady sat enthroned in dark power. She would not turn her gaze toward the shadowsinger as they strode in, footfalls synchronized as if they marched into battle. She kept her head lifted, near-arrogant smirk on her wine-painted lips.

But, Mother, could she feelhim. The flicker of power, the gold thread between them taut with heat and tightly coiled desire. Gwyn didn’t dare a glance, but she could feel the burn of his hazel gaze – likely now closer to molten gold – roaming over her.

The three Valkyries stopped at the foot of the dais, Nesta in front with Gwyn and Emerie at her shoulders. When they each fell to one knee before their High Lord and Lady, the copper-haired warrior could feel the cool, moist air prickling the skin of her now-exposed thigh. But she didn’t feel exposed, even with so much less of her covered than she was accustomed to. She didn’t feel weak, even as she bowed in the midst of this infamous court. She was a wholly different person from the quaking priestess that had been rescued from Sangravah, and it was this court that had helped build her up. She was a warrior, a Valkyrie, one of eight Carynthians to ever exist, and now she was a general. And through all that she had become a sister, friend, lover, and mate, and it was those bonds that truly gave her strength.

They rose and turned to face the court, and Gwyn did her best to observe nonchalantly. So many leering stares, expressions of disgust – so many fragile males opposed to the concept of powerful women.

“The Valkyries were legendary in the Great War, and we are pleased that these three females have resurrected their practice and built new ranks.” Rhysand’s voice was rich and dark, like the velvet that clung to Nesta’s skin. “As their skills have improved and their ranks have deepened, the Valkyries have been inducted as an official division of the Night Court defense. Even in times of peace we all know that it is imperative to remain dedicated and prepared. These three females join the ranks of my Inner Circle as generals, and they will be respected as such.” There was a pregnant pause after his statement, the court regarding the three of them, sizing them up. “Any word or action against them will be counted as a word or action against myself or the High Lady. And while all of the denizens of the Hewn City understand how I manage those slights, let them rest assured that these women will exact their own justice.” After one more glower over the crowd the females split apart, turning toward their respective mates.

That’s when she finally laid her eyes on the Spymaster of the Night Court, clothed in black leather and swathed in shadows. The angles and planes of his face, in this dark place, made him impossibly more beautiful. He was an imposing creature when he needed to be, and in the Court of Nightmares he would only be seen as this man of malice – an angel of death.

With near-glowing eyes fixed on her and her alone.

-Azriel-

This plan could have been a grave mistake.

Not because Gwyn wasn’t absolutely breathtaking and fearless, and not because he didn’t believe that any male would think twice before approaching her with the shadowsinger apparently on her leash.

No, this plan was very potentially a mistake because Azriel wasn’t sure he would be able to keep himself from swathing them in shadows and ravishing her in the middle of the damned great hall as soon as she was within arm’s reach.

He’d known what the dress would look like on her tall frame – he had accompanied her to consultations and fittings, ensuring that his mate would feel comfortable and safe during this foray into the sinister underbelly of the Night Court. The inspiration for Amarantha’s domain not-so-long ago.

To say that the idea of Gwyn stepping foot in this place had given him pause would be a grievous understatement. His shadows had twirled around his wings in agitation when Rhys had informed him, but he also knew that his mate was not the same girl he had rescued from Sangravah those years ago. He had agreed to let her hear the request and decide for herself what she would do, and he would be happy to do everything in his power to ensure that she was prepared.

The female that faced him now was nothing short of a queen.

Azriel found himself thinking back through the times that he had been rendered breathless by her astonishing beauty – more times than he could count. The first time he’d seen her in the Valkyrie leathers he thought he might have to leave the room, lest he melt into a heap on the floor before her. Their first Starfall together his shadows had frozen around him as he remembered how to breathe, her dress and eyes outsparkling the heavens. The evening of their mating ceremony, where a simple silk shift had sent tendrils of inky mist dancing and had nearly set his soul on fire.

Before him was a warrior, confident and ferocious. And his. Her skin was moonlight against the darkest blue the seamstress could find, curves barely concealed beneath lace and beading that had been expertly placed to toe the line between demure and deadly. Makeup was not something the former priestess indulged in often, but the wine-red that painted her full lips tempted him to lick his own and the kohl lining her teal pools only seemed to set them ablaze. The high ponytail was somewhat unexpected, but it was the sight of the blade strapped to her thigh – so dark it seemed to absorb any light that dared touch it – that had the breeches of his leathers tightening considerably and his twirling shadows thickening.

Truth-teller.

Neither of them needed weapons to be deadly, but that didn’t mean they would venture into the Court of Nightmares unarmed. And there would be no better way to send a message to any who dared covet his mate than for her to brandish the deadly blade that was known throughout the continent.

Gwyn strode toward him, head held high. She had schooled her expressive eyes into cool indifference, something she had likely learned from him, but Azriel could spy a glimmer of mischief. She was enjoying this game, and he was more than content to play it with her. He lowered his chin and dropped to one knee as she approached, and his shadows could hear the whispers of stunned onlookers as the spymaster placed himself firmly beneath the Valkyrie in the hierarchy. A wry grin curled his lips as he watched those exquisitely formed legs come to a halt before him and the hand at her right hip present itself. He kept his gaze fixed on the speckled flesh of her knuckles as he raised his own scarred hand, cobalt siphon flickering, and grasped her fingers before leaning in to reverently press his lips to her knuckles. He could feel the golden warmth of her satisfaction in his chest, sparks of desire intermixed.

When he released her hand it moved to his face, two long elegant fingers landing under his chin and pulling it upward. Lifting his gaze, he found her face alight with fierce confidence.

“Shadowsinger,” she purred, applying more pressure to encourage him to rise before her. Their stares were transfixed in the eyes of the other as he did so, her hand only moving far enough to land in a possessive grip toward the back of his neck. He couldn’t hide the smirk that crawled over his lips, enamored as he was with the predatory confidence that she wore.

“My lady,” he murmured, dipping his chin. “You look absolutely exquisite.” The slightest pink blossomed on her cheeks, proving that she was not completely immune to his charm. She circled him and stepped up behind him onto the first stair to the dais, keeping her palm on is neck. He had to stifle a groan, reveling in her possessive touch and the heat of her at his back between his wings. Her breath snaked across his ear and his skin pebbled, her lips like a phantom touch over the shell of it.

“You are beautiful and dark, as always, love,” Gwyn whispered before dipping her chin and pressing those soft painted lips just below where the sharp line of his jaw met his neck. His breath shuddered and his mate gave a soft giggle. “Your shadows are quite… friendly tonight.”

“Well, lovely general, I can hardly be expected to control them when you make it so difficult for me to even manage myself,” Azriel breathed.

“Hmmm. You do make an excellent point.” She gripped his jaw and pulled it to the side to claim his lips with a bruising kiss. When she released him he nearly drowned in the teal pools that captured his gaze. He could see the challenge there, the desire, the pride. He loved when he could glimpse those things in her expression, when he could put those feelings there. Gods, the way it felt to bow before her, to be the one she trusted to submit to her will. It was a distinct possibility he wouldn’t survive the night.

“I know you have duties, Shadowsinger,” the Valkyrie stated softly, dropping her fingers from his jaw. His permission to leave her side, to stride through the shadows and dark corners of this hall to ensure that members of this court still understood the price of disrespect and the power of fear. He turned, tucking his wings tight to avoid striking her. He meant to look back into those piercing, starlit eyes, but his gaze caught on Truth-teller at her thigh. He lifted a mottled hand and settled his palm over the hilt, letting his callused fingers brush delicately over that tempting sliver of porcelain flesh. Leaning down, he brushed his mouth over the peek of skin just above his thumb.

“Wine, my lady?” He straightened and grinned crookedly at her flushed neck and chest. She dipped her chin in confirmation and he turned, striding into the throng of revelers. Hopefully his High Lord didn’t expect him to listen too closely. It was peacetime, after all, and he had to contend with every delicious image of Gwyn flashing through his mind. Hopefully his shadows would pick up on anything glaring and drag his attention out of the gutter.

He had retrieved two goblets and turned back toward the dais when he felt a twinge of anxiety in his chest, tightening the golden thread that connected the Shadowsinger and the Valkyrie. He weaved quickly in and out of the dark swaths in the hall, his shadows carrying to him the echoes of words between her and a yet-unknown male.

“…quite an actress, priestess…”

Azriel quieted the snarl that threatened to push through his lips as he rounded a pillar silently, finding Gwyn’s back pressed against it and the male – one of the darkbringers, he realized – doing his best to tower over her. He stayed silent, tucked into the darkness. He had vowed not to intervene until it became obvious that she couldn’t handle the situation. And while he had felt the moment of uncertainty in their bond, his mate looked calm and nonchalant – if not a small bit annoyed.

“Although I find it difficult to believe that a timid acolyte from the library sanctuary could best the Spymaster. They say the women in the great library have experienced great horrors, but perhaps if you warm the bed of the angel of death, you’re into that kind of thing.”

The male had lifted a hand to Gwyn’s face, making to touch her. And quick as the wind she had Truth-teller in her hand, blade against a particularly sensitive part of the male who thought he could dare to insinuate what he did, much less dare to touch her. Azriel saw the rage sparkling in her gaze, all traces of anxiety and annoyance gone.

“Think very carefully about the next thing you say,” she hissed. When the male tried to smirk and play it off she pushed the blade the slightest bit deeper, the edge biting into the leather of his pants. “I am a general. I won the Illyrian Blood Rite. I have bested far more intimidating creatures than yourself. So do ask yourself if you want to test your luck.”

Azriel’s lips twisted into a sadistic smile, basking in the glow of his mate’s strength. Her eyes darted to him for a split second, and the male’s eyes followed. The color drained from his face when he saw the rippling shadows twisting and rising like flames over his shoulders and wings. But a push against the dagger at his crotch shifted his attention back to Gwyn.

“Hear me now, brute,” she seethed. “I do not always keep my Shadowsinger so tightly leashed. And he does not take kindly to unimpressive, brainless males touching the female that he belongs to.” My Shadowsinger. The female that he belongs to. Mother above, those words went straight to his already-straining cock. “So I hope that little thrill that pulsed through your undoubtedly underwhelming dick when you thought you could intimidate me and bend me to your desires… I do so hope it was worth it.”

The male stepped away with hands raised, but the copper-haired queen kept her blazing stare on him, dagger still ready in her hand.

“Shadowsinger, I hope you have that wine,” she cooed, sheathing the weapon when Azriel stepped to her side. He offered her the goblet and then offered her an arm, muscles and shadows tremoring from barely contained fury. His instincts warred within him, an urge to rip the male limb from limb against the desire to whisk his mate into an alcove and plunge his tongue between her legs until she was screaming his name. He wasn’t sure if he had ever desired her with such a feral male pride, and from the heat blooming across her chest he could tell that she could feel that pulsing need through their bond. But her breathing was slightly more shallow than normal, and he remembered that nervous twinge he’d felt before she’d nearly castrated the man. The spymaster let them to a darkened corner, shadows swallowing them and hiding them from prying eyes and ears.

“Are you alright, songbird?” All pretense and games were gone, leaving only the soft voice of a protective male concerned for the love of his eternity. He took her wine glass and set both of them on the stone floor. When he straightened he pinned her with his gaze and raised callused fingers to trace the freckles on her cheek. Gwyn sighed a calming breath and leaned into his touch.

“Yes, love. I was nervous for a moment, but I think I handled things quite well,” she smiled widely. He released a dark chuckle of his own, stepping into her and pinning her gently against the wall. Azriel tilted his head and leaned down, pressing his lips against the sensitive space under hear ear. Nipping at it, then flicking his tongue over the spot to soothe it, smiling against her soft flesh as he felt her gasp beneath him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more aroused in my life, Gwyneth Berdara,” he uttered into her neck, voice low and guttural. He pressed his hips against her, letting her feel what she had done to him. “When you called me yours, when you said I belong to you… Gods, nothing has ever been truer.”

Azriel dragged his lips wantonly over her jaw toward her mouth, nipping at her bottom lip when he got there. He was on fire for her, every inch of him aflame with want for his warrior queen. He crushed his lips into hers, tongue beseeching. She gave in without pause, and he greedily pulled at her lips and tongue. He wanted to breathe her in, needed to taste her.

“Azriel,” she gasped, but he continued pouring himself into her, only stopping when her hands cupped his face gently. He pulled back and took in her swollen lips and lust-darkened eyes. “We need to behave, remember?” The shadowsinger groaned, earning a musical laugh from the Valkyrie. He leaned his forehead against hers.

“Fine,” he growled. “But as soon as we get home, rest assured, I will have you. And I want you to keep Truth-teller on that pretty thigh.”

Gwyn’s cheeks turned crimson and his throat rumbled with approval. He pressed a quick, hard kiss into her lips before stepping back, giving her some air to cool the heat on her face. Swiftly, he scooped up their wine goblets and offered his elbow to her.

“Ready to terrorize more unsuspecting males, my lady?” Azriel grinned wickedly, and she threw her head back, a cackle erupting from her throat. She tucked her starkissed hand into the crook of his arm.

“Always, Shadowsinger.” Quickly, before he let his shadows disperse, she pressed a chaste kiss on his cheek. “I love you.”

The bond burned golden fire in his chest, swelling with love and contentment and bliss. “I love you, too, Berdara.” He murmured, and then they were in the throng again, the music and revelry of the Hewn City swallowing them. He let his shadows wander and listen, but his attention was focused on his mate for the remainder of the evening. He marveled at her confidence, her strength, the pride she felt at being able to conquer this moment. Feyre may be his High Lady, but Gwyneth Berdara was his queen. And, if tonight was any indication, he would gladly bow before her for the rest of his immortal life.

#gwynriel fanfiction #gwynriel week #gwynriel fanfic #gwynriel supremacy #gwynriel

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kimstclair · 3 years

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GWYNRIEL HEADCANON (Gwyn singing on estage and Az getting blushed)

First of all, let's remember that Az shadows freaking dance when Gwyn is only BREATHING in his pov chapter

Now, let's imagine the scenario where the High Lord (aka Rhys, aka Would Literally Adopt Gwyn If He Could) invites Gwyn to perform at an official event of the Night Court —maybe a ball or Nyx birthday, or whatever.

After pondering for a long time, Gwyn finally accept the invitation and face her fear of going outside the library/House of Wind.

When the day arrives, of course EVERYONE at the party is delighted by Gwyn's voice, every gaze is locked on her while she sings.

And Azriel, of course, was enjoying her performance too. Although the shadowsinger had covered his joy with his casual social mask of indifference.

His shadows otherwise, were freaking out.

Around his elbows they trembled and shook and twirled following the melody.

"Behave yourself, shadowsinger" Nesta whispers to him with a smirk

Az orders the shadows to stand still but they just don't obey. In fact they start to move even faster and bigger.

Now everyone's gaze was taking turns between watching Gwyn and the over scandalous dance of his shadows.

You're making quite a show, brother, Rhys jokes in his mind

Rhys, leave him alone, Feyre mentally orders her mate but she couldn't keep her own amusement out of her voice.

Azriel's face turns into bright red and he was perfectly decided to leave the hall as soon as the song was ended.

Back at the estage, Gwyn couldn't notice any of this because our queen was singing with her eyes closed the whole time —she was so nervous 👉🏻👈🏻

Almost in the end of the song when she performs a perfectly high note she finally gets the confidence to open her eyes.

Now she is looking at her arms and body fully covered with shadows wrapped around.

Gwyn searchs for the shadowsinger in the crowd, quickly finding the hazel eyes she knew so well.

The shame suddenly goes away and the only thing Azriel can feel is her gaze over him.

And the bright of Gwyn's eyes while she looks at him is all that matters.

#gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #azriel #nesta archeron #feyre archeron #rhysand #acosf #acotar headcanon #gwyn x azriel #azriel x gwyn #gwynriel headcanon

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strangecreationchaos · 2 years

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ok so here is a thing!

about people making gwyn the main character of the series!

first of all the main character are feyre and rhysand still the high lord and high lady of the night court who is paying the bills and providing food to all your characters! make it clear!

now now after rhys and feyre , its amren and mor , though after amren is now a normal high fae she is still the master mind, and mor ! well we don't know the vastness of mor's power yet! a power that can shake the mountain!

and now after being thrown into the Cauldron it is nesta who had the power of death ! the sliver flames and elain ! who is a seer and no one knows the full potential of her power ! but also remember she is CAULDRON BLESSED.

now azriel being compared with death and with his shadow singer power and untold past life as we don't know all the details yet is a very important part of night court and so as cassian with his power and leadership he is handling the whole illyrian camp and soon the whole valkarie troop!

now as well all know nesta is the main lead of a court of silver flame! not gwyn ! she is a supporting character along with emerie ! whom nesta motivated to train with her ,along with a bunch of new priestess.

those who are highlighting gwyn over nesta are really needed to read the book again to know it was nesta who was fighting on the top of the mountain to save her friends and it was emerie who drag gwyn to the top of the mountain and saved her! kindly stop skipping the blood rite details while portraying gwyn as a lead and side Kicking nesta!

gwyn still have emotional and mental barriers. stop forgetting that as well.

its not just that she was assaulted her sister was also killed infront of her eyes and she still have pain and regrets in her heart!

even after having so strong friendship with nesta and emerie who faught to save her life , she still wasn't confident to attend nesta's wedding! she was practicing alone in the house of wind at night time because she thought no body would be there. in short she is avoiding people other than those she is staying with!

she was learning how to fight as a self defence not to find the fourth trove and fight with koschai! and as per the book its elain who can track the koschai ! since the day one!

so keeping azriel and gwyn's romance aside , gwyn is still not the main lead of the next book ,neither she is the main lead of nesta's book!

nesta find the harp while listening to her singing , doesn't mean its gwyn who find the harp! its nesta! because her singing drag her to that location!

now whether gwyn have the power to open portals between places its not describe in the book! but only the people with cauldron' s power can get to the trove ! as they says like calls to like ! so the only one right now to find the fourth trove is still elain!

beside those who are considering gwyn a light singer, also go and read the full explanation cassian gave about the light singers ! and it was not positive!

for now all we know is that gwyn is a valkarie !

elain is a seer made by the Cauldron!

azriel is a shadow singer!

its lucien with the elements of surprise! as he is helion's heir so he has a new power to explore!

vassa is a fire bird who is determined to take her revenge from the rest pf the queens.

and these are not imaginary fanfic but written in the book!

#acotar #acotar series #acosf #pro nesta #elain archeron #azriel #feysand #inner circle #cassian #pro lucien

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idrisnnet-archive · 3 years

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our souls at their prime

IDRISNNET’S Halloween Event

Week 3 Day 2: A Ghostwriter AU

Words:

Lucie -> a vampire, Jesse -> an unseelie prince

the idea just sort of stuck? anyway i hope you all like it!

Castle De Luna, Transylvania

The sky was unrelenting. The sky was unrelenting. The rain refused to leave a hint of the barren earth to be shown. Thunder competed with its furious claps, while lightning struck every spare space it could find. If one observed the lightning’s motion near the north tower of the castle, they could glimpse a shadow by the window of the highest floor, clothed all in pitch black.

Rumour said, she was a vampire.

She came from a long line of bloodsuckers, beasts who ravaged the townspeople and caused enough mayhem for the public. And yet, they kept coming back, venturing into their estate and feasting their eyes on the vampires. Truth be told, it was not just their innate quality of charmspeak. They were all, in a phrase, hauntingly attractive.

Her father had been proposed to by many a lady fair, and their mother had been kidnapped by a wicked wizard to be forced into a marriage with him. Her brother had been enchanted by the evil Unseelie Queen to fall in love with her daughter, but the contrary had ensued. He’d eloped with a mundane girl who wore daisies in her wild red hair.

Even now, Lucie’s heart beat thinking of her. Although the hearts of the undead never beat.

Wonder was expressed at Lucie’s inability to find someone. It’s because she writes all day. Her bloodlust isn’t strong enough. Get her a man already, what kind of parents are you? What sort of a child are you raising?

Her father had banished all the servants who had spoken against her. Now there was only Bridget, the cook, and thank the heavens for her. She’d been the one to find the faerie boy.

And now, Lucie could meet him again. Once a year. That was the law.

~~~

Jesse was late, he knew that. He also knew that no matter the time, she would be waiting for him.

He crossed the drawbridge over the moat filled with deadly snakes, and sneaked past the cloaked mundane guards, already asleep. And from there, he could see. Standing at the window, her ghastly pallor not unlike his own.

Their eyes met, and Jesse could feel blood rush into his veins, pumping furiously. He could not explain their connection, nor could he give it a try. The thread that wound itself around their souls was light to the touch, and even purer to the effect.

He felt a bat alight on his shoulders. “Took you long enough.”

“I must apologize, my lady. The Unseelie Queen watches over me every night lest I fall into a deathlike trance.”

He felt her flinch. She’d changed back, her soft chestnut-brown hair falling over her frail countenance. His fingers ached to weave themselves in it.

“Not under my watch.” Lucie’s words had a hint of finality, as they always did. Every year, Jesse could remember seeking her help to rid himself of the curse, and every year, he bore the torment of watching her confidence shred into disappointment when the spells failed.

He knew he had to tell her soon. He simply lacked the nerve to do it.

“You were able to steal it, right? The thorn apple?”

Jesse handed over the thorn apple from his suit, and said, “Gwyn had his back turned. It was easy to sneak it out of the room.”

Seeing Lucie’s face light up, he shivered. He had to tell her the truth.

“Then come on. Come with me. The spell works best at midnight.”

~~~

The potion was almost in effect. She sensed the ingredients come together inside the swirl of pink and blue, and she saw the new mix of maroon forming in the middle, like new life springing from her soul.

Vampires were not supposed to perform witches’ tricks. If she were discovered, she would be burned at the stake.

Taking a flask from the table, she picked up some of the fluid and brought it to Jesse’s lips. “Drink,” she said, nudging it against his mouth.

“Lucie, I’m not sure-”

“Trust me. Please.”

There was a tentative flicker of emotions in Jesse’s eyes. She could see it all.

He finally opened his lips, taking the flask from her hand and gulping the potion down. She saw his hands shake slightly as the potion seeped into the poisonous veins in his body, wiping the curse off, wiping every trace of it, every little bit-

Jesse was still the same. Nothing had changed.

“What did I do wrong?” Words left her mouth before she could stay mute. “This was... the last straw. I was hoping I would not have to use the only remaining option.”

“Lucie, stop,” Jesse begged her, gazing into her pale blue eyes with some sort of electrifying intensity. “You have helped give me something to look forward to, and that is like a life to me. I ask you not to attempt anything further. I am ever grateful to you for- for everything.” His voice broke on the last word.

“No.” Lucie cut short his statements. “No, Jesse. My whole life, I have yearned for mysteries - to come past them, to touch them with my hands, to solve them. I am a writer, and life for me is an exciting mystery. When I met you, I knew we were destined to meet. You are that mystery I was always meant to solve. Hence, I cannot let you go so fast. There is one last thing I can do for you, one last trial which can change everything. But as I happen to know, you barely have much time left.”

She ignored the look of horror on his face as he came to the realization. Lucie had always known what would happen. And Lucie had even prepared to do what she would, at that final moment.

It broke her heart then, seeing him so painfully vulnerable. One pounce, and her fangs were sinking into his neck.

~~~

A wayward son. He had always wanted to leave the kingdom and fight. He had seen his people struggle and he had wanted to join them.

And his mother had forbid him to.

He had run away. He had been acquainted with three other faerie knights from the kingdom. One of them had fallen in love with a mundane boy, breaking the rules of the fey. They’d both been buried near the lake of water lilies.

His sister had been young when their mother had bought her, and had begun to torment her mind and soul. He knew he was his sister’s only companion. He would have given his life for her.

Had she lived.

He’d taken her place, bearing her curse. He’d felt his life slipping away before his eyes. Every little movement pained him. Every single emotion broke him.

He had chosen to die. He had gone to the Castle to be killed by enemies. Instead, he had been given a second chance.

A wayward girl. The one who did not pain him. The one who did not break him.

The one he would have to leave someday.

~~~

It still hadn’t worked.

Lucie had no clue what she had been expecting, but this was not it. This, Jesse lying on the floor, his essence leaving him. Her being able to see the floor through his skin. Like it had never been there in the first place.

She could taste something bitter in her mouth. Hot tears mixing with the blood on her fangs. She knew she could not wash away the lingering taste of betrayal and disgust.

She tore her eyes away from the dying prince. She could not bear to watch.

“Did you really think that would work?”

Lucie flinched away as Jesse stood up slowly, giving her a murderous glare. The wounds in his neck had disappeared, but the wounds in his heart would never.“

You cannot change what’s written in the stars, Lady Lucie. And you certainly cannot do to me as you please without my approval.”

“I- I just wanted to keep you here with me-”

“So you would keep me here with you for eternity?” Her head was spinning at Jesse’s thunderous voice. “You would keep me here the way you like? How could you be so selfish, Lucie? I placed all my trust in you.”

She allowed shame to embrace her as she almost fell to the ground in misery. “I am sorry. I am so deeply sorry, Jesse, for I would do anything to keep you. To save your life. The Queen has done you a great wrong, and I must right it. I have to right it. It is only that I love you, Jesse. I cannot bear it if you leave me.”

Her sobs racked her body. She covered her face with her thin fingers, to hide herself from the agonizing view outside.

But suddenly, her hands were torn away from her face. And someone - not someone, it couldn’t be- was drawing her into strong arms, kissing her.

If her heart could beat, she would be dead twice over. Dead in the arms of the one she’d just saved. The irony.

“If only you had told me earlier,” Jesse whispered, pressing his forehead to hers. She felt like they were conjoined, sharing the same thoughts, the same joys and pains. “They say a vampire’s blood can save your life, if they share your promises.”

“What promises?” She now remembered biting her cheek while drinking from Jesse’s neck. Her blood had seeped into his wound.

“Promises of love, lady. You said... you told me something I would not have dared to believe.”

Lucie smiled through her tears. “That I love you? That I desire you? That I lie awake thinking of you every night, waiting for this one day every year? Surely you must have known.”

“I was unaware.” Jesse’s grave voice shook her inside. “I thought I would die loving you in silence.”

“Jesse.” She leaned up to kiss him again, her lips shifting against his, softly, gently, with the touch of a butterfly’s wings. “You are my one true love. There can be no other.”

“As are you. My one true love, Lucie.” He kissed her, kissed her again, kissed her a third and a fourth time, kissed her like it would last a lifetime. And with a jerk, Lucie realised that it really would. Jesse was alive. Jesse was there.

He would live. Not as a vile bloodsucker, but as a prince of the Unseelie. As a prince fit to take over the kingdom from the clutches of his evil mother. He would live a full life, and he would not fade away.

With every touch, he seemed to grow stronger, healthier, fuller.

The curse was truly gone.

~~~

~~~~~

Lucie looked up from the draft on her table, and tore it to shreds. Her heart was aching with some sort of an emotion. She could not quite place a finger on which one it was.

She had been having all sorts of dreams. Wild, extravagant dreams of the queerest kind.

She looked outside her window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the ghost she’d been awaiting.

Not a sign.

She sighed and got back to the Beautiful Cordelia.

She would not allow her imagination to run deep. She would dispel all thoughts from her mind regarding his affections. And yet, her heart would not stop hammering away in her chest.

Hope was a dangerous thing to wish for.

~~~

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