The second most memorable sensation you’ve experienced in life was the warmth of Lucien’s fingertips as they coaxed your thighs apart. The first most memorable sensation was the feeling of him burying himself deep inside you, filling you up completely. You were able to recall every touch, every kiss, and every prayer whispered from desperate lips. It played back to you in your mind in a warm hazy glow, and you wouldn’t have been sure you really experienced it if it weren’t for the way you could practically feel the phantoms of your former lover’s hands roaming your body.
You wanted so badly to hate him for leaving you in the Autumn Court all those years ago, but you couldn’t help the way the lingering affection you felt for Lucien weaved it’s way inside your chest, wrapping around your heart like ivy. In the years since he’d left, you got to work slashing that ivy to pieces with the sharp blade of your own bitterness. You’d healed for the most part- not even feeling the sting anymore when you’d see one of the many members of the Vanserra family around the Autumn Court.
Her eyes were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen- a lucite green glaze, flecked with pale blue accents, like smooth, clear glass washed ashore from the froth of the sea, and outlined in a gold ring around her pupils. A mosaic of the sea on a balmy spring day.
Azriel squinted against the harsh light but couldn’t see anything except for the bright whiteness around him. He wanted to panic, but as the Spymaster for the Night Court, he knew better than to act without knowing his surroundings.
He tried to stand up, but his body felt too light, too airy. Like he was floating in static. He took a breath, and sucked in the surprisingly fresh air. The air that smelled like… tulips? Or maybe it was roses? It was floral and bright. It smelled like Elain’s garden, but sweeter.
He tried to speak but a soft “shhh” made is mouth clamp shut.
Azriel blinked once. Then twice.
The blinding whiteness melted into a pale yellow glow. He looked upwards, and saw the sky churning with color. Pinks, and oranges, and blues all bleeding into each other, and punctuated with huge, fluffy clouds hanging overhead. Azriel briefly thought about how stunning the view would be to fly through.
He stretched his arm out, trying to touch anything. Trying to ground himself. His fingers made contact with the plush Earth. Grass, he realized, as he laced his fingers through it and tugged.
He moved to sit up, but froze at a soft touch to his head. Slim fingers lacing though his hair and pulling though the inkly blackness of it. The touch was so gentle that it made his whole body relax into the ground.
His head, he suddenly realized, was elevated. Laying on something. No, not something.
Someone.
At the apex of soft thighs covered in satin. A dress. A woman. He was laying his head in a woman’s lap.
“Shh!” Came the voice again, just a whisper, “Are you even listening, Azriel?”
His eyebrows knitted together at the sound of his name rolling off of the stranger’s tongue.
He made a soft sound at the back of his throat in response. He had a million questions, but nothing would come out of his mouth.
Where was he?
Who was she?
He looked up again, and instead of the swirling sunset he saw the swell of the woman’s breasts clad in a champagne colored silk, and the outline of her soft jaw. Pale white skin, nearly translucent. Her back was eased against a tree. The bark must’ve been cutting into her skin, but she didn’t acknowledge it. Didn’t acknowledge anything but him.
She looked down at him, but her face was concealed by white mist. It made something in chest flutter. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. He had to see her face.
He could make out golden blonde hair falling around her, nearly to the ground, framing her cheeks, and cascading down her shoulders. He wanted to reach out and touch it. He knew it would feel like silk in his fingers.
She spoke again, “Listen to me, Azriel.” She had a book in her pale hand, the one that wasn’t still laced in his hair.
Her voice was high pitched and clear, like a soft tinkling bell, but smooth like sweet honey. Azriel strained to listen.
“Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs; Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers’ eyes; Being vexed, a sea nourished with loving tears. What is it else? A madness most discreet-”
Then the blinding white light was back, and the woman cried out. Azriel thrashed against it. He kicked and he-
-
Azriel jolted up, flailing in his bed. His chest was heaving, lungs gulping for air. A slick sheen of sweat coated his muscles and blinked furiously into the dark room around him. His shadows swirled frantically all around him, and he instinctively reached for his favorite dagger, Truth Teller. He gripped the handle of the weapon tightly, his knuckles going white. The house was silent except for his own panting.
He ordered his shadows to search the house, and when they found nothing amiss, he relaxed. He put Truth Teller back in its place beside his bed, and sighed.
He’d been having dreams like that since the war- infrequently, every couple of months, maybe. But when it did come, it left him feeling rattled. Azriel had no idea who the woman was, or why she kept appearing, and it made him feel uneasy.
Shaking off his dream, the Shadowsinger hauled himself out of bed, and stretched his wings out. He gave them a slow flap or two, before making his was to the bathing chamber. He had a sinking feeling that it was going to be a long day, so he opted to take his time getting ready for it.
He bathed himself in the massive tub, then dried thoroughly, before slipping into his Illyrian fighting leathers for his morning training session with Cassian.
After dressing, the Shadowsinger headed to the kitchen of the House of Wind. Cassian and Nesta were already at the table, halfway through their breakfast. Azriel was usually the first one there.
Cassian smirked through a bite of eggs, “G’morning! Slept in?”
Azriel rolled his eyes, and Nesta chastised the General for talking with his mouthful.
“I admire the effort, but if Cassian hasn’t learned to have manners in the last 500 years, I don’t think he’s going to now.” Azriel told her, sliding into his own chair, a plate of eggs and toast appearing in front of him.
Nesta snorted, “I’ve still got to try. What if we have a babe? I can’t let them learn from… that.” She pointed her fork at Cassian, who pouted in response.
“Hey! I’m a good influence! …Kind of. Anyway,” He started, clearly shifting the focus away from himself, “Let’s talk about Az!” He turned to look at his brother.
“Why did you sleep in, hmm? Have a female over last night?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, making Azriel and Nesta both roll their eyes.
“I don’t want to know what Azriel gets up to in his bedroom!” Nesta groaned.
Cassian smirked, “That’s not what you said when you suggested a threeso-”
“Shut up!” Nesta hissed, as Azriel’s fork clattered down at the table in shock.
Cassian threw his head back and roared out a laugh, as Azriel and Nesta both tried to hide the dusting of pink on their cheeks.
“I’ve heard plenty of what you two get up to. And I don’t think you could handle me.” He retorted with a smirk, making Cassian bark out a laugh.
“I don’t think you could-”
Cassian’s reply was cut short when both Illyrians felt the familiar talon scape across their mental shields.
‘Training is canceled today. Meet me in my office.’ The High Lord’s voice came loud and clear.
The warriors shared a look, and Cassian groaned.
Nesta looked between the two knowingly, “Rhys?”
“Yeah,” Cassian nodded, “We can’t lead training today. You can lead the Valkyries through the basics though.”
Nesta agreed, and the brother winnowed to the River House in Azriel’s shadows.
-
The High Lord’s office was scattered in paperwork, which was highly unusual for the meticulous male. He was seated at his desk, and his face was grim.
“What’s going on?” Cassian asked, his tone firm and serious. He was staring at Rhys intently, the playfulness from his early morning banter was replace by his strict, Warrior upbringing. He stepped into his Lord of Bloodshed persona with ease.
Azriel had always been a little bit jealous of his brother’s ability to go from lighthearted, to serious, back to lighthearted. He himself had always struggled with the playfulness that his brother was capable of. Azriel was typically quiet and brooding, because he needed to be as a Spymaster. He was always on guard.
He watched as the High Lord stood and pointed the map on his draft board. The Spring Court.
“Something is going on in Spring. As you know, Lucien has been spending more time there, helping to rebuild. But he has reported back some…suspicious happenings.”
“Suspicious, how?” Azriel questioned.
Rhysand turned to face his brothers.
“According to Lucien, Senteries have been going missing left and right. Tamlin refuses to look for them, and has forbidden anyone else to seek them out as well.
Azriel quirked his eyebrow, “So the Spring Court woods has a pest control problem. What’s that have to do with us?”
Rhys stepped forward towards Azriel.
“Lucien has also said the Tamlin will disappear himself at odd hours, and has been behaving oddly, especially in the Woods.”
“Be that as it may, something odd is happening there. Especially if it concerned Lucien enough to bring it to my attention.”
“And we trust Lucien?” Azriel asked.
“I would not have made him Emissary if I did not trust him,” His eyes softened, “Feyre trusts him. He has been a good friend to her. And…”
Rhysand sighed, and Cassian and Azriel nodded for their brother to continue.
“Lucien suspects that he wants to train his sentries to come here. To take Feyre back.”
The look on Cassian’s face was deadly, and it nearly matched Azriel’s own expression.
“He’ll never accomplish that. He’s a fool.” Cassian spit out.
Rhysand nodded, “And that’s why I’m sending you two to Spring. Gather as much information as you can.”
Azriel nodded, “When do we leave?”
“Now.”
At the High Lord’s command, Azriel and Cassian each packed up a small bag of supplies, then met at the balcony of the House of Wind. Cassian said a brief good bye to Nesta, who was leading Valkyrie training in the ring, before Azriel winnowed them both to the Spring Court border.
I’m having such a hard time with unpacking my trauma because if I let myself think about it I’ll come completely undone. Like it’s so far removed from my consciousness which isn’t healthy either, but dealing with it gently feels impossible. I think about how I came out of the anesthesia screaming and then I can’t breathe for the rest of the day.
okay i can’t stand m@g@ ppl but the concept of a merch table at a funeral is so fucking funny to me like pls when i go can my family sell shirts with my face on it and “rizz in peace” across the back
