The battlefield was silent now and no more echoes of screams and clashing steel were heard. It was all but replaced by a tense and trembling quiet. Their victory had come at a terrible cost, as always, it seemed after a war. Azriel stood amidst the wreckage and his chest was tight, while his eyes scanned the aftermath. Every muscle in his body was coiled and his shadows stretched out to probe the area, searching but not coming up with any results.
He felt a jolt in his chest, a cold and creeping dread sinking in. Azriel sent his shadows to sweep farther, flitting over broken soldiers, smoldering remnants of Koschei’s army while gliding over the remains of the battlefield but she was nowhere to be found. His pulse quickened and a tight pit sank in his stomach. “Elain,” he whispered, low and raw and his voice trembled slightly despite himself.
The shadows darted again, more desperate and frantic. Azriel closed his eyes briefly and concentrated on his breathing, biting down hard to not start screaming in frustration. He could hear Feyre’s and Rhysand’s low murmuring further away, someone’s blood dripping on the ground and the crunching of people dragging their battered bodies. His shadows whispered that Nesta was tending to Cassian’s wounds, both too much in their heads to speak about the battle. Azriel took another deep breath and focused on his inner magic and the teether of strength he normally found there. Excruciatingly long minutes passed when finally, a tendril of shadow announced that they had found her.
Elain lay among the rubble of the collapsed church which looked like a jagged scar of destruction which was cutting through the sacred space. Her body was still, too still as he surged to her bent body. The dust coated beams around her shifted with a groan, as he freed her from them, but the sight of her motionless form sent a violent spike of fear through him. Azriel dropped to his knees, cradling her frail and bloody form in his arms. “Elain! Please, please, no…you can’t leave me” His voice cracked, raw with terror and grief. He shook her gently, brushing the dust from her face, and willing her eyes to flicker open. “I…I can’t lose you. Not after everything. Please.”
Azriel’s lips trembled as he pressed a kiss to her temple, tears streaking down his face as he whispered over and over, “Come back to me… Please… Come back…” His shadows shivered and coiled protectively around them as if they could shield him from the cruel stillness of the world. Every part of him screamed that she had to still be alive, that this could not be the end but there was no movement. No breathing, no pulse, no nothing.
Azriel held her tighter to himself and started rocking her gently, murmuring promises he didn’t know how to keep, pledging to himself, to anyone who could hear that he would not let her go. He poured every fragment of hope and love into his heart in the hopes of turning back time, taking her place instead.
However, slowly the horrifying possibility settled in like ice in his chest; maybe this was it, maybe she wasn’t going to recover. The realization slammed into him with a force that stole his breath. Azriel could feel himself starting to panic and he began to hyperventilate, each inhaling sharp and ragged and each exhaling trembling and weak. His wings twitched and his jaw clenched until his teeth ground together painfully.
Azriel’s mind was so loud that he didn’t hear Cassian approaching them. The burly Illyrian dripped blood from various wounds and reached out a gentle hand to Azriel’s shoulder. The moment he touched, Azriel snarled a raw and broken sound. He recoiled violently and curled over Elain’s limp body. His wings glared halfway before they drooped trembling and dropped to the ground in exhaustion. “Don’t,” Azriel rasped, clutching her closer, “Don’t touch us.”
Cassian froze. The shock on his face twisted into grief, but he obeyed as he slowly withdrew his hand, his palms lifted in surrender. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard and backed away nodding once, his eyes shining.
Azriel barely saw him. His entire world had narrowed down to the still figure in his arms. He lowered himself into the dirt beside her, shifting until their bodies were aligned. Then he wrapped himself around her, one arm beneath her head and one arm across her waist while he pressed his forehead to her temple. His wings curved protectively over her like a broken shield, the tips dragging in the blood soaked earth.
“If she’s not with me,” he whispered, voice disintegrating, “then I don’t want to be here without her.”
His shoulders shook violently. “I can’t… I can’t be without her again…”
Tears slipped from him silently at first with each drop landing on her cheek, on her hair and on the torn dirt beside them, mingling with their combined spilt blood.
His body curled tighter around her, instinctive and desperate and his shadows clung to them both as if trying to anchor her soul in place.
Across the field, the others felt it, the gut wrenching and visceral pain that rippled through the bond they’d forged through centuries of brotherhood and battle. Nesta let out a strangled sob like a wounded animal at the sight, her knees buckling and finally giving out. Rhysand, silent and stone faced, bowed his head and clenched his jaw so tightly it trembled. Feyre wept openly and burrowed into Rhysand as if she could hide from the ugly truth.
Azriel clung to Elain like a dying star to its last flicker of light.
Then, almost imperceptibly at first, roots began to stir beneath the dirt. Slowly and deliberate, they curled and twisted gently like living fingers reaching out. They moved around Elain’s body, coiling gently but firmly, grounding her to the earth. Azriel’s fingers dug into her shoulders, his arms tightening, trying to pull her away from the encroaching roots. “No!” he begged, his voice hoarse but his strength was spent and his wings drooped further as the roots continued their silent and inexorable embrace.
White flowers began to sprout amidst the roots, delicate and fragile, blooming with an almost blinding purity. They threaded through her hair, spilled between her limbs, and surged around her body, creating a stunning and sorrowful canopy. It was like a grave, both beautiful and horrifying. Azriel pressed his forehead to hers and tried to burrow closer, refusing to leave her side. “Please, no…” he whispered again and pleaded to anyone who would listen to take him to her. He would follow her wherever she went but he couldn’t be separated from her again.
His shadows, dark and fluid, suddenly began to stir with a renewed intensity and rose up from the battlefield in response to his anguish. They twisted and swirled, merging with the shafts of sunlight breaking through the smoke and ash. The light and shadow spiraled together, a living stream of energy, all rushing to Elain’s body in a single, magnificent surge.
The others froze and none dared to move. Only Azriel’s whispered pleas and the ethereal glow of light, shadow, roots and flowers wove together and created a cocoon around Elain and Azriel who seemed suspended in the tension between life and death.
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