just read your first fic and it was so good! I’ve never actually read the books tho, so I was wondering is the war with Hybern after the events from under the mountain? I’ve been reading acotar fics without knowing what came first lol
Oh you absolutely need to read these books!! Sooo worth it
I took some time off of ACOTAR fic to read some Draco Malfoy fic hahaha but I knew you were going to be writing more of the Az story so I came back and I was not disappointed!! It’s so good and I cannot wait to read more when you write it ❤️❤️
Thank you, love! I have so many ideas, just need the time to write them all 😫
Summary: After Amarantha wounds you in the worst way for an Illyrian, the silence of your mate on the other side of the bond stirs memories of how your relationship began.
Warnings: Brief mentions of blood and wounds. Azriel being an ass in this one. One swear word (I think?) . Also painfully inaccurate to the original storyline.
A/n: Personal life took over, honestly. But I am so insanely excited for this one. I wanted something that would create somewhat of a background story for reader and Azriel's relationship and to kickstart the beginning of UTM. Let me know what you think! Always open to requests on how this series should go, so if you have any suggestions let me know! I'd love to hear them!
***
There was a pull. A gentle one at first, but still, a slight tug at the center of your chest. It seemed to beckon you toward the house.
The feeling was fleeting as the sharp sting of a wooden sword struck the side of your leg.
“Come on, Y/N! You stink at this!” came the voice of your twin brother through the momentary fog. You shook your head to clear it and turned back to him as quickly as your ten year old body would let you.
“Ow, Cassian!” you whined. “That’s not fair!”
You lifted your own toy sword to strike back, but the pull in your chest came again; so sharply this time that you actually stumbled forward. Embarrassingly for you, Cassian had seen it and let out a laugh at your clumsiness.
“What’s wrong with you, Y/N? You’re being weird today. I don’t want to play with you if you’re not going to play right.”
With a mighty leap, you pushed your wings out, catching a few inches of air and effectively pummeling your brother. The two of you rolled around in the dirt and leaves, throwing fake punches at one another and ruining your clean clothes. After a few minutes of play fighting, the two of you sprang apart.
“Ow! You made me cut my hand!” Cassian moaned, turning his palm to face you as a fresh trickle of red blood dripped to the ground. “Fix it!”
You rolled your eyes at your brother and stuck your tongue out at him. “Make me!” With that, you tore into the forest, Cassian fast on your heels.
Quickly approaching the edge of the trees, you risked a peek over your shoulder to see that Cassian was quick and gaining on you. Before you had the chance to turn back around and sprint even quicker, you ran directly into the path of something hard.
You practically bounced off the hard object, hitting the ground with a pile of dust coating you. When you looked up to see what you had run into, you could only stare in horror at the Lord of Windhaven.
“L-Lord Devlon,” you stuttered, shaking where you cowered at his feet. “I’m sorry…I…Cassian was chasing me and I…I didn’t mean to…”
With a large hand, Devlon gripped you by the hair and pulled you to your feet. You let out a soft wince at the pain, knowing better than to cry out. It wasn’t long until Cassian was at your side again.
“Lord Devlon, I’m so sorry, my sister is so clumsy she didn’t-“
But the Lord of Windhaven lifted a hand to Cassian to silence him. With an audible gulp, your twin took a small step back.
“I didn’t see you at training this morning,” Devlon sneered at your brother, his unnatural calm causing goosebumps to prickle along your arms. It was either from that, or the firm grip he kept on the roots of your hair. You didn’t dare squirm, knowing there would be hell to pay if you did.
Redness crept up Cassian’s face at the confrontation. He was so excited to show you everything he’d learned over the last few weeks that you’d both lost track of time and caused him to miss his training schedule.
“Children!” came the soft voice of Rhysand’s mother. She emerged from the shadow of the trees and immediately at the sound of her approaching, Devlon resealed his grip on you. The Lord of Windhaven never took an order from anyone, let alone a female. But even Devlon wasn’t stupid enough to argue with the mate of the High Lord.
“Come meet our new friend,” she continued, gently grasping your hand and pulling you away from the male. Having provided you with shelter when Cassian and you were homeless, she had become something of your own mother. With a quick glared warning at the male, she pulled you and your twin away.
“I’ll see you at training tomorrow, boy,” Devlon called after the three of you, and you felt Cassian shiver in fear at the promise of a torturous session the following day.
When you were finally out of earshot, Rhysand’s mother rounded on the two of you. “Children! You know better than to provoke Lord Devlon. And Cassian, to miss training? I’m very disappointed in you.”
Cassian’s ears reddened in embarrassment, but you were barely listening. The tug in your chest was growing stronger with each step closer to home. You took your free hand, the one that wasn't gripped in the hand of Rhysand’s mother, and rubbed at the center of your chest. The tugging sensation didn’t subside.
Finally, as the trees cleared and your adopted home came into view, you could see Rhysand bouncing excitedly alongside another child relatively the same age.
“Children, this is our new friend.” Rhysand’s mother released you and took a few steps toward the boy whose back was turned to you. “Azriel, dear, won’t you come say hello?”
Azriel turned slowly, hazel eyes downcast and hands clamped tightly behind his back. You noticed small tendrils of smoke floating around his tightly drawn wings.
“I'll leave you four to get acquainted.” Rhysand’s mother took a few steps up toward the house, patting her biological son on the top of his head before turning to you. “Dinner prep in ten minutes, Y/N.”
You nodded, understanding your role as an Illyrian female was to cater to the males, no matter their age.
“Hello,” you whispered to the new boy named Azriel. At the sound of your voice, his eyes snapped to yours. The moment they met, the tug in your chest exploded. You imagined a thread, golden and long, reaching out from the center of your chest toward him.
Before you had the chance to say anything, Rhys began chattering away. “Azriel says he’s never flown before. Can you believe it? An illyrian that’s never flown! I can't wait to show you!” As his childish prattle continued and Azriel’s gaze returned to the ground, you leaned into your twin.
“Cassian,” you whispered, only for him to hear. “I think Azriel will be my mate one day.”
***
You groaned as pain shot down your back. For a brief moment, you opened your eyes. You were laying on your stomach in a bed that wasn’t your own in a room that you didn't recognize. You had just been dreaming, something about the first time you had met Azriel. But before you could reach out toward his side of the bed, you fell back into unconsciousness.
***
“I will come back to you, I promise.” Azriel tightened his arms around you as your silent tears stained his leathers. You shook your head against his chest, refusing to loosen your grip on him.
“You could be killed, Az,” you choked through your tears. “Isn’t there any other way?” You knew that this was a fate you couldn’t change, the Blood Rite being a tradition for centuries, maybe even millennia. There was no changing tradition.
Azriel pried you from himself, pulling your fingers off of his leathers and holding you at arms length. He had to crouch down to be on your level, him being nearly an entire head taller than you. Lacing his fingers through your hair and using his other hand to tilt your chin up, he forced you to make eye contact.
“Listen to me, Y/N,” he began, his hazel eyes practically begging for you to listen. “I will not die out there. Rhys, Cassian, and I will come home. I will come home to you.”
You hiccuped a sob and nodded your head, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling yourself closer. Dropping your foreheads together, you closed your eyes and took a shaking breath. For years you had kept your secret from Azriel. You’re not sure why you wouldn’t tell him that you knew he was your mate. Maybe it was fear of rejection or just bad timing, but you swore to yourself that if he returned from the Blood Rite you would finally share your secret with him.
“I want to…” he whispered, but cut himself off.
You opened your eyes and saw his hazel ones were on you, darting back and forth between your lips and your own eyes.
“I’ve never…” you started but stopped as well, embarrassed to admit you’ve never slept with another person before. To you, there was only Azriel, only your mate, and it was never something you ever gave a second thought to.
But Azriel smirked, dropping his gaze and looking slightly sheepish. “Neither have I,” he whispered back.
Before long, the two of you were tangled in each other’s arms, sheets thrown aside and gasped moans as you frantically fumbled for each other.
When you awoke the next morning, Azriel was gone, as well as every other male Illyrian warrior set to partake in the Blood Rite that week.
***
“Azriel,” you groaned, attempting to shift from your facedown position on the unfamiliar bed beneath you.
“Take it easy, Y/N, you’ve lost a lot of blood.” The voice was familiar, deep, and you cracked an eye open when you felt the cool feeling of a damp cloth slide across your brow.
Except it wasn’t Azriel that wiped at your head. Rhysand kneeled eyelevel at the side of the bed. You could see the multitude of emotions swimming behind his eyes: regret, pain, anxiety, and sadness.
You tried to shift again, but agonizing pain shot down your back. You stifled a scream by practically shoving your face into the pillow. You felt the cool hands of your High Lord tracing shapes across the burning muscles of your back, and the pain slowly ebbed away.
“What happened?”
Rhysand didn’t respond at first. You could tell he was avoiding your gaze and kept his eyes downcast. Cautiously, you craned your head over your shoulder to see what could be causing the burning pain that you felt.
Nausea rolled through your stomach and you felt your vision darkening along the edges at the sight. What was there, or worse, what wasn't there, had you swallowing your bile and jumpstarting your breathing.
“Oh gods,” you croaked, and felt your vision and consciousness failing you again. Right where your once strong and beautiful wings stood were mere gaping holes of blood and raw skin. All traces of what made you Illyrian were gone.
***
You pushed through the crowd, searching frantically for the one male you longed to see. A week away from him was entirely too long; not knowing if he was dead or alive had made the time away even more difficult.
Pushing through unwashed Illyrian bodies, you eyed every one you passed. Having just returned from the Blood Rite, the throng of people was thicker than ever. Some warriors were triumphant, slapping each other on the back and loudly sharing their stories of revenge and kills. Some were injured, quickly being carried away to the healing tent - a place where you knew you were supposed to be at this very moment to await their return. You couldn’t help yourself, though. All week you had imagined this moment: telling Azriel your secret and reuniting in a world of bliss, happiness, and happily ever after.
After a few minutes, you spotted three familiar faces. You signed a breath of relief. A quick scan of the three showed minor scrapes and bruising, but no life-threatening injuries.
“Azriel! Cassian! Rhys!” you called from across the sea of people. Knowing their fae hearing would pick up your call, three pairs of eyes shot in your direction. But there was only one pair of hazel that you immediately locked on to. Setting into a run, you flung your arms around your mate, the sheer force of your body forcing him to stumble a step back.
“What, no hugs for your own flesh and blood?” Cassian grumbled from behind you.
You ignored him, nuzzling your face into Azriel’s chest, reveling in the familiar scent that washed over you. Albeit, a bit stale and dirty, but still familiar all the same.
“Az, I was so worried about you,” you breathed into his skin.
Instead of responding, Azriel just cleared his throat and peeled you off of him, this time settling you a few feet away and taking a step back.
“Right,” he responded, avoiding your gaze.
The joy you had felt at seeing him return safely fizzled in your chest and went out, replaced now by anxiety and confusion. A quick glance at Rhys and Cassian showed the two males were equally confused. However, Azriel offered no further explanation.
A crushing squeeze from your twin and a soft hug from Rhysand later, you ushered the two home to bathe, rest, and eat for the remainder of the day.
“I’ve left plenty of food in the kitchen,” you called to them as they turned to leave. “Just leave some for your brother, too!” The two waved over their shoulders as they set off toward home, indicating they had heard you but giving no promises that there would be anything left for the third male in their trio.
You turned back to Azriel, who stood in the same spot, still avoiding eye contact at all cost.
“Az,” you began, taking a step toward him and reaching out your hand to grasp his. He flinched at the movement and looked around wildly, almost as if he was hoping no one had seen your attempt to touch him. He quickly pulled away and folded his hands behind his back and out of your reach. You dropped your arm and felt the pang of rejection shoot through you. “Are you okay?” you asked.
“We need to talk,” he muttered but said no more.
“Yes,” you agreed, your voice now quiet and small. “We do need to talk.”
You waited a few moments where the two of you stood there in silence, neither one willing to begin the conversation. You wondered if he knew, if Cassian had told him that you were his mate. Cassian was, afterall, the only one who knew your secret, and you couldn’t imagine what a week of surviving in the wilderness brought out of people.
As you opened your mouth to confess your secret, Azriel opened his, too. For a heartbeat you both stood there, mouths open, poised to speak your truths.
You quickly closed yours and motioned a hand to him. “You go first,” you said, secretly grateful you had a few more moments to regroup your thoughts.
“I can’t give you what you want,” Azriel admitted, finally locking his gaze with yours. When you didn’t respond, he seemed to gain his confidence and continued his explanation. “I know what you want from me, and I can’t give it to you. I spent the entire week out there thinking about you and begging the Mother to bring me back to you. But the Blood Rite changes people, Y/N. Cassian, Rhys, and I - we made it to the top. We reached the summit and touched the monolith first.” He paused, brushing a hand through his hair before running it down his face and letting out a huff of frustration as he attempted to explain how he felt.
“I have a role to play in this camp. In this army. I can prove myself here, and I can’t focus on that if you’re…” he hesitated, seemingly trying to find the words that expressed exactly what he was trying to say.
But you didn’t need him to finish. You understood loud and clear what he was trying to say. He didn’t know the truth of the mating bond. Cassian had stayed true to his promise to keep it a secret until you were ready to reveal it to your mate. What Azriel was admitting to you was worse. Much worse than you ever could have expected.
“You’re breaking up with me?” you asked, holding back the tears that threatened to spill over.
“Am I, though?” he said, one eyebrow shooting up in question. “I mean, we’ve always been friends and you were a good fuck, but I’d hardly say we were together.”
His words sliced through you worse than any blade could ever have done. You took an involuntary step back. You pushed the tears down completely, resolving not to cry in front of him and humiliate yourself even further.
“I’m sorry, Y/N, but this is how I feel. I have the opportunity to make something of myself for the first time in my life. I can’t risk losing that.”
You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. It was your turn to avoid eye contact and you looked anywhere but at the face of your oblivious, beautiful, cruel mate.
He sighed and reached a hand out to you. The mountains and valleys of his skin intertwined with your own fingers. He gave your hand a tight squeeze in an attempt to relay his apology.
“What were you going to tell me?” he asked. You could tell he was finished with the conversation, wanting nothing more than to escape your presence.
You shoved the mating bond aside, vowing to yourself never to open it again. You didn’t know if you could stand another second of Azirel’s emotions rushing into your soul unbeknownst to him. Pulling your hand out of his, you took a step back, hardening your heart to the man you had come to love more than you ever thought possible.
“I’ve had a job offer as a personal healer to Rhysand’s father,” you said. “He offered me a place in his court. I’ve accepted the offer.” It was a lie. You did have a job offer from the High Lord, but you had planned to reject it in lieu of the mating bond. But as that future seemed to be a distant hope now, you knew that staying in Windhaven was no longer an option. You intended to write to the High Lord tonight and travel to Velaris in the morning for your new post.
Azriel smiled, a tight incline of his lips that never reached his eyes. “That’s great, Y/N. I’m so happy for you.”
“Right,” you said, repeating his words back to him.
***
Rhysand was cleaning your wounds as best he could with the limited supplies he had, which was virtually nothing. A few buckets of clean water and strips of his undershirt he had torn apart to dress your back.
“How did you heal me?” you asked. Rhys had magnificent healing powers, ones that practically rivaled your own. But you knew, from the moment that Amarantha’s wine touched your lips, you had both been rendered magic-less.
“I made a deal with her,” he responded, pressing the clean rags into your back and mopping up the blood that had freshly oozed from them. He took a moment to roll up his sleeve and show you the fresh swirling tattoo that encircled the entirety of his left wrist. “In return, she gave me a fraction of my powers. Just enough to ensure you wouldn’t die.”
You reached your arm out to touch your fingertips to his new tattoo when you hesitated. Glancing at your own extended wrist, you saw that you bore twin markings.
“What was the bargain?” you asked, dread flooding your body now that you had discovered that somehow, you were involved.
But he shook his head, tucking your arm back in the blankets and pushing his sleeve back down. “Not now. I don’t want to talk about it now.”
Finishing his work on your back, you felt the mattress dip as he sat beside you. “Are you going to tell me about Azriel?”
Grief flooded you. You reached out across the bond and tugged as hard as you could, harder than you ever had before. But once again, that golden thread led into nothing but darkness and silence.
And so, you told Rhysand everything.
Words and tears came pouring out of you. You told Rhys about the day you met Azriel, how you had felt the mating bond snap at ten years old. You told him about losing your virginity and the heartbreak that led to your employment in Velaris. You told him the story of how Azriel had found out about the mating bond, when it had snapped for him, and the betrayal he felt of being left in the dark. You talked about your private mating ceremony, the frenzy, and the years the two of you snuck around, vowing to each other never to reveal your secret.
When you finished, Rhysand contemplated your story. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
You sighed, knowing this part of the conversation was unavoidable. “Cassian knew,” you offered, knowing it would add nothing to your explanation.
“Why not tell me? Or Mor? To keep it a secret even from us; that seems extreme and honestly, a little hurtful. Two of my best friends have been sneaking around behind my back and the third had known all along. It’s hard to be the last one finding out.”
“I’m sorry, Rhys.” you shifted in the bed, uncomfortable from laying on your belly for so long. You reached a hand out to his, lacing your fingers together and staring at the twin tattoos that bound you together. “Azriel has a lot of enemies. Being a Spymaster comes with a lot of risk. We both knew that if the world had found out about us, my life would have been in danger. We thought we were doing what was best by keeping it a secret. Azriel said he would never be able to sleep at night, or go away on assignments, knowing I was at risk.”
Rhysand nodded, squeezing his fingers tightly around yours. “I understand now. I’m sorry you felt like you had to keep it a secret. I’m the one that puts Azriel on dangerous missions. I’m the one that asks him to… take care of the prisoners. I never thought these things would be such a hindrance in his life.”
“No, Rhys,” you assured him. “Az would do anything for you. He loves you. If anything, our secret was proof of his undying loyalty to you and your court.”
The two of you sat in silence together, grateful that if you had to be stuck as a prisoner to Amarantha and her sick, twisted, fate, you were at least stuck together.
“I promise,” Rhys began, “I will return you to Velaris. I will return you to your mate, no matter what it takes.”
Summary: It’s your turn to find the silence deafening.
Warnings: Short section of spiciness, but definitely not smutty. Also, you can pry the angst from my cold, dead, hands. Give me all the angst. Also painfully inaccurate to the original storyline.
A/n: Sorry it took so long! I’m obsessed with making everything perfect. Enjoy! Let me know what you think and what else you want to see.
“I have one for you too, Y/N.”
You looked up from where you were leaning against the wall at the back of Rhys’s office. Everyone’s eyes were on you and you could have sworn that Azriel, who was leaning against the wall next to you, had stopped breathing all together.
“Me?” you asked, confused.
Rhys only nodded, holding the invitation out further in his outstretched hand. You shuffled your way forward, Mor and Amren stepping aside to give you space. When you finally reached his desk and gripped the letter, you gave it a swift tug, but Rhys didnt let go. The two of you stood there for a moment, hands attached to the letter in a quiet tug-of-war over his desk. You caught eyes with the High Lord. They seemed to say be careful before he finally released the envelope.
Worry hummed across the bond, mixing with yours and sitting in the pit of your stomach. Turning back toward your spot in the back of the room, you risked a quick glance up to Azriel and saw concern plain on his face.
“Watch your face,” you reminded him in his mind and he quickly returned to his stoic, unreadable expression. “Wouldn’t want to blow our secret over a silly invitation, would you?” You tried to keep the conversation light and carefree, but it was difficult when dread had crept into your mind. If Azriel felt your nervousness, he didn't acknowledge it.
“You know,” he replied, “I’ve been rethinking keeping this a secret. Don’t you think it’s time they knew?”
“But it’s so much fun sneaking around.”
You could feel Azriel’s metaphorical eye roll through the bond and suppressed a chuckle while you took your place back against the wall. “I just thought it would be nice after keeping it a secret for nearly 400 years. But we can talk about this later. Open the letter so I can read it, too.”
You did as he asked, slipping your finger under the delicate fold of the envelope and pulling at the wax seal until it released with a pop. Slipping the invitation nestled inside, you turned it around so as to read the looped cursive sprawled in fluorescent gold ink across the page. You felt Azriel shuffle closer to get a better opportunity to read over your shoulder.
Y/N,
It is with great pleasure that we request your presence at the Masquerade Ball hosted by her majesty, Queen Amarantha of Under the Mountain. Please kindly reply within a fortnight. Punctuality is of the utmost importance.
“I don’t like the look of this,” came the voice of your mate in your head.
***
“How do I look?”
Azriel’s eyes snapped up from the book he was reading and instantly dragged themselves across your body. A groan from deep in his chest vibrated through the room and you were hit with a wave of arousal across the bond.
“Down boy,” you teased, stepping toward the vanity at the corner of the room to touch up your makeup. You felt Azriel’s eyes glued to you as you moved. Your dress, dark and revealing, was something Rhys insisted you wore to the party. You were used to outfits like this, the fabric accentuating your full hips and showing off your years and years of hard training. It reached up over the curve of your breasts and plummeted, reaching nearly low enough to expose your belly button. The Night Court demanded respect from those outside the bubble that was Velaris, and your High Lord chose to express the Inner Circle’s blind confidence through dress.
“Gods, if I knew you were going to wear that I would have argued with Rhys more to let me accompany you two.”
You sat at the vanity and reapplied your lipstick. From over your bare left shoulder came a lone tendril of Azriel’s shadows. It snaked along the curve of your collarbone and circled around your neck a few times before settling itself snuggly around your throat like the most priceless of necklaces.
A shiver went through you as the shadow gave a gentle squeeze. “Honestly, I’m surprised he didn’t insist on you and Cassian to join us. You’d have thought he would use this opportunity to show off the strength of the Night Court to the other courts.”
Quiet as his shadows himself, Azriel’s large fingers slowly replaced the wisp of temporary jewelry. It dissipated at its master’s touch, and his hand gently, but firmly, tilted your head back so as to give him better access to the pulse point currently beating wildly at your neck. His lips brushed over the shell of your ear and you let out a soft moan.
“I’d like to see you out of that dress,” he whispered against your skin.
Your throat bobbed as you swallowed hard at his words. A quick nip at your skin had you gasping out a response. “I can’t,” you managed. “Rhys will be here any second.”
Azriel trailed a rough calloused finger along the membrane of your wing and you felt a flush of desire and pleasure run through your body. The need for him flowed through your veins and it seeped deep into your bones. He could tell your willpower was faltering. Every emotion and neediness that you felt was pouring through the bond into his own soul.
“So tell him you’re not ready yet. I won’t take long.” Another nip at your skin, this time at the cleavage of your breast, had you nearly giving in. Your eyes fluttered closed and your chest heaved as he peppered kisses along your neck. But before you could utter another word, there was a knock at the door.
“Y/N?” came the voice of your High Lord. “Are you ready?”
Knowing neither of you could actually delay your departure, you sprung apart. Jumping up so quickly, you felt your chair tipping backward, only to be caught by one of Azriel’s shadows.
“One minute!” You called through the door and turned back to your mate.
“You have to go,” you whispered in a rush, quickly grabbing your bag from the bed and your shoes from their place beside the closet. “You’re not supposed to be in here!”
In your frantic dash across the room to retrieve your items, Azriel gripped your shoulders, halting you. His lips crashed into yours, passionate, hungry, and hurried. It left you breathless and you gasped for air as he pulled back, traces of your lipstick staining his own lips.
“Later, Shadowsinger,” you whispered as you reached up on tiptoe to place your lips against his again, more gently this time.
“I’ll meet you at the exit to say goodbye with the others,” he said into your mind and, stepping into a swirl of mist and shadow, he was gone.
***
“Az, the Autumn brothers are here.” Across the bond, you felt Azriel perk up. He must have been focused on something, perhaps reading a report or reviewing paperwork for his next mission. But at the sound of your voice in his head, you could feel his attention shifting to your gossip.
“Did they dress up?” he asked. “Please tell me Eris came as something ridiculous. Like a chicken or something.”
“Gods, no.” You suppressed a smile and glanced over at the heir to Autumn Court. The only costume he wore was his flaming red hair and permanent scowl on his face.
“Actually,” you continued across the bond, “It looks like Rhys and I aren’t the only ones who refused to dress up. In fact, the only ones who have costumes are the Spring Court.”
Amarantha was saying something, servants coming around to pass out wine in goblets that rivaled the finery of Rhy’s own private collection. You took one without thinking but hesitated before taking a sip. You recalled the words toast and finest wine coming from your hosts lips at some point. When your High Lord, who hadn’t left your side all night, didn’t drink from his yet, you followed his lead.
You barely paid attention all night, anyway. One arm constantly linked into your High Lord’s, you had to play the part of the mysterious, ruthless, second-in-command of the Night Court. Not many outside of Velaris knew much about you, except that you were an exceptional healer and twin the Night Court General. You played the role Rhys had expected you to, and Gods, did you play it well. Not a male in the room could take their eyes off of you, with your long flowing hair, curvy, yet muscular, body, and strong, unclipped Illyrian wings.
But frequently, you found your thoughts drifting back to your mate and the strong fingers you had wrapped around your throat a few hours ago. You hoped they would find their home there again upon your return to The House of Wind later tonight.
A wave of arousal hit you that wasn’t entirely your own and you realized Azriel must be having the same thoughts.
“Having fun without me, Shadowsinger?”
“Just remembering you in that dress,” came Azriel’s voice, low and sultry. “And all the ways I could take it off of you later.” You nearly choked on the breath you took. Rhys cast you a look out of the side of his eye, but you ignored it because Azriel was still speaking.
“Or maybe you can leave the dress on. It doesn’t offer much coverage, anyway.” His voice was growing darker, deeper, and more sensual with every word. “Or maybe the heels. Just the heels.”
You shook your head to clear it, attempting to focus on whatever Amarantha was saying in her toast. Wealth… happiness… friendship… blah blah blah. You ignored her sentences, picking up only on a few words. You did manage to make out her command to drink! before you caught eyes with Rhys. They portrayed something you couldn’t quite read. Sadness? Regret? You must have missed a part of her speech that was important.
Deciding to ask him about it later, you took a swig of your glass along with all the others in the chamber. The wine was sweet, thick like honey, and coated your throat on its way down. In fact, you felt it coating your entire body like a warm blanket. It worked its way into your bones and after a few moments of warmth, you felt the feeling turn to ice.
Icy tendrils shot through your limbs and you ruffled your wings to try and dispel the feeling. But it only became stronger and stronger until finally you felt a deep, soul crushing, emptiness. Quick as it began, the feeling was gone, and with it, the hum of the bond in your chest.
“Azriel?” you called to him. But no response came. Panic seized you and you clutched at your chest with your free hand, your other wrapping tighter around the arm of your High Lord. He was turning toward you now, saying something, but you ignored him. In fact, the entire chamber had erupted into chaos. Voices were all around you, angry and yelling. But the one voice you called for again and longed to hear was silent.
You didn’t know what it felt like to have a bond that was closed. You only knew that this was far, far worse.
“Y/N.” The sound of your name jolted you from your panicked soul searching. You looked up, catching eyes with the High Lord.
“Azriel,” you whispered out loud to him.
“What?” He asked, hands on either one of your shoulders, steadying you.
“Azriel,” you repeated to him. “He’s my mate.” The truth came tumbling out of you. The secret the two of you had kept for 400 years suddenly seemed foolish.
Rhys shook his head, not understanding your words. “Your mate?” He asked, confused. “For how long? Does he know?”
You nodded, tears suddenly filling your eyes. You pushed against the golden thread that tethered the two of you together, but it only ended in darkness. “We’ve been mates for nearly 400 years. We’ve kept it a secret for… oh Gods, Rhys, what has she done?”
He opened his mouth to respond, but quickly snapped it closed. He looked over your shoulder and you whirled, finding Amarantha standing there.
“Oh, my dears,” she began, her voice scraping across your ears like nails against stone. “The two of you are just lovely, aren’t you?”
If you still plan on writing for Casian's sister au, could you please do one where they reunite after her and Rhys are under the mountain? Either pov 👉🏼👈🏼
Definitely on my to-do but I think I wanna do a few UTM fics first. Now are we thinking angsty reunion or fluffy? Because I have an idea for both 🤔
Summary: When you get stuck Under the Mountain, your mate finds the sudden silence deafening.
Warnings: none!
a/n: Based on an anonymous request! Requests are so fun! I love exploring ideas I never would have thought of. Keep them coming! This all takes place within the same AU where reader and Azriel kept their relationship secret from the IC (besides Cassian).
Azriel's POV
The silence was deafening. Never in the last 450 years had he felt such empty silence. The bond was never closed.
But now it was silent and cold. The golden thread that joined him to you floated from the middle of his chest, right at the center of his soul, into nothing. He pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes, rubbing until he saw stars, willing this to be a dream he would wake up from. But Azriel knew better than to think this was a dream. He never slept anyway.
“Keep Velaris safe,” Rhys’ voice had said. “And don’t come after us.”
Rhys’ voice was calm, yet commanding. It was the demand of a High Lord: something Azriel physically couldn’t ignore.
At first, he didn’t understand the command. What did he mean, don’t come after us? Keep Velaris safe? You and Azriel had just been having a mental conversation, gossiping over the abhorrent fashion of the Autumn brothers, when Rhys’ voice interrupted you mid-sentence.
But when Azriel reached back out to you to ask what the warning meant, he was met only with the thick, suffocating silence.
The bond was never closed. It stayed open when you were hard at work: treating the injured, delivering babies, or easing the pain of Illyrians’ clipped wings. It stayed open when you were angry, or sad, after an argument, especially if you wanted him to feel particularly bad about it afterward.
The bond was never closed. Not when he went on missions for weeks at a time. Not even when he dragged Rhys’ prisoners to the dungeons of the Hewn City and did unspeakable things. You were his comfort. Your shared emotions were what grounded him, reminded him that life was worth living. They were a constant in his life, as effortless to absorb as breathing.
You had become his inner voice; his conscience. His reminder that he wasn’t the villain of this story. Now that it was gone, he wasn’t sure.
For 450 years, the bond was never closed, a vow the two of you had made when you accepted the mating bond. But now, that silence was louder than any battle or war he had ever partaken in.
The memory of when he had found out you were mates played in his head. Azriel couldn’t keep the memory from flooding into his mind and the guilt that came along with it every time he remembered.
You, covered in blood that wasn’t your own, watching him with worry in your eyes.
“How long have you known?” He remembers asking, venom lacing every word he spat at you. He was angry and embarrassed; how could he have missed all the signs? How could you keep such an important, life altering secret from him? He couldn’t show that embarrassment, couldn’t show weakness, especially not to you. So he chose anger instead.
“Since the day we met,” you replied, taking a step and trying to close the gap between the two of you. Instinctively, Azriel took a step back, the shock turning his embarrassment to shame and anger to rage.
“I was eleven when we met, Y/N,” he hissed, implying the absurdity of the time frame. Nearly a century of his fate was kept a mystery to him. Cassian had joined them at that point, pointedly observing that Azriel wasn’t taking the news well. A thought surfaced in his mind. Turning to Cassian, he has to refrain from advancing on his longest friend. “And how long have you known?” Cassian’s silence was the only answer he needed.
Azriel shook his head to clear it, choosing not to remember how you cried at the way he turned away and left you with your heart in his hands, just for him to crush it.
It all made sense after your confession. He never understood why you insisted on being childhood friends. He was broken and lonely and disowned by his own family, but you had always shown true kindness and friendship. As you grew together, you slowly evolved into innocent adolescence first loves, and eventually adult lovers. It wasn’t until your untimely move from Illyria to Velaris to work for the late High Lord that Azriel never saw you again. That is, until the first war with Hybern and your admission of the truth.
After Azriel had recovered from the initial anger and shock, your best kept secret had become a shared secret as the two of you accepted the bond. He still remembers the first time he heard your voice in his head. Your lovely, soft voice that wrapped around his mind like the sweetest honey.
“Old age getting to you?” You teased as Azriel took what looked like a painful blow to the stomach from Rhys during training.
He was so taken aback by your voice that he even turned to you, thinking you had said it out loud. But you weren’t looking at him; you had your back turned in a combat sequence with your brother.
The momentary lapse rewarded him with another hit from Rhys, this time on the side of the head.
“Everything alright, brother?” Rhys asked, concern flooding his voice.
But Azriel only smirked and turned back to his brother to begin again.
“You’ll pay for that later, love” he responded through the bond and could have sworn that he saw you falter in your training from his peripheral vision.
How could he have let this happen? How could he have not foreseen that you would be taken from him? A mysterious invitation calling for the High Lord and his second in command to attend a party Under the Mountain? What kind of Spymaster couldn’t ascertain the danger that now all-consumed the other half of his soul?
Azriels felt something hit his knees, the sting traveling up to make his teeth chatter. He pulled his hands away from his eyes and saw that he had fallen to the ground of the Townhouse. Cassian quickly knelt in front of him, gripping his shoulders to keep him from total collapse.
Azriel stared at Cassian and saw his lips moving rapidly, but no words came out. He furrowed his brows in confusion. What was he trying to tell him?
In fact, Azriel heard no sound at all besides the buzzing silence in his ears and his own mind hurling insult after insult of his own sad excuse of being a mate.
But wait…that was it. Cassian had turned to the others and Azriel was able to read the words on his lips as he spoke to the remaining Inner Circle in the room: She’s his mate.
All at once, too many voices spoke and the sounds came rushing back to Azriel. As if he would keep him from dissolving through the floor, he gripped onto his found brother for dear life.
“Cassian,” Azriel groaned, finding his voice at last. “Cassian, she’s gone. I can’t feel her.”
Warning: Painfully inaccurate to the original storyline.
a/n: Part three of I Can't Lose Him! Let me know if you'd like to hear more about the pair!
The commotion in the tent gets louder as you rush toward it. There’s an argument happening inside, and the sound of shattering glass reaches your ears. It isn’t until you hear Nesta shout at Azriel to “Sit down!” that you realize you’ve left the two most stubborn fae in all of Prythian alone together.
When you whip the tent flap open, you’re met with a dizzying scene.
Azriel, leg still splinted straight and right arm bandaged tightly to his torso, has a white knuckle grip on the wooden chair beside the bed. It groans under the pressure as he puts all of his weight on it to help him stand. Nesta, however, is attempting to form a human shield, with two hands splayed on his chest, attempting to push him back down to the bed.
“Damn it, Azriel, sit down! You’re half dead; do you want to be all dead?” Nesta pushes with all of her strength, but even injured, centuries of training is not lost on the Shadowsinger as he refuses to be forced down. Clearly, the two have not heard you enter the tent, as their arguing only continues.
“Tell me where she is, Nesta,” Azriel hisses through clenched teeth, trying to ignore the pain that you’re sure is ravaging his body.
“Y/N is going to kill you herself when she finds you out of bed. Plus you’ve smashed the pain tonic. Now for the last time: Sit. Down. Right. Now.” Nesta pushed with each word, anger lacing her voice, but still, your mate would not relent.
“I don’t care if Cassian is with her, tell me where she is. Knowing him, she’s probably worse off than being alone.”
“What is going on in here?” you shout, rushing to Azriel’s side. “Are you insane, Az? Sit down before you rip your stitches out!”
Both Nesta and Azriel instantly stop their arguing at the sound of your voice. The hazel eyes that meet yours were ablaze with worry and confusion, but instantly soften to relief when he sees you.
“Thank the gods,” Nesta said, dropping her arms to her sides and stepping away from Azriel. “You have the most possessive and unreasonable mate in existence.”
“Oh, like yours is any better,” you joke, convincing Azriel to at least sit on the side of the bed for the time being.
If Nesta was affected at all by your words, she didn’t let on, her face as neutral as ever. “He’s not my mate,” she deadpanned.
You felt a smile working its way into your mouth and you quickly turned away so she wouldn’t see. “Sure he isn’t, Nesta,” you replied, amused by both her’s and your brother’s blatant ignorance. You winked at Azriel, hoping to lighten the mood and reference the countless times the two of you had whispered about Nesta and Cassian. But your attempt at making the joke was met with a look of displeasure from your mate.
“Are you going to tell me where you were? Why did you swear Nesta to secrecy?” Azriel interjected, his eyes boring into you with frustration and pain.
You signed. “Honestly, I’d rather not,” you replied, pushing his dark hair away from his sweat soaked forehead.
“Rhys and Cassian took her to Devlon’s tent to heal him.”
“What?!” Azriel made to stand again but you pushed him back down with one hand on each shoulder. Centuries of training hadn’t been lost on you either, despite your exhaustion.
“Nesta!”
“See you later,” she said, fake innocence in her voice as revenge for calling Cassian her mate. She flipped her braid over her shoulder and spun away to leave, pushing the tent flaps open and closed with more force than seemed necessary.
“Why would you do that for Devlon?” Azriel asked, eyes roaming over you for signs of the Lord of Windhaven and his less than respectful approach to Illyrian females.
“Relax, Az, he barely tolerated me near him, let alone him wanting to touch me.” You took this opportunity to get Azriel back into bed, swinging his legs up and helping him reposition himself. “Besides, Cassian and Rhys were with me. Cassian almost ripped his head off for much less.”
He chose not to respond, instead closing his eyes and taking deep, calming breaths.
“Why didn’t you take the pain tonic I left for you?” you asked, already knowing the answer. It was at your feet, the bottle shattered in a million pieces and the liquid seeping into the dirt floor.
“I’m fine,” was his only response. Stupid, prideful, Illyrian baby, you thought.
Digging through your medical bag, you found another tonic and touched it to his lips, encouraging him to drink. But the moment you brought it to his mouth, he pulled his head away, refusing to drink it.
“Don’t make me force feed you, Az. I need to check your stitches,” you warned, hoping it would convince him to drink it.
“No.”
“Don’t be stupid, it will help you.”
“Why did you close your side of the bond?” he asked, opening his eyes and cocking an eyebrow in your direction. You were taken aback by the sudden change in topic. You turned away and placed the tonic on the side table with a quiet clink before sitting on the side of the bed, admitting defeat.
“I didn’t want you to know where I was in case you woke up. I know how much you hate Devlon. But obviously that didn’t work out as I planned.”
“You never close your side of the bond. I thought something had happened to you. And then when I woke up, Nesta was there, not you. She refused to tell me where you were or what happened. I tried to reach out, but you were completely closed off to me. I thought… I thought something…” he stopped, his good arm flying up to the stitches on his side and hissing in pain.
You reached for the pain tonic, and this time, you gripped his chin and tipped it inside his mouth. “Drink it,” you demanded. With a swift bob of his Adam’s apple and quick dart of his tongue across his bottom lip, you were satisfied.
The two of you sat quietly for a few moments, Azriel’s confession laying heavily in the air between you. After what felt like forever, you knew you were going to have to be the one to break the silence. Azriel was, afterall, a spymaster for a reason.
“I was scared,” you admitted, dropping your gaze to your hands. “You fell 200 feet out of the sky. When you were first hurt, I thought I was going to lose you. And then you were screaming. I had never heard that sound come out of you before in my entire life. I had both my arms inside your chest, Az. I had to cut you open while you screamed for me to stop. I couldn’t be your mate in those moments; I couldn’t hold your hand and tell you it was going to be alright. I couldn’t send comfort through the bond. At that moment, all I could do was scream at Cassian to hold you still while I butchered you.” You turned your hands over and stared at your palms, remembering the blood you had to wash off of them after you had finished putting him back together. “I had both my hands inside your chest,” you repeated, trailing off into a whisper.
“You promised me,” you continued, allowing the vulnerability to become present in your voice. Your eyes were rimmed with wetness as you thought of how close to death your mate had been. “You promised you’d come back to me.”
“Technically,” Azriel started, reaching a scarred hand up to brush a piece of hair out of your face. He cupped your cheek and pulled your gaze away from your hands and back to his eyes. The mountains and valleys of his scarred skin felt comforting and familiar. “Technically, I kept my promise. There were just a few bumps along the way.”
You blinked, letting out a weak laugh and let the tears flow over. You leaned your forehead to his and closed your eyes, inhaling his familiar scent. Opening your side of the bond, you felt a wave of emotions wash over you from him. Love and appreciation filled your soul, spreading from the center of your chest where the golden thread that connected the two of you were joined.
“Don’t ever do that to me again.”
“I’m sorry, love,” Azriel said, lacing his fingers through your hair and holding you to him. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
For a few moments, the two of you stayed like that, soaking in the rare time alone together. It wasn’t until he shifted in the bed again that you pulled back, wiping your tears and getting up to check on how he was healing.
“Oh gods,” Azriel groaned. “I feel like the morning after Cassian’s birthday at Rita’s.”
You let out a laugh, still choked with leftover tears, but felt yourself send a jolt of amusement through the bond unintentionally.
“Hey! That’s my birthday too, you know,” you joked, unwrapping the splint that held his leg tightly in place. His fae healing truly was remarkable. You were able to bend his leg up to his chest, still being careful of the damaged lung and healing stitches underneath the dressing wrapped around his torso.
“Yeah but you’re not the one insisting I keep drinking.” He grunted through the stretches, allowing you to rotate his hip out, around, and back a few times.
You shrugged, a smile spreading across your face. “No one ever said you had to drink them. You could just dump them and tell Cassian they were delicious.”
His eyes narrowed at the suggestion. “And is that what you do? Because I seem to remember that for the past few centuries, you've been roaring drunk on your birthday. Last year you refused to come home with me because you thought I was a random stranger trying to pick you up for a one-night-stand.”
You threw your head back in a boisterous laugh, remembering how you woke up with a horrible hangover and found Azriel asleep on the floor at the foot of the bed. A smile spread across your mate’s face at the sight of your joy, despite your fingers massaging deep into the tissues of his leg to work out any lingering pain.
You worked your thumbs into the muscles of his thigh and swore the moan of relief that left Azriel’s lips stirred something deep in your belly. You shook the feeling off and kept going.
“Should I mention some of the times you’ve drank too much? How about that time Rhys kept buying you shots and you kissed me in front of all of Rita’s, almost blowing our secret of nearly 300 years?”
Azriel smiled and you felt the memory wash across the bond. The vision of you giving into the kiss before hastily reminding yourself that your match was supposed to be a secret, played in your mind. Thankfully Cassian, the only other person besides you and Azriel that knew about the mating bond, faked the possessive brother act, pushing Azriel off of you and dragging him outside where, instead of telling him off like everyone thought, had actually dunked his head in the icy barrel of rainwater to help him work off the alcohol.
You gasped in surprise and shook your head to clear your mind of Azriel’s memory. “You never told me he dunked you underwater. No wonder why you came back soaking wet. Cassian said you fell face first into the Sidra!”
Azriel rolled his eyes. “Of course he did, that bastard.”
After a quick peek at the stitches along his left flank and a thorough stretching of his right shoulder, you flopped yourself onto the bed beside him. Exhaustion washed over you again and you felt Azriel’s concern flood your senses. You ignored it, instead choosing to wrap a blanket around yourself and close your eyes. Shuffling closer to your mate, you came as close as you dared without worrying about hurting him.
You felt a scarred hand thread through your hair to scratch at your scalp. A pair of lips touched your forehead and your mate’s voice sounded deep in your ears. “Sleep, love. I’ll be right here.”
Without another word, you fell headfirst into a deep, undisturbed sleep.
Summary: After spending a horrible day patching your mate together, you just wanted to sit by his side, but Rhys has other plans for you.
Warning: Medical treatment, needles, Devlon being a jerk (let me know if I missed anything!) Painfully inaccurate to the original plot.
a/n: This is part two to I Can't Lose Him! I plan to make a Part Three with much more Azriel in it. Let me know if that's something you would like to see! Anyone interested in a universe about Cassian's twin/Azriel's mate??
His gentle breathing and dreamless sleep, thanks to Rhys, ebbed and flowed across the bond. Like the waves of the Sidra along the shore, the peacefulness was comforting. You felt your eyelids growing heavy while you listened to his breathing; sleep claimed you for the first time in nearly two days.
The quiet didn’t last long as you jolted awake when almost immediately after closing your eyes, you heard a whisper of your name inside your mind. Your eyes shot open and you sat upright in your chair at the intrusion in your head. Your eyes quickly assessed your tent.
Azriel lay asleep soundly in the makeshift bed before you. His right arm was settled again, tied in a sling to support the once dislocated joint. Patches of gauze covered the many stitches that you had sewn to put his membranous wings back together. His leg, once shattered and ruined, was put back together like a puzzle, resting in a splint and arrow straight. You could see the gauze wrapped tightly around his torso that Majda and you had done to dress the wound that had both your arms in Azriel’s chest just hours ago. You shuttered at the memory and moved on.
Across the bed, in another chair on the other side of your mate, sat your twin brother, Cassian. Head fallen back and mouth open, Cassian was deep in sleep, his light snores filling the otherwise silent tent.
Continuing your observation, you looked to the entrance of the tent and saw Rhys and Nesta at its entrance. The voice that had called your name in your mind belonged to your High Lord. Your mental shields must have slipped in your exhausted state, and checking them now, it was confirmed that you were struggling to keep them up, just as you were struggling to keep your eyes open.
You sighed at the sight of the two, nestling yourself back into the chair. You pulled the blanket around you tighter and closed your eyes again. Without opening them, you spoke to the two hovering by the entrance.
“I haven’t slept in days, Rhys. You woke me up.” You focused again on the gentle sway along the bond and felt sleep nipping at the edges of your mind. When Rhys spoke again, he pulled you back to the surface of consciousness.
“It’s been a long day for all of us, Y/N,” Rhys responded, hesitating briefly before he went on. His hesitation made you crack one eye open and focus it on him. Noting the slight furrow between his brow, you knew his decision to interrupt your vigil over your sleeping mate didn’t come lightly. Nesta had migrated over to Cassian, waking him up and urging him to listen to what Rhys had to say next.
“It’s been a long day for all of us,” he said again, swallowing thickly as if the next words were getting caught in his throat. “I need you for one more thing.”
You sighed and opened both eyes this time, turning away from your High Lord and focusing them on Azriel’s face. “Haven’t I done enough today?”
“Yes,” Rhys agreed, but instead of turning to leave through the tent flaps and allow you to continue your silent watch, you heard his boots crunch over the ground, bringing him closer to you. When you turned to look back at him, he was eye level, one leg kneeling to bring him down to the level of your chair. His hands rested on the arm rest and there was a pleading in his violet eyes.
“Please, Y/N, I need your help.”
You flicked your gaze over to your brother. He was awake now, leaning forward in his chair to hear Rhys’ request. Red rimmed his bloodshot eyes, a sign his exhaustion was also catching up to him. He simply nodded his head at you, silently urging you to hear him out.
Turning back to Rhys, you signed again. “What is it?”
“It’s Devlon. He’s been injured.”
You flinched at the sound of the Lord of Windhaven’s name. The arrogant and rude male flashed before your eyes. Remembering his sexist taunts and roaming hands made a chill travel down your spine. He had laughed and spit at you on your first return back to Illyria after being Under the Mountain, claiming you were better suited as a female without your wings. The memories made your head automatically shake, pulling away from Rhys and turning your attention back to your mate, still blissfully unaware.
“Ask Madja to do it,” Cassian interjected, aware of your feelings toward the bastard.
Rhys shook his head. “She’s back in the medical tent. She’s swamped. Besides, Devlon wouldn’t let her touch him when he first took the hit.”
Your gaze never left the warm bronze skin of Azriel’s face. His long lashes tickled his high cheekbones, fluttering in his sleep. Despite the monumental wounds he was sprouting, you had never seen Azriel sleep so well. Usually plagued by nightmares or insomnia, it was a gift to watch his calm face.
“Make Jessina do it. Or Alice. I trained them both myself,” you offered, still unable to tear your gaze away from Azriel’s peaceful features.
You felt Rhys’ fingers curl around your upper arm, trying to get your attention, but you refused to relent. You knew this was a lost cause and you’d be forced to leave your mate to attend to another Illyrian’s wound. But until then, you’d take every opportunity to soak in the calm.
“You know I can’t do that, Y/N,” Rhys pleaded, tightening his grip on your arm ever more slightly. This forced you to look away from your mate and back to the anxious, violet eyes inches from your own. “He’s one of the most important military leaders I have. I can’t leave him in the hands of just anyone. If you don’t treat him, he may never fly again.”
You snorted at the irony. “Is that an order?”
“Never. Please, Y/N, do this for me. It’s a favor.”
There was a long pause where the two of you stared at each other. The centuries of friendship held you both together. You thought back to your time Under the Mountain, when Rhys had vowed to return you home, and you vowed to stay by his side and trust him with your life. But this request, to treat the one person that made your life a living hell when you lived in Windhaven, and even now when you visited the clinic there, you weren’t sure if you could trust Rhys with this.
“I’ll stay with him,” Nesta’s voice cut through the thoughts in your head and broke your gaze away from the High Lord’s. “I’ll stay with him,” she repeated. “Rhys and Cassian will go with you so you’re not alone.”
As you contemplated the offer, Azriel let out a huff of air, attempting to shift in his sleep. Four pairs of eyes darted in this direction and watched as he furrowed his brow in pain from the movement. He quickly recovered and went back to his peaceful sleep.
“Devlon has a mate too, you know,” Rhys said, hoping he could guilt you into helping the Lord.
You rolled your eyes. “I didn’t know the bastard was capable of loving anyone besides himself.”
Rhys smirked and the two of you stood. “I never said he loved her.”
You slid your boots back onto your feet and carefully draped your blanket onto Azriel before turning to Nesta. “He could wake up at any time; there’s no way to know.” You pointed to a small bottle on the table beside the bed. “There’s a pain tonic in there. If he wakes up, make him take it. He’s going to need it, no matter what he says.” Nesta nodded at your instructions and sat in the chair Cassian had just vacated. “Oh, and Nesta?” you continued, “Don’t tell him where I am.”
***
Rhys entered Lord Delvin’s tent first, holding the thick folds of the makeshift door open for you and Cassian to follow through. You were immediately engulfed by the smell of fae bane.
“Absolutely fucking not,” you heard Devlon exclaim when he looked up from his spot across the tent. He was seated on a backless wooden chair, his right wing flared out. Another Illyrian warrior stood behind him, examining the large slit that spanned almost the entire length of his wing. You instantly understood what Rhys meant when he said Devlon may never fly again.
“You asked me to get you the best healer I could find. Luckily for you, Y/N’s the best healer in all seven courts.” Rhys put a hand on your back and gently, but firmly, nudged you forward.
“She’s not getting anywhere near me,” Devlon sneered, flinching slightly at the pain when his wing twitched in anger. “Knowing her, she’ll rip my wings off too.”
It took everything in you not to recoil at the reminder that your own wings had been severed at the base and pulled clean off. “Well, that’s enough for me. Enjoy walking the rest of your life,” you scoffed, turning on your heel and making to storm out of the tent and back to your mate, but Cassian stood in your way.
Arms crossed and a fake look of male dominance held his gaze to yours. You knew both Cassian and Rhys had to put on a show in front of the Lord of Windhaven, but your exhaustion made you curse under your breath when you saw your twin in the way of your escape.
Cassian leaned down to whisper in your ear so only you and Rhys could hear him. “Heal him so that I can properly beat the shit out of him.” Without so much as a smirk, Cassian gripped your shoulders and spun you back around to face Devlon.
“Knock it off, Devlon,” Rhys growled, his voice laced with the command of a High Lord. “Either you let Y/N fix your wing or you face the possibility of Seth butchering it.”
Devlon quickly looked over his shoulder at the Illyrian still examining his wing and pushed him off, seemingly affected by Rhys’ threat. He turned back to you and you stood your ground, crossing your arms over your chest and casting him a look that said try me.
He looked you up and down a few times before accepting you as his only choice if he ever wanted to fly with his armies again. “Well, then, hurry up girl! Get over here and fix me, I haven’t got all day!”
You snapped your head in Rhys’ direction, silently begging him not to make you heal the bastard. But Rhys simply jerked his head in Devlon’s direction and said, “Go on.”
You felt the gaze of all the males on you as you silently stalked toward the injured Illyrian. Rounding his chair, you stood behind him, ready to reach a hand out to assess his injury.
Before you had the chance to touch him, Devlon hissed quietly “I better be able to fly after this, or I’ll hunt you down and gut you myself, the High Lord’s protection or not.”
Annoyed by the pure male arrogance, you roughly gripped his shoulder without responding and flashed your power through him. The sudden invasion of it practically made Devlon jump out of the chair in a shutter of pain as it raced through his body and settled in his wing. “Watch it!” he threatened, but didn’t pull away from your grip.
You let your power wrap around the slit in the membrane of the wing and relay the information back to you. As you suspected, it was laced with fae bane, keeping the wound from healing and stitching itself back together. With another jolt of your power, you watched as the fae bane was lifted from the wound. As something only you could see, the poison seeped out of the wing and swirled in the air around it until you forced it to dissipate into a mist and disappear.
“I need to sew it closed,” you said. Turning to Seth, you asked, “Where are your stitching supplies?”
The warrior stared at you blankly for a few moments, then shook his head. You rolled your eyes at the ineptitude of the male and thought to yourself, whoever made them the dominant sex was truly dumb.
You reached for the medical bag you brought with you and pulled out all the supplies you needed, placing them neatly on the table Seth dragged over to you. Settling yourself into another backless chair, you started to clean the wound in Devlon’s wing.
You worked in silence for what seemed like forever as Rhys and Cassian stood watch. Devlon twitched every so often as the sting of the antiseptic burned his wound, but said nothing. The only thing that could be heart was the swish swish of your gauze pads against the membrane.
Devlon sat there and eyed the general and the High Lord in front of him, and seemed to understand they were here, not to ensure his healing, but for your protection. He snorted as the thought came to him. “Where’s your other body guard?”
You knew Devlon could feel you falter in your work at the question, but you quickly recovered and continued without answering him.
“I hardly ever see you without the Shadowsinger practically crawling behind you,” he continued. “I’m surprised he’s not here on his hands and knees offering his back as your workstation.”
Cassian shifted where he stood. “Watch it, Devlon.”
You stayed quiet, gathering the dirty supplies and putting them to the side. You threaded your needle instead and prepared to start stitching the wound closed. “This is going to sting,” you warned, before plunging the needle into the membrane.
“I saw the Shadowsinger being carried off into the medical tent during the fight.” You could hear the smile in his voice even though his back was facing you. “Is he dead?” he asked with no concern in his voice at all. He almost sounded hopeful.
You forced yourself not to respond. No one outside of the Inner Circle knew you and Azriel were mated, and even they had only just learned of the secret during Amarantha’s reign. Allowing your anger to bubble to the surface and spill over on Devlon would only further his suspicions. So you quickly and efficiently finished the stitches, slathered the healing salve, and packed up your supplies, all while ignoring the chatter between the three males.
When you were finished, you stalked around to face Devlon. He stretched his wing in and out, testing the stitches and wincing at the leftover sting of pain from the healing wound. “This better work,” he warned.
You turned away from him, picking up your medical bag and slinging it over your shoulder. “No flying, and I’ll be back to see you in Windhaven to check the healing. Don't take the bandages off,” you flung over your shoulder at him. Pushing past Rhys and Cassian, you stalked out of the tent, your temper brimming at the surface. The two Illyrians followed behind you without another word to Devlon.
When you were finally out of earshot of anyone, you whirled on Rhys. “Don’t ever ask me to leave my mate to do something like that again,” you hissed under your breath. With that, you stalked away back to Azriel.
Summary: When Azriel is injured during the war with Hybern, will your healing abilities be enough to save him?
Warnings: blood, injured az, needles, detailed medical treatment (let me know if I missed anything!), Painfully inaccurate to the original storyline
a/n: this is my first fic! I would love feedback and let me know if you’d love to hear more! This could be part of an ongoing universe where Y/N is Cassian’s twin sister and a healer.
The sound of the heavy cloth covering the entrance to the medical tent being whipped open caught your immediate attention. Your head jolted up from the wound you were currently cleaning from a warrior. Blood and dirt had oozed from his leg, but you had managed to hold pressure long enough to staunch the bleeding. Now, as you sewed the ends of his skin back together, your eyes darted around the tent, looking for whomever it was that entered in such a panicked hurry.
You saw Rhys at the entrance, looking around wildly for something, or maybe someone. When his wild eyes met yours and stayed there, your heart skipped a beat, knowing it was your worst nightmare coming to life.
You quickly handed your stitching task to one of your healers. “Finish for me, Jessina,” you asked, before rushing to Rhys’ side. There was only one reason he would be in the medical tent.
“Who is it?” You asked hesitantly, afraid of what his answer might be. When Rhys didn’t immediately respond, you knew it must be bad. “Cassian? Feyre? Please, Rhys, say something.” You avoided saying the one name you feared most out loud, as if merely saying it would make it true.
But Rhys shook his head and you knew your silent prayer for your mate would go unanswered.
“Y/N,” Rhys began, gripping your wrists, “it’s not good. Cassian is trying to get him out.”
“How bad is it?” You whispered, afraid your voice would give out.
You felt sharp talons scraping at your mental shield, which you lowered just enough for Rhys to slither through. Immediately, a scene played for you in your mind, consuming all your senses. You knew you were watching Rhys’ memory.
Azriel flew with the large Illyrian legion above him, their great wings sounding in unison like the beat of a war drum. Headed straight for the group of winged Hybern enemies, the two armies collided in a tangle of swords and wings and limbs. Rhys watched as warriors from both sides suffered injuries, but it wasn’t until a certain Shadowsinger caught the wrong end of a Hybern sword that he faced a fate of plummeting hundreds of feet to the hard ground below him. Faster and faster Azriel fell, twisting in the air with the Hybern enemy he refused to untangle himself with, clearly vowing to take down whoever he could with him. As the couple dropped closer and closer to the ground, Rhys knew the fall alone would kill his Spymaster. At the last moment, Rhys flung out his power, hoping it would create at least some type of force field between Azriel and the ground before he hit the dirt with a sickening thud, and moved no more. Rhys, too far away to make it to his brother in time, immediately called out to Cassian’s mind to retrieve him and ran to the medical tent to alert the best healer he knew.
The vision ended with Rhys slithering quickly out of your mind. “Oh gods,” you whispered, a hand flying to your mouth in disbelief. Immediately you opened your end of the bond and were met with a severe onslaught of pain, agony, and fear. The force of the emotions hit you like a tidal wave, and would have forced you to your knees if Rhys wasn’t there to steady you. It wasn’t until you closed your side of the bond again that you were able to breathe and think normally, instead of being all-consumed by the pain.
“Incoming, Y/N,” Rhys warned, and almost immediately the tent flaps whipped open again, revealing a wild eyed Cassian and a writhing, screaming Azriel in his arms. Blood covered the Shadowsinger and Cassian, dripping steadily to the floor where they stood. Feyre, Mor, and Nesta pushed through the tent flaps behind Cassian, effectively crowding your tiny medical space.
Every instinct told you to reach out for your mate, to fall at his feet and beg anyone, anything, to save him. But you forced yourself to take one look at a sobbing Azriel, and you turned away, screaming for Madja.
“Get the surgical supplies ready!” You screamed as you raced for the metal table in the back of the medical tent. Reserved only for emergent needs, the metal table was hidden behind a large white sheet to hide the horrors that happened there from the other onlooking wounded.
You turned back to your mate, thankful that Cassian had the sense to follow you. “Put him there,” you ordered, pointing to the metal table. “Gently Cassian, on his back. Watch his wings!” You closed your eyes as Cassian settled his brother on the table. The innate part of you that felt the panic rising in fear for your mate’s life had to be pushed down. You felt it coming in waves, but forced yourself to keep it contained. You knew that if you let your instincts get ahead of you, then it was a death sentence for you mate.
The sharp talons scraped again, and you let Rhys in fully this time, allowing him to speak to you.
“He needs you, Y/N. You can do this,” Rhys whispered into your mind. You sent your gratitude to him mind-to-mind, and allowed him to stay inside your metal shields as a form of comfort and communication for what lay ahead.
When you opened your eyes again, Madja was at your side, setting up the supplies you might need. Digging deep into your power, you reached a hand out to Azriel, who lay on the table writhing in agony, blood quickly pooling around him and dripping off the cold metal table to the floor below. When you touched your hand to his chest, you let out a full blast of your power, giving him a jolt of pain as he felt it singe all of his senses. He cried out as your power raced through his body to assess for wounds and injuries.
The information relayed back to you was horrifying. Multiple cuts and bruising littered Azriels skin, including a deep laceration to his scalp, which was the source of most of his bleeding. Thankfully, the head injury seemed to be only skin deep, preserving his skull and brain from damage.
The same couldn’t be said for his left hip and leg, which lay at an odd angle from the multiple fractures beneath the skin. His hip, completely dislocated, and lower leg were broken into multiple pieces. A dislocated right shoulder and a few cracked ribs were the extent of the injuries on the right side of his body. His wings were badly damaged from the fall, with snapped bones and holes in the delicate membrane, but they would have to be fixed last. You could only rightly assume he had fallen to the ground and landed on his left side, because most importantly was the multitude of broken ribs on his left flank, two of which were folded inward, puncturing and deflating his left lung completely.
Rhys, who has been quietly sitting at the back of your mind, accidentally let a blast of his own terror into your mind as he felt your power relay the information back to you. You immediately caught eyes with the High Lord, and from your shared mind, you knew he was thinking the same thing you were.
The broken ribs and punctured lung was the same injury that killed his father when you failed to save him during the first war with Hybern.
“Things have changed since then,” Rhys reassured you. You kept your eyes locked as you silently communicated, pushing the rising nausea back down deep into your belly. “You’re the best healer in all the courts. If anyone has will save him, it will be you.”
“Y/N!” Nesta shouted from beside you, pulling your attention away from your silent conversation and back to reality. “He’s losing a lot of blood, you need to do something!”
“I can’t move,” Azriel gasped between sobs of pain. “I can’t move!”
You realized with a quick jerk of your arm back that you had kept your hand on his chest while conversing with Rhys, accidentally paralyzing him in the process as your power rippled over him. Now that you had removed your hand, he began thrashing again.
With a quick flick of your wrist, the bleeding from Azriel’s scalp stopped, the capillaries fused shut. “Head wounds bleed a lot, but that’s not his problem,” you said to no one in particular as you turned to look at Madja. “It’s his lung. It’s like before.”
Madja, who had been with you at the time of the previous High Lord’s death, immediately understood. “Get ready to turn him,” she said, turning her attention to Cassian and giving him instructions.
“His legs,” you said, reaching for his shattered hip. “I need to stabilize them before we move him or he may never walk again.”
A deep, pained groan left Azriel’s mouth as you ran your hand along his legs, purposefully paralyzing them this time. Forcing the bones straight, the once stoic shadow singer let out a gasp of agony as the bones ground against one another.
“You will walk again, brother,” you heard Cassian whisper, as he prepared to follow Madja’s instructions to turn him.
“You’ll have to keep him still, Cassian,” you warned your twin, “I’ll have to cut him open.”
With a quick nod and a count to three, Madja and Cassian log rolled Azriel onto his right side and positioned him to give unrestricted access to his left flank. The fighting leathers were easily cut away from his body under Madja’s expert tools. Whispering a quick spell under your breath, you felt your hands clean and sterilize themselves in preparation for the first cuts.
“Put him to sleep, Rhys,” you said out loud. The High Lord quickly approached the table and put his hands around Azriel’s head, trying to break into his mind to effectively knock him out.
When a few moments went by and Azriel was still gasping in pain and cursing under his breath, you began to worry.
“What’s going on?” You asked Rhys in your head.
“His shields,” he responded out loud, “he’s too high strung to relax long enough for me to break through. They’re ironclad.”
The rising panic threatened to overwhelm you as you faced the impending reality of having to cut through your mate’s skin to his lung while he was awake.
“You have to do it,” Madja said, confirming your worst nightmare. “We can only hope he’ll pass out from the pain.” Her arm extended toward you, scalpel in her hand for you to take.
Please pass out, please pass out, please pass out, became your internal mantra as you took the blade from Madja. Taking a deep breath, you lined it up with Azriel’s tanned skin. “I’m sorry, Az,” you whispered as the blade sliced through skin and muscle and tissue, eliciting screams of pain from your mate that echoed through the medical tent.
“Keep him still, Cassian,” you ordered as you continued to cut through to Azriel’s lung. He was still conscious, beads of sweat dripping from Rhys brow as he attempted to break through his mental shields.
When you had successfully reached the damaged lung, you extended an arm into Azriel’s body, spreading your powers through him again, concentrating on that particular area. When your powers shot through his body this time, he flinched again, nearly falling off the table to the ground.
“Damnit, Cassian!” You shouted. “Keep him still or I’m going to kill him! I’m elbow deep in his body! What’s going on, Rhys?”
“I can’t get through!” He responded, fear lacing his words and working its way into your mind. You pushed him out of your head, reestablishing your own mental shields. You had enough of your own fear, you didn’t need someone else’s in your mind as well.
You made eye contact with Feyre from across the room. Panic danced in her eyes but she opened her mind to you immediately when you made eye contact.
You send an image into her head of a small box hidden well in yours and Azriels shared tent. “Bring it to me,” you commanded. Within seconds, she was gone.
You continued to work on Azriel’s wound, using your powers to close the wound and reinflate the lung. With the wound still deep and oozing blood continuously, Madja handed you the supplies to stitch the lung closed. All the while, Azriel fought Cassian on the table, awake and writing in pain.
You sensed Feyre’s arrival back into the tent and at your side the moment she returned. Madja recognized the box and nodded her head in agreement. Without taking your eyes off your work, you instructed Feyre with the next steps.
“Take the needle out and draw up the clear liquid in the red vial. It’s an extremely strong pain tonic. I save it for emergency cases, and it’s incredibly potent.”
Feyre did as instructed and drew the liquid into the syringe. You pulled one hand out of Azriels chest and pointed to a spot along his left shoulder muscle. “Stab the needle there, and make it deep. Inject the tonic there.”
Feyre hesitated, her hands shaking the needle she held. “I’m not like you, Y/N, I can’t do something like that.”
You finally looked up at your High Lady and caught her eye. You briefly let your instinct take over and let the panic be heard in your voice as it cracked. “Please, Feyre,” you begged. “Please, I can’t lose him.”
With another cry of agony from Azriel, she eyed the spot you had marked with a bloody finger on his shoulder and plunged the syringe in deep, pushing the pain tonic into his muscle.
Within seconds, Azriel’s body laid limp underneath you, his screams of pain cut off and erratic breathing stopped. You felt your own heart stop in your chest as you feared the worst had happened. If your hands weren’t inside his chest so close to his beating heart, you would have thought it had stopped all together.
“It’s just me!” Rhys shouted, sensing the panic from everyone in the room. “The medication relaxed him enough for me to shatter his shield. I knocked him out.”
Relief flooded you and you returned to Azriel’s chest to finish your work, praying you had learned enough in the last 350 years to save him.
pixelskylines
discoholicmusic
tangentwithtanner
prguitarman
titsay