The Shadow of Her Love
pairing: azriel x reader
word count: 2.1k
summary: Azriel has been waiting for his mate to return from UTM after Amarantha's defeat; however, when Rhys returns without her, Azriel is forced to face the past 50 years of grief and anticipation while making connections with a new face.
warnings: talks of under the mountain, death, angst
a/n: I don't know if I know how to write anything happy
~~~~~~~~~~
Winds whipped around the balcony at the house of wind as two figures winnowed into sight. Azriel, Cassian, Mor, and Amren ran from the dining room in anticipation of the reunion they’ve waited 50 years for. Rhys and Y/N had survived 50 years of torment under Amarantha’s reign and had returned home.
Mor ran to embrace Rhys as he fell to his knees. Sobs erupted from his chest as he clung to Mor, as half a century of suffering finally crashing down on him in waves. Cassian knelt beside him, his face a mixture of relief and anguish, his hand gripping Rhys's shoulder tightly as though grounding him to the present.
Amren stood nearby, her usually sharp gaze softened as she studied her High Lord, a flicker of rare emotion crossing her face. Even she could not hide the relief that her family was whole again.
“Mate. She’s my mate.”
His family knew who Rhys meant without question. Feyre Cursebreaker, the human who saved everyone from Amarantha. Cassian and Mor continued to comfort Rhys as he brokenly muttered about Feyre. Shadows snaked toward Azriel frantically, whispering in his ear.
Not her. Not Y/N.
Azriel froze, his breath hitching in his throat. His hazel eyes darted to the figure standing behind Rhys. His shadows were right. It wasn’t Y/N.
His heart pounded against his chest and he reached for the golden thread of his bond. Cold, empty silence sat at the end of the bond just as it had the past 50 years.
His voice broke as he stepped forward, cutting through Rhys’s rambling. “Where is she?”
The air seemed to shift, all relief vanishing from the room as silence fell. Rhys stiffened in Mor’s arms. Cassian and Mor looked at each other, confusion dawning on their faces, but Azriel’s voice rose, harder this time.
“Where is Y/N?”
Rhys lifted his head slowly, his grief-stricken gaze locking with Azriel’s. Violet eyes, heavy with sorrow, gave him the answer before the words left his mouth.
“She’s gone,” Rhys whispered, his voice hoarse and broken. “Y/N didn’t make it.”
The world stopped under Azriel’s feet as he fell to the ground. He grabbed at the leather tunic that clothed his chest, his shadows matching his frantic breaths. “No,” he spat, “you’re lying. Where is Y/N?”
Rhys fell to hold his brother, guilt living on his features. “I’m not lying,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the sound of Azriel’s ragged breaths. “I—I’m so sorry, Azriel. She’s gone.”
“No,” Azriel growled, his voice low and dangerous. His hazel eyes burned with fury and desperation as he surged to his feet. His shadows lashed out wildly, writhing like living extensions of his anguish. “She can’t be gone. She wouldn’t just leave me—she wouldn’t leave us!”
The tension shattered when Amren’s sharp voice cut through the room, her silver eyes narrowing. “If Y/N is dead, then who is that?”
The winds stilled as all eyes locked on the girl hovering at the edge of the balcony. Azriel’s shadows curled protectively around him, hesitant to retreat even as the girl cautiously stepped forward. The light from the House of Wind caught the golden strands of her hair, casting a faint halo around her, but it was her face—the familiar set of her jaw, the curve of her lips, the hesitation in her hazel eyes—that froze the room. She looked like Y/N – so much like Y/N that it was a cruel mirage.
“Who are you?” Azriel asked, his voice cutting through the silence. His tone riddled with raw desperation. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his entire body coiled with tension as though preparing for a blow.
The girl flinched at the question, her sunken hazel eyes darting between the group before landing on Rhys. Her eyes pleading desperately for his help. Rhys stood frozen, his guilt-lined face softening for the young girl, encouraging her to come closer. “I... I’m not here to hurt you,” she said softly, her voice trembling but steady enough to carry. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“That’s not an answer,” Cassian said, his voice low and gruff, his body a wall of muscle as he placed himself between Mor and the girl. “Start talking. Now.”
The girl took another step back, her hands still raised in a gesture of peace. “I—my name is Lyra,” she said, her voice faltering slightly. “Y/N is… was my mother.”
Her words shook the group like thunder, reverberating in the stunned silence that followed. Azriel’s breath hitched audibly, and he staggered backward as though struck. His shadows lashed out wildly, betraying his internal turmoil.
“That’s impossible,” Mor whispered, her voice trembling as she clung to Cassian for support. “Y/N would’ve told us—she wouldn’t have kept this from us.”
“She didn’t have a choice,” Rhys said, his voice cracking under the weight of the truth. His shoulders sagged, and his gaze dropped to the floor as he took a steadying breath. “She didn’t know she was pregnant until after we were captured.”
Azriel’s sharp intake of breath broke the fragile silence. He turned on Rhys, his hazel eyes blazing with fury and anguish. “You knew?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “You knew she was pregnant, and you didn’t tell me?”
“I didn’t know until after our magic was taken away,” Rhys replied, his voice thick with guilt. “Amarantha found out before I did. She used it against her. Against both of us.”
Azriel’s fists clenched tighter, his shadows writhing furiously. “What do you mean?” he demanded, his voice trembling. “What did she do to her?”
“She delighted in tormenting Y/N,” Rhys said hoarsely, his violet eyes glistening with tears. “She forced her into tasks that no one should endure—tasks that risked her life and Lyra’s. She threatened to harm her every time Y/N showed defiance. She… she made sure Y/N lived in constant fear. Y/N tried to hold on as long as she could, but she became too weak.”
Lyra’s quiet voice cut through the raging emotions, “I watched her fade away into a shell of herself. She tried to be strong for me… to protect me. She died with your name on her last breath. She always made sure I knew you – knew my father.”
Azriel’s knees buckled, only the force from Cassian and Mor keeping him upright. Lyra cautiously walked closer to her father, placing a soft hand on his cheek. “She always told me stories about you. About how brave and kind you were, even when the world wasn’t kind to you. I was never scared of shadows growing up because she always spoke of how shadows reminded her of you. Most importantly, she told me how much you would’ve loved me and how you loved her.”
Azriel’s heart seemed to stop at Lyra’s words. His breath hitched, and a cold emptiness settled deep within him. Every word she spoke only deepened the wound he’d been carrying for the last fifty years. He had failed her mother. He wasn’t there when she needed him most. He had never even known.
His body trembled as his mind raced with a thousand thoughts, none of them making sense. How could this be real? The shock was still fresh, still numbing. The bond he’d kept waiting on, hoping for a sign, was still silent. He had felt it—the absence of her—and now, the reality hit harder than he could have ever imagined.
Lyra’s hand lingered on his cheek, a small act of comfort, but to Azriel, it felt like a reminder of everything he had lost. His eyes flickered to the girl who stood before him, the child that was a piece of Y/N, and the hole in his chest deepened. She died with my name on her lips... he couldn't escape the echo of those words.
He could feel the weight of those final moments Y/N had endured, alone and terrified. She had been strong, but the cruelty of Amarantha had worn her down. It had stolen so much from her, from them all.
Azriel’s voice cracked as he forced the words from his mouth, each one laced with sorrow and regret. “I should have known. I should have been there for her. I—” His voice faltered, the guilt too much to carry.
Lyra’s eyes softened as she gently wiped a stray tear from his face, her touch surprisingly steady despite the tremor in her own hands. “She never blamed you,” Lyra said softly, her voice full of a wisdom that belied her young age. “She always spoke of you as if you were still there, still fighting for her. She believed you would come. But…” Lyra paused, her own grief surfacing. “Amarantha made sure she couldn’t fight anymore. And I…” She swallowed hard, her voice trembling. “I wasn’t enough to save her.”
Azriel staggered back, his mind reeling as his shadows lashed out violently. I wasn’t there. I wasn’t enough either. The thought consumed him, driving him to his knees. His shadows wrapped around him, moving like an extension of his agony.
“No,” Azriel whispered, the word barely audible as his hand pressed to his chest. “It should have been me. I should’ve been the one to protect her. Not... not like this.” His entire body trembled with the weight of the loss that seemed too vast to bear.
Cassian and Mor remained by his side, not daring to speak, understanding that no words could reach him in this moment. Even Rhys, whose grief had been shattered by the loss of Feyre, seemed unable to find a way to comfort his brother now.
Lyra stepped closer, lowering herself to sit next to Azriel, her young hands trembling as she reached out. “You are enough,” she said quietly, her voice soft but filled with the weight of everything Y/N had shared with her. “She loved you. I know she did.”
Azriel looked up at her, his expression raw. The brokenness in his eyes mirrored the emptiness he felt. His shadows wrapped around Lyra protectively, unsure of how to respond to the child who was now the last piece of the love he’d lost. She should be here. Y/N should be here, with us.
“I don’t know how to be enough for you,” Azriel whispered, his voice hoarse. “I don’t know how to be a father to you. I wasn’t there when she needed me. I failed her.”
Lyra’s eyes softened even further, her own grief evident but tinged with understanding. She placed her hand on his, the touch grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected. “I don’t need you to be perfect. She wasn’t perfect either, but she was the best mother I could’ve asked for. And I know… I know she would have wanted you to try.”
Azriel felt the weight of her words settle on him like a stone, but it didn’t feel like the crushing weight of guilt that had been suffocating him. Instead, it felt like something different—a soft light, a faint warmth. It didn’t heal the wound, but it gave him a moment of clarity.
“I’ll try,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “But I don’t know if it will ever be enough.”
Lyra squeezed his hand, offering him a quiet understanding, though the sadness still lingered in her eyes. "You don't have to make up for anything. You don't have to be the hero. I only need you to be here for me."
For the first time in years, Azriel didn’t feel entirely alone. As he looked at Lyra, her face so like Y/N's, his heart ached, but there was a flicker of something else—something he hadn’t felt in so long. It was hope. A fragile, painful hope.
And as he sat there, surrounded by the family who had waited so long for a reunion, Azriel felt a shift. His shadows, though still swirling with grief, seemed less wild now. The presence of Lyra—of Y/N’s memory—offered him a small measure of peace. There was still so much pain, so much loss, but perhaps, just perhaps, he could find a way to heal.
“I’ll be here,” he said, his voice breaking but firm. “I’ll be here for you. I’ll be the father you need.”
Lyra smiled softly, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I’ve waited so long to hear those words”
And for the first time in fifty years, Azriel felt a glimmer of hope for the future. It wouldn’t be easy, and the pain would never fully go away, but in that moment, as he looked into the eyes of the daughter he never knew he had, he felt a new beginning. A chance to rebuild what had been broken. A chance to love again.