Summary: Thus it was written, healers in the clinical program must train until they are to be considered for court training. A process that occurs once a decade. After nearly a century of doing more than she thought capable for herself, she finally reached the court, but unknowing to her it was only with the tricks of a special whispering of a shadow. Someone who noticed each detail from the moment he found her eyes decades prior. A man sent to deal with the disruptions in the camp and finding more than he believed he would. Now that he's got her here, can they stop the danger that had been a prediction due to the mistakes of few.
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Or in simple terms. She fell first, desperate for a dream. He fell harder, he made it possible.
Word count: (Currently 9.4k and updated weekly)
Warnings: eventual smut, p in v, oral(f), secret mate trope, angst, longing, slow burn!!!
A/N: Hi, this is sort of a 'chosen one' trope, but not really. I try to upload every week. BTW I love you. If you want more, send me aa request and leave a comment. Reblogs are appreciated.
Teaser track for my last req. btw Iâm still writing it, been a slow process trying to figure out the sequences and ensuring youâre getting the absolute best! P.S I love you
Summary: Thus it was written, healers in the clinical program must train until they are to be considered for court training. A process that occurs once a decade. After nearly a century of doing more than she thought capable for herself, she finally reached the court, but unknowing to her it was only with the tricks of a special whispering of a shadow. Someone who noticed each detail from the moment he found her eyes decades prior. A man sent to deal with the disruptions in the camp and finding more than he believed he would. Now that he's got her here, can they stop the danger that had been a prediction due to the mistakes of few.
Chapter Summary: You knew Azriel had been visiting camps but you never knew why. Were you foolish in thinking he was there for you?
Word Count: 2.2k
Warnings?: no use of Y/N, details of people in pain. Blood.
A/N: This story has lived RENT FREE in my mind for two years. This is a slowwwww burn story. Send in requests! I like them! I have another chapter of this in progress as well as TWO one-shot pieces. One of which is a request. P.S. I love you. - đȘ El.
Azriels POV:
Azriel was tired. He just arrived home from his last mission when he was brought into Rhysandâs office and informed that there were âsuspicious activitiesâ happening in the camps that needed to be checked out. Suspicious always just meant someone was breaking a rule and they needed an enforcer. Still, who was he to say no to his high lord? Cassian was lazily pulling his way through the halls wanting to go back to sleep, ready to return to Nesta who was laying peacefully in their bed.Â
As much as Azriel loved his family he was tired of arriving at their home and having to be around the mated pairs that showed off something he believed heâd never find. Afterall, it has been almost five centuries now. The cauldron had MADE Feyre and Nesta for his brothers. Elaine though, when he saw the way Lucien looked at her, he knew that after she was made, she had found her person, even if she didnât want him. Azriel didnât get lucky. Especially not with Mor.Â
âItâs unnecessary to arrive when the sun has just risen.â Cassian groaned.
âIâd prefer if we had more than an hour before the sun sets when we arrived.â Azriel replied.Â
They found themselves flying toward the Illyrian camps thirty minutes later. Once they landed, they introduced themselves to the coordinator who led them to the sparring ground. He claimed heâd return in a momentâs time. Needing to finish whatever business he was attending to.Â
Something had caught Azrielâs eye. There was a woman. On the sparring ground? Cassian nudges his shoulder, gesturing to the sight as if he hadnât already seen it. To his left, a woman in a fluffy coat, with another folded over her arm. This wasnât typical of this camp. He knew well that this was one of the more traditional camps. Still, there was a woman, sparring. Sheâd taken down her competitor. Turning to the sidelines, she caught the womanâs eye first, a small smile gracing her lips. Her nose is rosy. She was cold. She wiped just above her lips with her sleeve. She was entirely captivating in a sorts. She shifted on her legs, favoring the right now. She turned down to her competitor, offering her hand. He took it, allowing her to pull him up. This mustâve been the âsuspiciousâ activity they were asking for support on. They wanted the court to âintimidateâ the Illyrians back into their roles?
âDamn gorgeous. Didnât have to embarrass me that bad did you?â He was flirting. Which for some reason, made Azriel frown and shift on his own feet. She scoffed, which then made the smile he didnât know he was wearing return. She opened her mouth and replied but he had been pulled back by Cassian to focus on the returning coordinator. Still Azriel turned back to give her one last look.
Her pants were covered in mud, a clear sign sheâd been taken down at least once before they arrived. She gave the man a nod, gesturing to the clinic, then walked toward the woman who was on their left, briefly looking at him and Cassian. The woman offered her the coat which she shrugged on and walked back up the hill to the large white tent together. She seemed tense.Â
âAzriel.â Cassian said again, gaining Azrielâs attention.Â
âWhat?âÂ
âThe coordinator is back. Come on, weâre going to look at his recruits.âÂ
âRight.â He followed behind Cassian and they were led to the sword sparring center.Â
âThose men you watched were our third most recent class. This will be our most advanced class. Youâll likely find who youâre looking for here.â The man spoke. Azriel never did catch his name, his mind occupied by the fact that there was a woman. On the fact that this man had paid her no mind despite knowing she was sparring. For such a traditional camp, something seemed off. This coordinator clearly wasn't fully informed on why they were visiting. Rhysand had asked them to take a look around. He might as well check out the clinic too.
So when he finally got a chance, he broke away. Claiming he was going to look around for something âweirdâ, and sought toward the white tent. He pushed the tent open, ducking inside, wings tight to his back. His eyes searched for a moment, trying to find the woman that was causing all the ruckus. He found her easily. She was cleaning. A rag in her hand being dragged over a bed.Â
âYou were in the training grounds?â He raised his brow. âNow the clinic?â He asked.Â
She seemed surprised, like she didnât realize he was here. âHuh? Sorry what?â She turned to him, he found her eyes. Their eyes seemed lively.. And cloudy? A light fog covered her mind. He noticed it quickly, heâd seen it before, couldnât figure out from where heâd remembered it when he was being distracted by her.
âI saw you in the sparring grounds earlier, taking down those rookies. Are you a warrior or a healer?â He asked, as if it wasnât obvious what he was trying to imply.
âCan a woman not be both?-â She answered rather sharply. No. A woman couldnât be, not in this camp. Perhaps in the court, yes. Though, here?Â
âA multi-talent then.â He grinned.Â
âNot really. These are my grounds.â She gestured around her. âI spar only to learn how these.. Males continue to injure themselves foolishlyâ She shrugged and continued to clean. When she looked away to continue her cleaning he thought for a minute he had felt dread the second his eyes left hers. He had no idea why.Â
âI see.â Suddenly her attention was drawn. A door opened behind her, A woman walked out after giving a handshake and a polite nod to someone inside. She walked away and the door shut behind her. His eyes moved back to the smaller girl in front of him. She was staring so intensely at that door, shooting glares to the woman whoâd just walked out. She was watching, she was angry. âI see.âÂ
âYou said that already.â Fiery. Impatient.Â
âWhen do you go in?â Azriel asked cluelessly, assuming she was angry because she was getting impatient for her turn.
âI donât.â Her mood shifted. He could see it in her shoulders. She swallowed, tightly. âItâs only for âelder healer trainee considerations.â Iâm âToo youngâ.â She did look rather young.Â
âI see.â He said it again, testing like he wanted to see what she would do when she was mad. See if this was the culprit of why he couldnât have returned home to take a bit of time off before he was sent out again.
âWould you stop saying that?â Sharp. Then soft. âSorry.âÂ
Azriel would have said more, would have asked more, but as if she could sense it, her eyes drew up staring at the tent flaps. Azriel turned too, looking at the door that was closed, no sign of anything happening, the tent flaps opened. A man was being carried in, he was bleeding. She locked into action. As if she already knew what was wrong with him by looking for only a minute. Her rag back in the bucket and demanded they put him on the table. Like it was natural for her she was easily able to predict what was happening. So natural, she grabbed a syringe, she muttered under her breath something Azriel barely caught. âFools.â He grinned. Watching her work for a moment. It was as if the world around her disappeared. Fog clearing from her eyes, he admired the color before he decided to get out of her way. One moment the man was groaning - practically screaming - and the next he was silent. A sigh of relief leaving his mouth.
When Cassian and Azriel returned the next day to Rhysand with the claims that ânothing was wrongâ it only set off a reaction. Rhysand was adamant they found out what was happening. Of course, Azriel was assigned. He wished the opposite, that he could stay here, relax. Instead, he was asked to travel to the camps quite often. Each time he happened across the same woman. Each time she had the same look in her eyes. He instinctually began to search for her, curious. Like something was drawing him to her and he knew it was his gut telling him that she was the reason he was stuck on this assignment. Each time he would remember seeing how her eyes fogged for just a moment. Everytime it left him clueless on where heâd seen it before.Â
So he watched her. In the morning he stood outside the healers tent so he could watch her go in. Her routine was always the same. Each time he could read her. The silent stress. Each time the disappointment. She was clearly waiting for something. He figured it out. The court. She wanted to go to court. He noticed the glares she sent to the healer who was standing next to Fahara. One of the court healers who came every decade for the healers program. Azriel recognized her as she had healed him a few times when Madja was busy. Everytime Azriel came back with a report of nothing suspicious he was told another day to go back out.Â
The look in her eyes never changed, every time he saw it he spent hours wracking his brain trying to figure out where heâd seen it before. That was, until she noticed him. When she would meet his eyes in the morning she would pause. Like she froze into place, seeing something that wasnât there. Daydreaming? Perhaps she recognised him from court and he set off her short temper.Â
Being here for so long he learned about the best warriors, the best healers. People spoke about the girl often. Very often. He would work with the warriors in his free time, each minor injury from training they would express that they should go see this âgorgeous girlâ. An unspoken fact that they were all talking about her. So he pushed it. It just so happened that he also knew Fahara chose who came to court once a decade for training. If he could get the girl with the cloudy eyes to court he wouldnât have to keep going to the camps to see her- Correction. To find suspicious activity. He was sure it was her though. Why else would he be so drawn to her if it wasnât his gut and his shadows telling him the facts. So on the day of the half decade clinical watch, he used his shadows to single out Faharaâs vision on the girl. Then he trusted fate to take its course and help him.Â
Fate did. Fate took its course. She was chosen quickly by the camp healers. He was chatting with the camp officials on her âmove out dayâ. It was a relaxation day at the camp so Rhysand thought it would be a good day for him to visit. Everyone out in the open. Heâd figure out what was up with that girl- Heâd easily find what they were looking for.Â
Out of the corner of his eye he noticed her leaving her tent. Naturally, he knew which was hers. Not because he was watching her.. He was. There was a girl next to her, chatting animatedly to her. She seemed to be zoning out. Her eyes looked cloudy, like they had a million times. Something in his chest pulled him to her. His shadows reached her before he could, softening her fall until he could pull her onto his lap. One hand gently holding her cheek as she murmured intelligible words. Her body was shivering. He knew now where heâd seen it.Â
Elaine.Â
Elaine had been like this before. Never as intensely. The clouded eyes, body shivering. She was seering. How some random girl whoâd never been in the cauldron was able to see he had no idea. This was suspicious activity. Rhysand was right.. He couldnât tell Rhysand yet. First, he needed to wake her up, then get her to court. Heâd monitor her there. His shadows gently wrapped around her. The cold woke her up. She looked unsure for a moment before she recognized him.Â
âCome on gorgeous girl, I need you to focus. Focus. Focus on me. Hey.â He whispered to her, gently pulling her out. âYouâre okay. Just focus. Take a deep breath, you can do it, follow mine.â He steadied his breathing, acting less stressed than he was feeling. âThere she is. Hey gorgeous girl. Youâre alright. Want to tell me what happened?â
She shook her head. Okay, that was fine. Sheâd eventually tell him.. Hopefully. Whatever she was seeing was important if it was so intense. He settled her, got her things passed off to another Illyrian and carried her to court that evening.
Now that she was here, in the court. He wasnât going to let it be for nothing. He studied. Heâd listened with his shadows. Fahara was strict, Elowyn had a short temper, and she was impatient. Wanting everything to be perfect the first time. When it wasnât, heâd find her. Heâd use that silent studying and spying to help her. It almost felt like he was tricking her.Â
Tricking her into befriending him so sheâd tell him what she had been seeing. So he could tell Rhysand and get her out of his hair?
Just saw that you said you wanted to do a medieval Knight Azriel x princess story and I love the idea so much. Idk if you take requests but Iâve had a similar idea that is Azriel x Rhysandâs sister reader. She is the night courtâs princess and he is the guard assigned by her father to protect her. She had a crush on him when she is younger but all he saw her as was Rhysâ younger sister. But now that they are older, he canât help fall but fall for her (it also doesnât help that she continuously tries to seduce him). But they canât be together coz she is a princess and he is just a knight. Like just imagine all the possible tropes. Forbidden love. Princess x Knight, Brotherâs best friend. She fell first but he fell harder.
Also yes! I take requests, send any and all you guys want to see! (Pls send requests I want to write them for you guys, even if I can't do it full justice I'll try my best!)
I've got a few different idea for a knight x princess story and I would like to know if you'd want that. I just want put out what you want to read, and see if there is a character you prefer. I'm personally an Azriel kind of girl but I'm partial to other characters as well. I really like where the story is going and I'd like you to read it too.
If you aren't into any of these please leave a comment on who you want to see.
(If you really feel like it you can also read my current series pls and thanks. Love you!)
Story Summary: After nearly a century of doing more than she thought capable for herself, she finally reached her dreams. The point she was begging to reach for so long of her life. What she didn't realize was that it was with the tricks of a special whispering influence. Someone who noticed each detail from the moment he found her eyes decades prior. It was chance that it happened to be the same woman he'd been searching for. Destroying the system to have each other.
Chapter Summary: You've been working your whole life to get to the court. Now that you're here, it's lonelier than you thought. There is one person who keeps you good company though.
Word Count: 3.5k
Warnings?: no use of Y/N, details of people in pain. NOT PROOFREAD
A/N: This story has lived RENT FREE in my mind for two years and I wanted to share it. It's my first story, but I have other work if you'd like me to start posting those too. Please have grace. I wrote this originally with a female character and then edited it out. Please be patient with me, this is a slowwwww burn story. P.S. I love you.
It was time to go. Almost.Â
What was time anyways? Asking yourself while you were packing all your personal belongings - your very few belongings - together and putting them into a chest. Mementos into one, trinkets, scrolls, toiletries. Clothes went into the second chest, the one you were given by the camp itself as a ârewardâ for being chosen.Â
You were told someone would be bringing you there, you didnât know who, didnât care. Shrouded in nerves. You could feel something tight around yourself. There was no explanation for it, but it felt like a hug, it calmed your nerves. Nerves. It was nerves.
You pulled the two trunks out of the tent, setting them aside. It was a rest day for the camp. The first day after clinicals always was. You knew that of course.. but the sting of not being chosen made you choose to be in the clinic anyways every year on this day. Today the new recruits would be coming in. A new class of warriors and healers, the latter always being less of a population. Typically there were fifteen, maybe thirty at most. With your tent basically empty behind, you looked around, feeling a bit clueless on what to do now.
As if someone sensed your moment of calm silence, it was interrupted.Â
âHi, I'm Lillia, I guess I'll be moving into your tent?â A young girlâs voice. You looked over. She was about the same height as you, much younger though.Â
âOh. Okay.âÂ
âI see, youâre moving out? Oh! Did you get picked to go to court? That's my dream!â She sounded eager. Too eager. Too young, and two too many wings. You looked past her eyes and to her wings, black and gently swaying with excitement as she rambled on about being here, going to court, on and on.Â
As if the world paused you could suddenly hear screaming. Loud. Screams. It made your whole body shiver. Everything in you paused. Then there was blood. The sight of being inside of a clinic room, a young girl screaming in pain. You hadnât been in a clinic had you?
When you cleared from the vision you were on the ground, being held up by faces you couldnât recognize. Unable to tell what had just happened, Lillia, the young girl, was looking down at you with concern. She looked scared.Â
You should be.You almost said aloud. Why? There was no sense to what you saw.Â
âCome on gorgeous girl, I need you to focus. Focus. Focus on me.â When your vision cleared and focused you were looking into someoneâs eyes. Eyes that forged their way into your dreams at night.. âHey.â His voice was so soft, so gentle, his hand on your cheek. âYouâre okay. Just focus. Take a deep breath, you can do it, follow mine.âÂ
So you did. A few. Following his demonstrations. Watching the eyes that youâd seen so often standing aside from the clinic before you got through the clinicals. Piercingly golden. Every so often, in the most intense moments of training at the camp youâd dream of him. He was there, shrouded in darkness. Watching you. His eyes piercing through. Sometimes youâd try and talk to him, he was always too far. But now? Now you were in his arms.
âThere she is. Hey gorgeous girl. Youâre alright. Want to tell me what happened?âÂ
You shook your head. Of course not. You didnât understand what you had seen, what you had been seeing recently.Â
âYeah, Itâs okay.â He whispered. Azriel whispered. âI got you. Ready to stand?â You nodded in reply, he pulled you up. Most of your weight leaned on him until you were ready and balanced herself. âIâm going to get your trunks.â He added, you looked around. Focusing back on where you were.Â
âWait.âÂ
âYes?âÂ
You opened your mouth to respond. Nothing. âNevermindâ You shook your head. He gave you a worried look, then a nod. He grabbed your trunks. You headed for the clinic. Ready to say goodbye to the people youâve spent decades with.Â
Three Days Later -Â
Chance. It was a chance that brought you here. Into the court, giving a chance to impress the healers so they could train you. You still had no idea what that vision was. It was frequent now though. You walked around the large manor. They called it a house, you preferred the word: Manor. You would explore in your free time, when you weren't in the healers wing.Â
Everything started easy enough. They asked you to show a few of the skills you had, they took notes, they watched you help a few patients, they didnât have many. They took notes. A lot of notes. They tested you. They took notes. So, so, so many notes. Until it was time to begin. You were ready.Â
They assigned many scrolls to read; you didnât know how youâd get through them. You read during your meals, read as you walked, and read at night. You preferred it to sleep, where you could see the visions again and again. Never fully remembering it when you wake, much like a dream. A dream that played out in someone's worst nightmare over and over again. Not always the same, but there was one that plagued you consistently. The worst one. The one with blood, screaming, begging.
For now though, you preferred to explore. The house seemed never ending, always something to see, impossible to get away. If you dared you were sure to get lost. You haven't had much time to explore so far, especially the town. You did want to. So, you settled for the manor.Â
You were doing so when you had managed to stumble into Azriel. He was walking through the halls, when his eyes met yours just for a moment you felt your heart pause. Why he had such an effect youâd never know. Perhaps it was the way he looked nothing like the âbirdishâ illyrians back at camp. The ones who always looked like they were showing off. He looked so natural. He owned and knew whatever environment he was in more than he would let on. Â
âOh, Hi..â You said, gaining his attention rather awkwardly. He turned, slowly, like he knew you were there. âI didnât realize you were here.âÂ
âI was dropping off some papers to Madja.âÂ
âMadja?â
âThe healer.âÂ
âOh, I suppose I didnât get the chance to see her yet. Itâs been busy.â You shrugged. âLeaving so soon?â You cringed.Â
âI,â He paused. âSuppose I donât have to if you need something.âÂ
You shook your head, âOh no, Iâm just exploring.âÂ
âWould you like a tour?âÂ
âYes.â Too quick. Shut up. Your mind berated, you ignored it.Â
He began to lead you through the house, much more certain than your previous meandering. Azriel was the only one you âknewâ here. You barely knew him though. Still, he wasnât the worst company. More quiet than heâd been at the camps. You shuffled behind him awkwardly, each time you fell behind heâd slow his pace to let you find a place next to him. Walking into rooms, he would stand, give a quick âLibrary, Kitchen, West wing.âÂ
âDo you enjoy being stoic?â You asked, before walking up to him as he stood by the entrance wall of the dining hall youâd seen during your meals.Â
âI couldnât imagine.â Was that a hint of sarcasm from his voice?Â
âOh? Sorry, I suppose you like to appear.. Nonchalant? Do you choose to find the shadows of a room to hide or do they find you?âÂ
âShadowsingerâÂ
âFrustrating.âÂ
âWhat.âÂ
âSorry, thought we were describing you.â He smirked, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms, a brow raised.
âWhat else would you use to describe me?â
âPerfectly infuriating.â You rolled your eyes.Â
âAnd?âÂ
âEntirely Captivating.â You scoffed despite the compliment. âI mean, you sent Fahara to me, then I found myself in your arms. Now here I am and youâve only spoken words to describe a house.âÂ
âDidnât you want a tour?â He was smiling. Stop smiling.Â
âYes but-â You groaned, âCome on, this is boring and you know it.âÂ
âWhat would you like to see, gorgeous girl?âÂ
âMore of you.â You said without thinking. His brow raised, ready to make some comment, you were sure. You flushed slightly. âNot like that! Get your head out of your ass.âÂ
He chuckled. Walking out of the room and gesturing with his head in a nod to follow. Long story short, actually, very short story short. You did. Youâd do it again and again if he was going to keep smiling. Perfectly infectious, seemingly always hidden. It was almost like smile lines didnât exist on his perfect face. As someone who said you didnât care for beauty, you seemed interested in him. That pissed you off, he stood in the way from your focus being pulled tight to your healing. But⊠Youâd gotten this far, might as well have some fun right? If your friends from camp could see you know, theyâd wonder if youâd been getting possessed. Considering how hard they had to drag you out, literally and physically, whenever they wanted to hang out.Â
He just kept getting deeper into the house. Parts you hadnât seen in your 3 days of wandering. Though, you hadnât gotten far. Not since you had run into a wall while reading and got too embarrassed of who could have possibly seen. All the way to the back of the house. He pushed open the door revealing a staircase. It was spiraling, so you began to ascend. Until it never ended and you were ready to start panting. Though he seemed entirely unaffected by the trek he was putting you through. You were ready to let him carry you the rest of the way up. Though, you couldnât let him know how much this was killing you. Not when you had a âcool strong sparring healerâ act to keep up.Â
It never ended. He was trying to kill you. He was doing this because you insulted him. Right?
When you finally reached the top your knees felt like they would collapse. Youâd trekked the sides of the mountains, always letting Jax or another ready show off bird to carry you the rest of the way when you were tired. You pushed open the door to reveal the rooftop of the house. Entirely covered with a garden. A canopy covering a large wooden swing.Â
âIs this what you wanted to see? More?â He asked, standing close behind you, leaning down to whisper in your ear as your eyes danced around the beautiful greens.Â
âYeah..â You whispered back, knowing that when you had asked you had just wanted to hear him say more than the words âkitchenâ or âlibraryâ. He walked forward gesturing you toward the swing. You took a seat on one side, him naturally taking the other. Youâd thought it was a large swing. Until he was sitting next to you making the swing look like a childâs toy. Your thigh is just pressing against his.Â
âDo you come here often?âÂ
âAre you trying to use that line with me?â He grinned. You turned to look at him. Then playfully you hit his arm.Â
âNot what I meant. I meant here.âÂ
âYeah, Itâs nice. My friends, despite how close we are, seem to have their own.. ThingsâÂ
âThings?â You asked, hoping heâd elaborate.Â
âMy brothers-âÂ
âBrothers?â You asked, cutting him off. I didnât know you had brothers, most Illyrians donât have siblings, let alone two.âÂ
âNot actual brothers. Though, I consider them that.â He explained.Â
âOh.â You replied, leaning back in the swing and letting him continue, the gentle rocking was soothing.
âRhysand and-âÂ
You cut him off again, âThe high lord? Youâre brothers with the high lord?â You sat up looking at him
âYes, we grew up together. And Cassian. He has his mate, Cassian as well, Mor has her piece, Amren too. Outside of the group, I donât suppose I have that. I always preferred it that way perhaps. Now, I donât.âÂ
âOh.â You leaned back.Â
âI spend so much time on missions now, a distraction perhaps. The camps.â He was still talking, you had lost what he was saying to the volume of your thoughts. Foolish to assume he would have been at the camps, waiting outside the tent for you. He was on a mission. He was on a mission. He was on a mission. âSo when I saw that, I knew I had to find a way to get them here, naturally.â He gestured to you. What was he talking about? What did he say? You couldnât ask him, heâd know you werenât paying attention.Â
So you nodded along, âRight.â You stared ahead, at the red flowers in front of you; growing upward out of a well groomed rose bush. Red, thorns. Red, thorns. Red thorns. Red, Blood. Red, Blood. Red, Screaming. Help. Someone help her. Help her. Help her. Help her. Please. Help her. Please! Help her! Help her! âHelp her! Someone help her! Sheâs dying.âÂ
âHey! Come on! Itâs okay, youâre okay, I have you, itâs okay, youâre okay.â Again, arms around you. For the second time now. Not for the reason a girl would prefer. They were holding you up. Your vision focuses on the sight of the ground, or roof, below you. Then you pulled your slumped body back up and found gold. Burning red, Golden. Like daylight. Breaking the darkness that was the constant torture of whatever it was you were seeing.
âSorry..â You mutter, shaking your head to brush off what happened and again shake off whatever it was that was haunting you.Â
âLetâs go inside.â He said, helping you up. You tried to brush it off, no matter how many times you said you were okay he wouldnât listen. He kept his hand on the small of your back leading you. His pace identical to yours, ready to catch you if something happened again. He opened the door for you, you walked in, going back down the flight of steps that had your breath caught the first time. It was easier than the first upward trek you supposed.Â
He didnât talk much, again, you mustâve scared him. Screaming to help her definitely doesnât do well to attract the good attention of a man like him. Despite what happened, you grew so used to seeing these random visions of people in tortuous situations that you were easily able to brush it aside. You wondered constantly what was happening, but how could you describe this? Who would know? Perhaps the high lord. Now you would have to find a way to get to him. Azriel. Azriel knew him.
When you got back inside he brought you to a sitting room. He made you sit while he got you a glass of water.Â
âAzriel, Iâm okay. You can relax. Just sit with him. Tell me about your missions. Iâd rather be distracted.â So he did, he sat down, after forcing you to drink the water. He told the story of how heâd flown to the borderlands of the human realm to look for some queens. It had been a while ago, he said. Youâd talk too, talk his ear off. Your current topic now was about how excited you were to actually start training physically. It seemed though, the healers, they had a different idea.Â
Eventually he told you he had to go back to the âriver houseâ. You couldnât stop him of course, even if you wanted to sit with him for a little longer. Drown out the loneliness you were suddenly feeling being in court with none of your friends to constantly try and distract you from your work. Instead all you had was this day and too many healing scrolls to get back to reading.Â
They let you start, finally. After two weeks of reading. With the basics. The basic basics. So far back youâd think you were back to being just a beginner.Treating you like youâd never had a day of training in your life. Bandaids, bandages, simple skills. Which they informed you was sloppy. Not well done. So you got to practice how to wrap someoneâs wrist and ankle for a week. Then you got up to papercuts. Not literally, but it was so miniscule that's what you were considering it to be. An annoying pain that you just have to wait out. Three weeks now of reading, training, eating, reading, training, sleeping, repeating. You were alone, and despite how much youâd begged to be in the past to be, you were now, and this time you hated it. You werenât just alone, you were lonely. No jazzy to sit on the counter of whatever clinic room you were occupying to tell her latest stories of her hikes, or escapades with men.Â
Jazzy, you missed Jazzy. She was a simple girl. Wanted to be a healer, of course she wanted court training, but she also said she didnât care that much if it came to her or not. She liked flirting with the boys, she liked to gossip. She was fun. Everything you werenât. Everything you regret not being. Except everything you did, you did to get here. Now youâre here. Now what? Â
In the camp you had respect, you had patients, you had hobbies, you had time - that you dedicated to the clinic - , you had friends. Here, you had training from an old miserable woman. Thanks to Azriel you had learned that Fahara wasnât even the best there was. There was Madja. She was exclusive to the night court members though. From what youâd heard from another trainee. She used to work with trainees, now though? She was too busy, too advanced to have time.Â
Fahara had you working on a simple skill. Healing a small cut. Except she was always picky. Miserable and Stubborn. Two words to describe your trainer. You lifted your hands and molded them into the starting position for a simple healing pose.
âWrong. Try again.â
Again, you tried.
âWrong. Again.âÂ
Again, you tried.
âWrong. Again.â
Again, and again and again and again and again, you tried, for the millionth and third time.Â
âWrong. Aga-â
âOkay! I get it! Itâs wrong! Now will you tell me how to do it!â You bubbled over. Hands dropping to your sides and trying to hold back from screaming in frustration.Â
âI will not tell you. This was in the scroll. Did you read the scroll?âÂ
âYes! I read the scrolls. I ready every scroll before you let me start.â
âThen read it again.â The woman, Fahara said and then walked back to her desk and took a seat, leaving you to stand there with your anger.Â
âThatâs it? Youâre not going to teach me? I waited this long? I did this much? For you to.. Give up?!â
âThis is training. Go read the scroll.âÂ
âFine! Then you have to teach me!âÂ
âWhen you come back, perform it correctly.â She added, not bothering to look up from whatever papers she was studying so intently. Dismissing you.Â
You walked straight out of the healing wing and walked down the hall, practically stomping. You found herself heading upstairs toward the roof. One of your favorite spots now. Youâd go there often to read, relax, and eat. The stairs killed you each time but it was worth it every time. You pushed open the door, not expecting to see two large men. One of which you recognized, the other, not so much. They were talking while walking around the small path. You watched for a moment before you could feel eyes dart to you, like they were aware of you, but hadnât acknowledged you until now. You froze in their gazes as turned to her. Azriel, of course, but you couldnât quite place the other.Â
âHey, gorgeous girl!â Azriel grinned, waving you over. Like a beck and call you walked over.
âDid you have to say that out loud?â You said practically whining to Azriel who walked toward you as well.
âWhat are you doing up here? Thought Az here said the âpretty girlâ was training today?âÂ
âYeah, Iâm wondering the same.â Gaining your attention again, you looked up, finding his eyes, then trading them for âCassâ. Then suddenly you traded it for the red gems on the other manâs chest. They lined his shoulders, his wrists, matching Azrielâs but in a dancing red color. Then you traded the sight of the gems for nothing. For blood. For screaming. A vision you saw before, the same one you always seemed to see when you saw Azriel. As sometimes your dreams veered slightly off the path. Seeing other people, people youâd pass during the day. Imagining something you donât remember seeing about them as you walked past. A man was screaming. There was a woman in his arms. She was bleeding. There wasnât enough time to see who was being held. You clear and you take a moment to assess. You didnât remember being this close to the ground. Or held. Arms circling you that have held you three times now. The same reason each time now.Â
âHey! Hey, youâre okay! Itâs okay. I got you.â He whispered. Brushing your hair back behind your ear.Â
âThis is her? This is the seer? Youâre a seer?â Cass said in surprise. âAzriel did you know? If you knew, did Rhysand know you found the seer?âÂ
âWhat? Found the seer?â You asked, looking up, collecting your breath back to your chest.Â
âLike Elaine.â Cass spoke again.
âLike who?â You asked again. âAzriel.â You looked at him, eyes begging for him to explain what was happening since he clearly knew. He shook his head.Â
âLetâs go see Madja, then we will talk about this later.â
Story Summary: Thus it was written. As tradition, each Illyrian woman as of age will have their wings cut. Thus it was written, healers in the clinical program must train until they are to be considered for court training, once a decade. Thus it was written in the ancient healing scrolls would be banished for their practice. After nearly a century of doing more than she thought capable for herself, she finally reached the end. The point she was begging to reach. Only with the tricks of a special whispering influence of a shadowed voice. Someone who noticed each detail from the moment he found her eyes decades prior. To destroy the system to have her. Thus it was written, a determined woman entirely clueless of the influence of man who allowed her dreams to occur only so he could have her for his own.
Chapter Summary: Slowly, you're realizing something new. Something you've always known, something more though. You're seeing your past, your present, and your future collide. Not to mention, you've been having a special visitor for a while now. This time it comes with his name.
Word Count: 2.9k
Warnings?: no use of Y/N, details of people in pain. NOT PROOFREAD
A/N: This story has lived RENT FREE in my mind for two years and I wanted to share it. Please have grace. I wrote this originally with a female character and then edited it out. Please be patient with me, this is a slowwwww burn story. P.S. I love you. -
Traditions.Â
Traditions that torture.
Traditions that tortured each person
Traditions that tortured each person in their own way.Â
It was tradition.Â
And,
It was written.
Fact. You could recite them.Â
Fact. You could recite even when you were angry.Â
Fact. You could recite them because they were the reason you were so angry.Â
And it was written in limestone.Â
Male Illyrians must train in camps as they come of age.
Warrior Illyrians must face the test of the mountain.
When female Illyrians come of age, their wings are to be clipped.Â
The ancient magic of the Illyrian practice is never to be used.Â
Those were the rules. And they were followed.Â
No exceptions.Â
You stood. Your tent only had a few objects. Mementos of your time at the camp. It has been six decades now. You were older. Certainly not the oldest there, but you werenât a child either. You werenât a child. Though you had once been. As you once had been screaming so blood curdling that all neighboring people could wince at the raw emotion they could feel within their own souls. A pain so severe youâd think that the cauldron itself was taking you.Â
One snip by one clip, a snap. Breaking. Piece by piece. They dismantled your wings. Breaking them down slowly to a dead stump that lingered on your back: Reminding you every single day of the pain that everyone heard. The pain that happens every day to women in the camps. Except for you, it happened at nine before you were sent to camps. So young. Most women who arrive at the camp still have their wings. Only to be cut off after their first few months. As it was said. As it was written. It was tradition.Â
Being in the healer program, you were subjected to the blood-curdling cries every day. Reminding you of your own pain. Sights you never wished to see. Sounds you didnât want to hear.Â
Thus, it was written.Â
Each Illyrian woman of age- you couldnât bear the thought. Eyes peering behind you in the mirror at the humiliation you beheld every day of your life. The men who walked around with their large wings. Whoâd used them to shield you from the rain as they ran back to camp after their trip down the mountain. The men who used them to fly to places you were sure youâd never get to see.Â
Instead, you've gotten used to the lack thereof and remember. How raw your throat was. You couldnât even remember having them. It had been so long, you didnât even remember what they looked like. You briefly remembered stories: stories of their color, stories about how free you would fly, stories about the day they pulled you inside, stories about how all the neighboring houses had come to your after the occurrence.
Sometimes you even remember overhearing the stories that were shared by neighbors. Long faded into your memory but still, they had the same idea. Their experience hearing such debilitating, horrifying screams, and oddly enough, despite not being in the room, they all claimed they could see what was happening. You were laid in your bed, sobbing, recovering, healing? If one could consider such an after-experience healing. You never spoke to them, but your mother had. Sheâd come to your room to change the bandages, clean the wounds, and tell stories. Your mother, who had been a healer. Never selected for the court program. Still, she was the best when you knew. She would share stories from the times at camp, tell stories of the Illyrian ancients, and spoke of the folklore of the Illyrians that she learned at the camps.Â
Supposedly, she was a legend there. One of the best in the program. That was where she met your father. That was where she had her own wings clipped. When she told you the stories about it, sometimes you could see it. Despite not being there, you always had the sense. A story told, was a story seen. Your mom always called it your wild imagination. She still shared them anyway.Â
There was one. Loved so dearly by you that you wrote it down. It was the first thing you had done when you had strength again. You snuck into your fatherâs office, stole a quill and a single parchment, and wrote down the story your mother had told you. The story you had dreamed of after your mother used it to put you to sleep.Â
Thus it was written. âJuly 7th XXXXXÂ
The story starts in the village. A woman unable to get pegnanunt, a woman who wished to have a baby. So the old man in town said, Go now! Go now to see the bird. The white one. Go see the bird, bring it your best gift. So she did. The bird was small, with white wings like an angle. She offered all the flowers she grew. The bird helped her wish. The next summer you was pregnante ^ with a baby. But there was a mean boy. Who also had a wish. He went to the bird with a prank. He gave the bird a plate with rotten food. The bird cursed him! So he went back to town. He told everyone of the birdâs evil. So all the people of the town began to treat the bird bad. So then everyone thought the bird was evil and started doing bad things. Until one day, some man went to far and the bird got hurt. It flew away and never returned. Never blesinig another person again.âÂ
You still had the story. It made you laugh now, all the little mistakes, but you still kept it nicely folded in the chest that held all of your things. Old healing scrolls you got as birthday gifts, the dead flower you got from the first man who fancied you. Nick-knacks, jewelry from your mom. Fabric scraps you swore one day youâd actually sew together and never did. Old drawings from the stories your mom told that you said you had seen. Pieces of your past.Â
You turned your focus to the calendar on your wall, another day crossed off. The wastebin below is filled and dedicated to old calendars. Each calendar was a decade long. You have six now. The last clinical was five years ago. Exactly to the halfway point of another chance to be considered. Today, some of the healers from the court were going to come and look at the people working in the clinic so they could start their consideration process. Each person would be observed, and then tomorrow, those who are followed around were typically the ones they chose for clinicals. Then after choices were made for the next few years, the trainers would send in notes and observations of the healers chosen.
It did well enough to distract you from the sight of the destroyed birthplace of what once were wings on your back. You pulled on your shirt. Tying the strings behind your back helped give a figure to the shirt, pulling your hair from the collar and tying it into a low ponytail.
You stepped out of the tent and made your way toward the clinic. Something slowed your quick pace. A somewhat familiar face. The man, the one usually with the red one. This was the blue one. Heâd been here for the last three decades of warrior choices. You could only remember a fragment of your first conversation. Still, something about him slowed your heart and scrambled your thoughts. You trudged on, fighting to clear your brain and focus your mind so you could get to work. When you got to the clinic, he found your eyes, almost like they held a staring contest for just that moment. The world paused as you memorized the flecks in his eyes, the light dusting of freckles just on the bridge of his nose, the sharp curve of his jaw. The way the woman was screaming so loudly in pain, the way the man held her in his arms, the way everything was being destroyed around them. Someone interrupted your thoughts, bumping past you and drawing you from the statue youâd become. You broke the contact first. Not before noticing how his gaze went from intrigued to concerned. You didnât have time. You had to get inside to get started. So you walked inside the tent following the person who bumped into you in a quick hurry.Â
The clinic was swamped. Not patients, people. The traineeâs using their dedicated clinic time today and tomorrow in hopes of being considered. You tried to ignore it, as if you werenât also hoping that one of the many unfamiliar faces you were seeing would pay you some mind. Turns out, it was the same kind of day for the warriors, and in their own attempts to impress, like the birds that you always called them, they were hurting themselves. Fools. You said. Naturally, being so involved in the clinic meant people were coming to you. A lot. So when you went home that night, you were cursing yourself in your head for not spending enough time trying to gain the attention of the court healers.
The next morning, returning to the clinic felt useless, yet another year to not be chosen. Yet another year to watch the other healers be followed around like lost puppies by the court healers. Yet another year of going home to cry yourself to sleep at the loss. Still, you had to be there. You pulled yourself out of bed, had a moment of zoning out while looking at the pieces on your back that humiliated you daily, getting ready, then trudging to work.
Oddly, though, the man was there again, standing against the clinic. The eyes you drilled into your permanent memory, enough to draw them and put them in your chest, found yours immediately. He was clearly waiting for someone. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you almost hoped it was you, but you also knew better than to hope for anything you werenât working your life away for. The further up the small hill you got the more that was revealed to your vision. He was standing next to someone.Â
âOh, sheâs here.â The woman next to him spoke. She was older, much older, her brows bushy, her figure tall. A confident stance, slight wrinkles on her forehead. Deep smile lines around her lips. You glanced behind her, He stood upright, pushing off the wall he was leaning on and gesturing for you to follow the woman. âYes, you. Come.â Again, you glanced from side to side before hesitantly walking forward.Â
âCome now.â The woman urged you inside. You glanced around the room, like someone was in on a prank. The man with the blue gems, now that you saw it more clearly, followed you in. He didnât stay for long, but he gave the woman a nod and then left.Â
The woman offered no explanation, but she stayed for the entire day, following you around. The man had eventually disappeared, and you had learned the name of the woman. Fahara. You also determined she was sent to annoy you for the day. She constantly got into your space. Easily angering your short temper. Staying in the way, but never assisting. Occasionally, sheâd nudge your hands over a patient, altering your handâs form to heal, that truly pissed you off, and of course, you put them right back where they were. It was frustrating. This woman, sent by the man with the beautiful eyes, was getting in your way. Also hindering any remaining chance you had to be seen by one of the court healers.Â
At the end of the day you hadnât seen her again. Gone off and away. Assuming she was there for the day, you paid it no mind. Well, you paid it a lot of mind. She got in your way. She tried to alter how you healed, she halted your chances to be noticed by the court. She was a pain in your ass. Whatever, it was fine.Â
You tried to ignore it. Went about your time. Went about your days. Went about your years. Another clinic week approaching where you werenât in the running. You started seeing the blue man more often. He was at the camp a lot. You never figured out what he was doing there, but you saw him at least once a week, perched outside the clinic tent. Waiting. When you got there, he would leave.Â
It was the strangest thing. Like he was looking for something, watching for something that never happened. Time passed quickly. Too quickly. You stopped seeing the weird memory as often. Still strange things would happen. The little predictions you had about the warriors getting hurt started happening more often. You could swear you had seen the accidents occur despite being in the clinic all day. When the warrior told you stories you could imagine them clearly, like you had as a child when your mom had shared the folklore.
Until it was almost clinic week. Until it was clinic week. You showed up at the clinic, not expecting much. You noticed a familiar face outside on the wall. Again. Like always, time stopped, and something reached in and squeezed in your chest. You offered him a smile, never even blinking or daring to tear away from his eyes. He pushed off the wall and walked toward you. You met his eyes, offered a smile and walked inside. He disappeared right after. He didnât get the chance. You were torn away by a woman tapping your shoulder. A face you recognized after a moment of staring. Fahara. The woman who followed you around that week five years ago. They were ready for you inside?
You didnât have a single free moment that day, or that week. As it had turned out, foolishly you missed it. Fahara was from court. She was following you around that day because she was considering you. For court. You were entirely caught up in the clinical trials and learning why you always had to pull extra weight during clinical week. Those who were considered didnât have time and they usually were the best of the best. There were four others competing for the spot.Â
On the third day, you finally had enough free time to even catch your breath and eat a proper meal when you were found by the captivating man.Â
âI heard. Are you being considered? Is that for sparring or healing?â He sat next to you and offered the joke. It sounded almost unnatural, like he wasnât used to joking. You finished your bite before replying, wiping the corners of your mouth.
âHa. Ha. Healing. I donât suppose I'll be taking down many people with a sword anytime soon,â you remarked, finding the eyes of the man whoâd once captivated her so much that you hadnât realized he helped you with Fahara.Â
âDisappointing to say the least. I would have at least given you a shot if you tried.âÂ
âI think I'll stick to healing.â You grinned.
âFigures.â He grinned. âYouâd be coming to the night court if you get in. Yes?â You nodded back. âI'm Azriel. I work in the night court.â
âReally? Iâve been calling you blue gem man. Thatâs quite the disappointing name in comparison. Azriel.â You said it like you were testing it on her tongue. He liked the sound. You offered her own name, and he liked that sound even more.Â
âSuits you. Gorgeous girl. Is that what they call you?âÂ
She scoffed a reply. âHow did you hear that?â Though, for the first time, hearing him say it made her want to actually blush, rather than brush him off. What was it? What was it about this one man who distracted her so?
âI heard it when you were sparring.âÂ
âThat was two decades ago.â Her brow raised, âDo you make it a point to remember all the women youâve seen sparring? Or just the ones you stalk for decades?â
âI would, if they were as âgorgeousâ as you. Not to mention, it is written, no woman shall spar in this camp.â He shrugged. âI canât imagine what made you so angry to take down those men. I wanted to stick around. Plus, I work with the warriors. Iâm not only here for you.âÂ
âYou sent Fahara my way?âÂ
âYou could say that.âÂ
âWhy?â You demanded to know.
âIâm sure youâve heard it before.â Which made you raise a brow. âI like your spirit. See you in court, Gorgeous Girl.âÂ
When it was time to go home at the end of the week you assumed the woman stayed back at the clinic. You werenât sure, too busy zoning out as you walked to your tent. âCauldron! You scared me- goodness, are you following me home now?â
Suddenly, and it was sudden. You saw something, again, a sight youâd experienced briefly before. Like a memory that didnât belong to you. This time from a new point of view. You were further away, like someone who was running that way. There was blood. Someone being held. Screaming in the distance. The walls collapsed. Too much to process before it was gone.
â-more training. Perhaps you need a trip home before the travel?â Fahara, that woman that sheâd learned the name of, said, you hadnât caught the first half.
âSorry. What are you talking about?â Youâd missed all of what she was saying basically.Â
âYouâre coming to court.â She looked amused, which made you even more confused.
âComing to court? For what?â The second you finished your sentence, your jaw dropped, Then pointed at the woman. âYou- oh- oh my cauldron.â Fahara nodded. âMe? I was chosen?â
Summary: Thus it was written. As tradition, each Illyrian woman as of age will have their wings cut. Thus it was written, healers in the clinical program must train until they are to be considered for court training, once a decade. Thus it was written in the ancient healing scrolls would be banished for their practice. After nearly a century of doing more than she thought capable for herself, she finally reached the end. The point she was begging to reach. Only with the tricks of a special whispering influence of a shadowed voice. Someone who noticed each detail from the moment he found her eyes decades prior. To destroy the system to have her. Thus it was written, a determined woman entirely clueless of the influence of man who allowed her dreams to occur only so he could have her for his own.
Word Count: 3k
Warnings?: Character death, no use of Y/N, details of people in pain.
A/N: This is my first time writing for the public. This story has lived RENT FREE in my mind for two years and I wanted to share it. Please have grace. I wrote this originally with a female character and then edited it out, if there are typos, I APOLOGIZE. I went through and edited every word. Please be patient with me, this is a slowwwww burn story. I predict about 6 chapters. I also work my little cutesy full time job so I write when i'm free. Which probably means one chapter a week. Thanks! P.S. I love you.
Training.
It was almost ironic that it was all you knew, all you had thought, all that consumed your time, all that consumed your life.Â
The camps. Illyrian camps. You were fifteen when you were sent to the camps for training. Well, maybe since you were nine and decided to dedicate your life to healing others. Or perhaps you decided at four when you'd learned about the camps from your father.Â
Your Father.Â
Your father, who had died due to some âillnessâ. You never did believe it. You never saw him sick. How could you argue though? What would you say? Wasnât he sick? You mustâve been too young to remember it, perhaps too young to see him hide it.Â
You were now much older than youâd been in your first attempt at a dream. Still, you were one of the youngest healer trainees in the Illyrian camps. Thanks to your father, who gave you the opportunity to go in early. Maybe you were even THE youngest in the camp. Training under the best healer trainer the camp offered. Though you longed for the court training. The highest-level healer program is offered to the best of the best. Only once a decade.Â
Court training. A healer who reached a certain level of training - an age, which is what nobody talks about - is allowed to go directly into the night court and train with the top healers in the entire court, perhaps even all of Prythian.Â
Spending more than the allotted time you were assigned in the clinics. Something you had begged for the healers to allow, they did. You supposed because they knew you had potential. A trainee was only supposed to have 5 hours a week in the warrior clinic and 40 hours of training a week. Both of which were required to be even considered a trainee. Any less and you were just âsomeone who was there observingâ. All that to you meant 60 hours of training a week, and 15 hours in the clinic.Â
Top. Of. Class.Â
That was what you had earned. That was what you deserved. Except you didnât. Everyone considered you too young. A âbeginnerâ by the standards of whoever it was that decided who was to go into clinicals.
So you spent every day like that. In the camps. For years. To the point youâd outlasted some of the Illyrian warrior trainees whoâd move off and up. Some of whom you befriended. Jax, Jax, Julia. Lots of jâs in the camps, perhaps Illyrian parents were going through a phase? It didnât matter to you, though; friends were temporary to your dream. One by one, your older classmates were sent off to other programs, a few selected for court training, but returning weeks later with âfailureâ marks.Â
Pick me. Pick me. Pick me. Pick me. You would chant. Again and again and again and again and again and again in your mind. I wonât fail. I wonât fail. I wonât fail. I wonât fail. Barely even focused on the patient sitting in front of you, who was groaning in pain. Your mind was entirely filled with desire. With dreams. Fragments of your future.Â
This wasnât a choice. Youâd get into the courts if you damn had to walk across the mountain ranges. Yet it was the lack of experience that halted your plans.Â
âCome on, gorgeous girl. Iâm dying here.â The Illyrian was moaning in pain, slumped down, the flesh of his arm subjected to his tight-jawed grip, his teeth had to prevent any âembarrassing soundsâ.Â
Training so hard that you barely remembered your name, but you remembered every name of the people in the clinic, and each warrior who would come in. Most of whom called you âgorgeous girlâ. You were so used to these warriors, craving more. No challenge in their simple injuries. You could predict each injury before it occurred. You was right. Every time.
Still, you weren't selected.Â
âLyris, if you show up here again for the same injury, next time I'll be the one who inflicts it.â Still, your hands ran over the propped leg of the bulky Illyrian male who often came in for sword slashes. An ignorant show-off bird who wanted to impress with his sword skills in training. He got hurt every time. You tsked at the male who was looking down at you predatorily.Â
He wasnât the only one. Plenty of them had. Youâd been at the camps for so long, you had a reputation. âGorgeous, blah blah girl,â youâd heard a million times. Illyrian males were simple birds. Wanting to impress a girl, carry on their lifeline. You found it ridiculous to be concerned with minor details of creating life when you could be focusing on the important things. Training?Â
Illyrian males loved to see a pretty lady, perhaps a damsel in distress even. It was for their ego. Your ego though, wasnât focused on appearances. You hadnât ever concerned yourself much with beauty; your face, your figure, your style, was so mundane in your mind, so irrelevant to what you were trying to achieve. Of course, you considered beauty; you were only a woman. Of course, every woman secretly holds something in her, buried deep but buried in vain. You knew you weren't poor-looking. Though most days you were so exhausted youâd barely thrown on your coat before leaving your home tent. Still, every male who came into the clinic certainly thought no differently with the looks they gave you. You paid it no mind. Ignoring them, healing them, moving on to the next person. Almost doubling the 15 hours youâd spent in the clinics for your first two decades, to 28 hours a week.Â
Draining? Yes.Â
Still, there wasnât a single skill you hadnât almost mastered perfectly when it came to the simple injuries of these men. You wanted more. You craved more. You needed it. A warrior comes in with an arm injury? Healed. A warrior comes in with a sprain? Healed. A warrior comes in with an injured leg? Healed. Your hands were magic. You were doing what the others were doing in half the time. You placed your hands over his slash and closed your eyes, focusing your energy on your hands and healing him.Â
Four.Â
Fucking.Â
Decades.Â
Youâd been here for four decades. you had to be good enough now, right? Losing patience, you turned out of the curtained area that had the freshly healed resting man and went to the break room to slump onto one of the stools.
âWhy?!â Looking at the girl with whom youâd grown close over the years, then to a calendar on the wall, marked as âCourt to camp clinicalâ. It has been another decade. A small time for some, too long for others. âThis isnât fair, Jaz! I deserve-âÂ
âI know.. We all know, but it's tradition. Theyâve been here longer; they get the first chance.â The same excuse you had always heard. You were sick of it.Â
âI can't heal when I'm angry.â You stormed out without a second explanation. Your coat was thrown to the ground behind you as you walked down the large hill and into the sparring ground. Unknowingly behind you, sweet Jaz was picking up your coat and dusting it off, following behind you. The snow fell heavily on your flushed face.Â
It seemed to always be snowing in the mountains. Sure, they had beautiful summers, almost perfectly so; it was a pattern. Months of winter. Perhaps granted one month of slightly warmer winter, then summer for two months, followed by another month for autumn, which was essentially an âintroâ to winter, so they could head right back to snow.Â
Wrapping your knuckles with a gauze tape youâd had in your pocket. Always have some sort of medical supplies in your pockets. You had a drawer in your room full of supplies you had to return to the clinic.Â
âOh? Is the healer coming to the grounds? Maybe this time youâll be seeking the healing-â The clearly incompetent man was grabbed by his arm and twisted down to the ground, pinned down by your knee in the square of his back, arm pulled up behind him.Â
âShut. Up.âÂ
He squeaked when you released him, and his arm dropped like a dead weight onto the dirt next to him. So it went, You joined in on the sparring for an hour. Something youâd done before. Many times. At least once a month, you called it âbeforeâ practice so you could see what it was they were getting hurt. Give them suggestions on how to prevent it next time.Â
Yet another thing that the âelderâ healers werenât doing. Yet another reason you were qualified. Yet another thing that kept you from freezing in the snow. Most of the Illyrian men wore long sleeves for the winter, but never thick coats like the healers. Too busy training and constantly working to bother with the cold.Â
You mustâve been distracted enough not to notice that there were people watching you spar. The only woman on the sparring ground is making easy work of the rookie trainee warriors. It was quite the sight for the tall, burly men. You didnât recognize them. They looked strong, incredibly so. Experienced. Older. Probably people from the court, ready to make their choice of what warriors to bring to high-level training, and are distracted by you sparring in a warrior training camp. A male warrior training camp. Also.. Jaz. Standing to the side, watching you, your coat folded over your arm, ready to hand it off when you decided youâd had enough.Â
When you decided it was enough, you were panting, anger let out on the men whoâd lined up thinking youâd be an easy target. You unwrapped your knuckles and gave a nod to the two men who were watching you. Massaging them gently and walking to your friend, who held out your coat for you. You shrugged it on, eyes drifting to the side where the two men stood. One dazzling with blue, the other with red.Â
They looked.. Almost impressed? Quiet but serious, sure of themselves.Â
Hours later, you were back in the clinic. They were short staffed due to the evaluation happening on the elders by the selector from the court, ready to choose one to bring back with them. You were able to move person to person, assessing, diagnosing, and healing. In a short time.Â
That was. Until you were distracted. The clinic tent flap opening and in walking, or crouching in, one of the burly men you saw at the training ground. The blue one, not the red one.Â
âYou were in the training grounds?â He raised a brow. âNow the clinic?â Was he asking you? Talking to you?Â
âHuh?â You turned away from your patient. âSorry, what?âÂ
âI saw you in the sparring grounds earlier, taking down those rookies. Are you a warrior or a healer?âÂ
âCan a woman not be both?-â You regretted it the second it left your mouth. Because you knew the answer. No. In this camp. According to the Illyrian leaders here. No. They followed strict traditions. Traditions like.. Womenâs wings being clipped down to the bare nubs. Traditions like women not being allowed to learn to be a warrior.
He didnât look irritated, though, not like the elders would be. Not ready to give you an earful and a punishment. Rather, he looked amused. You was sure it was different in the courts. Less traditional, more accepting.Â
âA multi-talent then.â He was grinning. Grinning? Why was he grinning?Â
âNot really. These are my grounds.â You gestured around you. âI spar only to learn how to do these.. Males continue to injure themselves foolishly,â shrugging. Continuing, you cleaned the instruments used on the last patient. Wiping down the bed, using a rag soaked with a cleaner. Then another, a sanitizer.Â
âI see.âÂ
You nodded. Not knowing what else to add. Your attention was drawn to one of the doors opening to the side, a healer you recognized walking out, giving a respectful farewell to whoever it was they were talking to, interviewing with was more like it. This destroyed your focus even further and drew a frown onto your face.Â
That should be me. You longed to scream. To convince whoever was in that room to take you instead. The man watching you seemed to notice it.
âI see.âÂ
Your attention was turned back to the man. âYou said that already.â
âWhen do you go in?â He asked you. As if the question wasn't going to kill a piece of you to answer.
So you gripped the rag so tightly that some of the cleaner dripped off the cloth and onto the floor below. âI donât. Itâs only for âelder healer trainee considerations.â Iâm âToo youngâ.âÂ
âI see.âÂ
âWould you stop saying that?â You turned back and said sharply. A tone you never used with someone from the courts. Today was not your day. âSorry.â Your next addition was quieter. You tossed the rag back into its bucket of cleaner and sighed, shaking your head. Noticing how the cleaner splashed out of the sides of the bowls. âI deserve to be in there.â You didnât say anything. You wished you did, mightâve, but someone walked- limped? Correction was being carried very hurriedly into the clinic, drawing your attention. Blood. Lots of blood.Â
âFools.â You muttered under your breath. âOut.â You gestured to the door to the two men who carried him in; they had no choice but to listen. You grabbed a syringe and filled it with a designated amount of painkiller. Then cleaned his arm and pushed the needle in, injecting him. âThis is going to hurt.. Bad. Uh- shit-â was the last thing the man had heard before he slipped out of the clinic to let the woman work.Â
Two weeks later, you had forgotten the trials had even happened. Too buried in work to let yourself remember how disappointed youâd be when they didn't choose you, and then more so when Lyra, A girl you knew, was chosen. You could argue that if anyone should go more than you, it should be Kyia, not Lyra. It wasnât you on the council, though. Perhaps one day-
âHey, gorgeous girl! Come on, weâre waiting for you!â A manâs voice called from the door, pausing your thoughts. Jax. A friend?
âYouâve only been waiting two minutes!â You called back playfully, your hand over the cloth you were using to dry the utensils you had used on your last patient. You folded it, placing it onto the metal table. Wringing out the cloth from the cleaner bucket, you ran it over the bed the patient had lain on, hearing the footsteps as they crescendoed into the room. âJax,â You drawled.Â
His hands snaked around your waist, and you rolled your eyes, knowing exactly what was coming. âCome on, gorgeous girl. Waiting for you feels like centuries. Youâll get stuck with another patient if you donât come now.â He dragged you out backwards. Your feet walked awkwardly back, occasionally stepping on the toes of his shoes and wincing. The tent flaps temporarily blinding you before you are blinded by the sun.Â
âThere she is!â The shout of your friends. Jaxâs arms release you, not quite walking away, though. His hand slid to your back and nudged you forward. Not letting you get away. What he couldn't do was prevent you from rolling your eyes.Â
âLook, sheâs smiling. Câmon!â An Illyrian man urged the group onward.Â
You couldn't help but admire the day. The grass was perfectly hidden under the snow down the mountain path. The trees thickened the further they walked along. It wasnât snowing, but it had freshly had recently, still, there was a path they could follow down the mountainside. The sky was perfectly blue. The clouds were perfectly white. The wind was perfectly-Â
âEl! Come on, gorgeous girl!â Jaz shouted. That drew you from your thoughts. Reminded you that you were with people, friends, and you followed them down the path. They all perched by the river. You shrugged off your coat so youâd have something warm to sit on that wasn't the snow. You crossed your arms over yourself and placed the coat over a log, and took a seat. As if entirely unbothered by the idea of his ass getting wet, Jax sat next to you.Â
Your eyes drew to him. âHaving fun?â He asked. You nodded. You opened your mouth to respond, but he held up a finger. âPlease don't tell me youâd rather be in the clinic, miss. I don't want to hear it.âÂ
âI was going to say thank you for dragging me out.â
âNo, you werenât.â
âNo, I wasnât.â You agreed, head hung, and he nudged your shoulder. âIâll grab you a snack.âÂ
His spot was empty only a moment later, and then he was replaced by Archer. âSo. I heard Lyra got chosen?â He bumped your shoulder with his, forcing your eyes to look up. You nodded. âTotally unfair. Kyia should have been chosen.â
âThatâs what I said!â Your eyes brightened, a grin that seemed to be matching gracing your lips.Â
âI know.â He leaned back, testing his balance on the log. His eyes drew up to Jax, who returned with some kind of granola bar in his hands. A water cusp in the other, which he passed to you.Â
âThanks.â You offered him a smile. âDid Yuliah make these?â You raised the granola bar for a second before taking a bite. He nodded. âExtend my thanks.â You added just before something caught your eye. Something flying overhead.Â
You knew wings like that, Illyrian wings, your brows creasing in confusion, eyes drawn up to watch the quick flying figure disappear past the tree line that hid any further tracing. The boys followed your gaze up, finding nothing.Â
âAre you okay?â Archer asked, trying to draw your attention back.Â
âHm? Yes.â Your head dropped, back to meeting his eyes. âI thought I saw something. Guess it was a bird. Did the councils know we were coming down here?â Knowing well that your friends wouldn't have snitched to the other trainee or the council unless they wanted to be punished for being so far from the camps.
