I wrote a little something to kick off the XIV Heatwave Festival! Prompts were 'heatwave', 'melting', and "It's too hot..."
Also inspired by my cats lying around in the actual heatwave we've been having irl, too.
“Gods, but it’s hot…”
Even from where she reclined against the side of the House of Splendors, shaded from the oppressive sun, Alisaie felt the droplets of sweat slide down her neck into her jumpsuit. Her companions, those wanted and not, groaned their agreement. She and Krile had stripped off their jackets upon stepping out of the Rising Stones into Mor Dhona’s humidity, while Retsarra chose to go bare-chested. Now, they sat in the shadow of one of the massive purple banners draped in the stagnant air.
Nearby, the Interloper lay sprawled out on the low stone wall overlooking the rest of Revenant’s Toll, hair slicked back with perspiration. “I thought we left the heat behind in Tural,” he complained as he frowned up at the sky. Any other day, Alisaie might have smiled at his discomfort. As it was, it was too damned hot to entertain her one-sided rivalry against him, even if he did look like a wilting sunflower.
A frustratingly beautiful sunflower that had caught the eye of her best friend.
“We should have,” Krile replied with a sigh, saving Alisaie from her angrily flustered thoughts. She loosened her hair from its ponytail only to tie it up in a bun instead. “‘Tis unseasonably warm for this time of year.”
“But then anything would feel hot after our time in Garlemald,” Alisaie groused, contrary just for the sake of it. The heat was getting to her, turning her even more sour beneath the weight of Retsarra’s presence. “Shouldn’t you be used to this kind of weather? You grew up in a desert.”
The bastard smiled in response, seemingly unperturbed by her aggressive tone. “The perpetual storms made it more humid, to be sure, but Old Yyasulani’s heat is far drier,” he explained evenly. “Anyway, after living inside Everkeep for four years, I grew accustomed to a milder climate.”
“What I wouldn’t give for that milder climate now,” Krile added, accompanied by a thoughtful hum from Retsarra. The smaller woman fanned herself ineffectually with her hands. “If only I could cast some ice magic…though I fear my mastery over pictomancy isn’t quite precise enough not to risk it freezing the whole marketplace solid.”
“Right now, that only sounds like an improvement.”
“Can’t you cast some with your red magicks?” Retsarra asked, glancing at her. She bit her lip as her brows furrowed, loath to admit to him of all people that it was beyond her. “Ah. Well, I suppose we can wait for Andhris and Raha to return.”
The casual way he referred to her dearest friends made her grind her teeth, only stopping when Krile shot her a look of concern. She wanted to shove him off the wall. To shout at him to leave them alone. Yet E’andhris was the one who had brought him across the salt with him, and G’raha seemed content with their arrangement. Still, she couldn’t quell the protective swell within her breast from rising.
“I have an idea,” she announced suddenly, unfurling her legs as she climbed to her feet. She closed the short distance to the swordman’s side, ignoring the way his golden skin glistened in the midday sun. It was easier to focus on his imperfections. The way his dark roots had grown long of late, making him look ridiculous and not dashing in the slightest. Not that it stopped E’andhris’ fascination. No, the foolish man seemed to like him all the more for it.
“It’s too hot for magick lessons today,” Retsarra said. He propped himself up on his elbows, eyeing her warily. She waved her hand as she sat beside him on the wall.
“No, nothing like that. I propose a swimming competition while we wait for the others.”
“A dip in the lake would be a welcome respite,” Krile piped up from behind them when it seemed like he’d decline. Retsarra glanced toward the aetheryte with a frown, looking every bit the wolfdog awaiting his master’s return. It made her click her tongue in disapproval.
“Oh, come on. Aren’t you bored, Retsarra? Let’s make a race of it!” Alisaie nudged his shoulder, trying to appeal to his competitive nature.
His ruddy eyes remained firmly fixed on the slowly rotating crystal, though his cheeks warmed from more than just the heat. “I’m not a very strong swimmer,” he admitted at length.
Alisaie laughed. She didn’t mean to, but it barrelled out of her before she could stop it. “You’re like my brother, then,” she said, fonder than she intended. “He’s never been very buoyant either.”
“I can float and paddle around when I need to, but…” the hhetsarro started, defensively, only for his ears to twitch at the far-off yet familiar sound of a bard’s warbling. E’andhris had returned. Retsarra sat up so quickly that he nearly fell off the wall. His painted nails scrabbled at the stone as he steadied himself.
Fool of a boy, Alisaie thought to herself as she watched him launch from the balcony, reminiscent of the way she once had. He tucked forward as he landed, somersaulting into a sprint as he rushed to meet their hero at the plaza. It wasn’t unlike the way G’raha fawned over him naught more than two summers past, she recalled fondly.
Despite herself, she smiled. The more things changed, the more they remained the same.
TITLE: when the moon rises
WORDS: 1.9k
NOTES: shikaino / rated T to be safe but very mild! continuing my canon divergent post-war series
SUMMARY: He thinks she looks like she belongs up there, alongside the moon and the stars and all the beautiful things humans have no right to touch. He reaches for her anyway.
also on ao3!
There's flowers on his windowsill. It's such a small, pointless little detail that anyone else walking by wouldn't even notice. But Ino isn't just anyone. She prides herself on knowing the nuances of her friends; she doesn't care about knowing everything about everyone in the world, just the people who matter. She's always been reliable on that front. Maybe that's why Asuma asked her to watch over her teammates— to take care of them— because he knew she would do anything for them and their happiness.
She raises a hand over her eyes to block the lamplight, and squints up at his window to revel a bit in the color of the petals. Purple. Flowers look natural on her window, but his is so often bare and blank with the drapes drawn tightly shut... It's so out of place in her sky blue eyes that laughter bubbles in her chest and escapes into the silence of the evening. Her hand falls from shielding her eyes to cover her mouth to silence herself.
It's more endearing than a smoke signal has any right to be.
She contemplates climbing up to his window, and knocking on the cold pane keeping her from those little flowers, but she decides against it. There's a plethora of plants outside his house (one's she's all to guilty of planting whenever he leaves on a mission), and she'd rather not disturb them. He groans when he discovers a new one, but it's worth it. Each little sprout represents another time he came home safely to chide her.
There's a key clinking around in one of her pouches somewhere, but she doesn't bother. When she reaches his front door she gives it a push and it opens, unlocked. Unguarded. The lights are all off downstairs, so she knows his mother is off somewhere. She always makes sure to leave at least one little lamp on, but Shikamaru is comfortable in the dark.
She makes quick work of the stairs, even in the pitch black, and finds the door to his room open. Moonlight pours into his room through the open drapes, and casts a faint blue haze across all his belongings. It suits him, she thinks. He suits the night— dark skies, cool breezes under the moon, falling stars— they all reminded her of him.
He looks perfectly at peace when she steps in to find him. He's laying back with his arms behind his head, one knee bent and the other outstretched. He looks perfectly relaxed. Except for the imperceptible way his jaw is locked, his teeth clenching like its the only thing keeping something inside him from spilling out. He only shifts when she enters his room fully, tilting his head to get a view of her around the leg that's bent. When their eyes meet, she waves her hand a little as a greeting. He exhales audibly through his nose.
"You're breaking into people's houses now?" His voice his gravelly, like he hasn't slept in days, but it's soft around the edges and she finds that same softness in the way he looks at her.
"Says the one who left the door unlocked." She snarks back, and tosses her hair over her shoulder before heading for the windowsill. He turns over on the bed, rolling onto his side to face away from the light. She lets her fingertips run over the petals, and admires the way they look in the blue evening haze. There's a whole vase full of blossoms, so she takes one for herself. She cuts it down to size with a spare kunai, and tucks it behind her right ear.
Satisfied, she hops on over to his bed and climbs on. It dips under her weight, and Shikamaru glances over his shoulder to look at her shine in the moonlight. His gaze roams over her face, lingering over her eyes and the way they crinkle softly as she smiles down over him. He thinks she looks like she belongs up there, alongside the moon and the stars and all the beautiful things humans have no right to touch. He reaches for her anyway.
One hand comes out from behind his head to let his fingers brush over the side of her face, and caress the flowers blooming there.
"So you did come here to steal something after all, huh?" He says, wishing he only meant the flower. But the longer she sits like that, smiling and bright and alive— the more he can feel the weight of the sorrow he's been carrying on his back get lighter. It's like his demons can't help but wilt in her presence. She's a force to be reckoned with, something beyond human understanding.
"Oh, please. These were from my shop, they were mine first." She sticks her tongue out at him for good measure. "Besides, they look better on me than on that dusty windowsill."
He furrows his brows because he hates that it's true. His hand falls away from her, and drops to the side of the mattress as he rolls over onto his back. If Ino were the flowers, he would surely be that dusty windowsill. They were mismatched, always were. Anyone could see that. His knit brows relax when he hears her voice intruding in his thoughts, remembering her babbling something about opposites attracting each other or some other nonsense when they were younger.
She's still sitting there, looking at him, concern in her eyes and radiating sunshine even in the dark. He shuts his eyes.
"Yeah." He says. "They do."
She lets him stay like that for a moment and basks in the comfortable silence. She could probably get answers out of him if she tried. But that's not what she wants. She craves the honesty that leaks out of him when he's not looking. She puts all her weight onto one of her palms as she leans forward, and lets her free hand cup his face. He leans into her touch so faintly she's almost unsure it's even real.
He's not in the mood to talk about it, but she knows what's on his mind. It's the same thing that plagues her when she lets her guard down. It's the memories that creep in when they don't have enough strength to push them away. They don't need to talk about it, she thinks. There's no easy solution to working through loss. Sometimes it never really goes away. Ino and loss are old friends, and if there's one thing she's learned, it's that sometimes all you need is something to ground you. To anchor you to the real world, the present, so you don't get swept away in the pain of what's not here anymore.
She'll be that for him any time he needs it.
"That might be the first time you've complimented me." She teases, and watches the way his eyelashes flutter as his eyes open. He fixes her with a gaze she can't read, so she doesn't even try. She just relishes in the way he's looking at just her, at the fact that she's the only thing she can see reflected in his dark eyes. This close, she can see all the shades of brown in his irises. She thinks she should count them later.
"Not possible." He says, completely confident that he's right. The little voice in his head can't seem to ever stop singing her praises, noticing every endearing quality and virtue. There's just no way he hasn't let something slip in all the years they've known each other.
"No, really." She presses, because there's something in the tone of his voice that makes her want to chase after it.
He sits up then, all too quick, and suddenly they're face to face and her heart stumbles over its own beats. The fact that he doesn't seem phased by their closeness irritates her, so she leans closer as if to prove to herself she doesn't actually care all that much either.
"Not possible." He says firmly and softly at the same time. She hates the way it feels different when he speaks so close to her. There's something she can't place in his eyes and she wonders if its in hers too.
"What makes you so sure?" She all but whispers, tugging at a thread she doesn't understand, hoping he'll unravel for her just this once... Hoping he'll help her unravel her own tangled heart, too.
"Just trust me." He's a little too deep in the blue of her eyes, it's so safe and comfortable and all the alarms are sounding in his head to tell him just how dangerous this is. He feels himself faltering amidst the sirens. He still doesn't pull away.
"I trust you." She says, breathy and soft. She moves closer a fraction of an inch, and they're really on the cusp of something here; they're teetering on the edge of everything they've danced around these past few months since the war has been over. She can feel it. She wants to cross over into that, wants to know what the other side is like. Her eyes begin to flutter shut, and she remembers all the times she's left herself in the safety of his arms on the battlefield. She's trusted him from the beginning. She always would.
She feels his hand come up to her face, and a wave of electricity passes through her whole body. It takes all her strength to just wait. Then there's a faint rustling sound by her ear, and a soft thunk against the bed. Blue eyes snap open to find him laying against the pillows, purple flower in hand, holding it up to admire it.
"Wha—"
"Whether it looks nice on you or not," his gaze flicks up to her, "you have a shop full of flowers. This one's mine."
She's taken aback, stunned into silence. It's not often that she's speechless, but she feels like her heart just went on a rollercoaster and left her head whirling in the aftermath. When she comes back to herself, disappointment seeps into her skin at the loss of whatever was about to happen. Watching the way he holds the purple flower— with the same fondness and warmth that he touched her with— is only a small consolation. She straightens her back, clicks her tongue, and tries not to let whatever she's feeling leak out. "Stingy."
He smiles at that, and she hops off the bed satisfied that his mood has improved enough for him to manage through the night. She'd planned on sleeping over, but she suddenly doesn't trust her heart not to betray her if she hangs around any longer. She needs to get her heart and her head on the same page so her mouth doesn't say anything stupid. Once she reaches the doorway, she spins around on her heel and puts her hands on her hips in a huff. "Put it back in some water at least!"
He's sitting up now, propping his arm up on his knee so that the flower hangs just in front of his face. He waves her off with his other hand. "Yeah, yeah. I'll take good care of it."
The petals are so close she swears they brush over his lips. She feels her heart cause a ruckus in her chest, and darts out of the room like it were on fire.
"Goodnight!" She remembers to shout as she's all but tumbling down the stairs, and can't help the smile that takes over her face when she hears his almost inaudible chuckle.
Summary: The Reader is a detective at the DPD, and suffers a panic attack at work. Connor helps... and overcomes demons of his own.
You felt like you were going insane, like someone had decided to scramble your mind. Your eyes--wide, wide, wide--flickered from the ground, to your reflection in the dirty, cracked mirror, and then back to the ground again. You looked like a mess. And you were, all things considered. The only good thing, the one small mercy whatever deity had decided to grant you that day, was that you were alone. Nobody really used the precinct's break room. Everyone preferred to work straight through their shifts, finish as soon as possible, and get the hell home.
Home... you wished you were there. You wished you could crawl into bed, feel the comfort of your warm blankets--a stark contrast to the frigid air in the station. But you knew you couldn't. Captain Fowler had given you a case, and stars be damned, you were going to crack it. As a recent transfer to the Detroit Police Department, you needed to prove yourself. And having a panic attack in the middle of your shift was not the way to do it. No. You had to pull yourself together. And you would... just after a few more minutes.
As much as you wanted to breathe, as much as you wanted to do anything, really, you couldn't. And so you leaned heavily against the counter top, staring at the cracks in the linoleum floor. Counting them might be a good idea, but your brain felt so foggy, so tired, that you wound up doing nothing. Nothing. That was what you'd been doing for as long as you could remember. In high school, while countless students--friends--were bullied, you'd done nothing. College, the time you were supposed to come into your own, and you'd done nothing. Even now, as androids started to win their rights, but still faced violence, what were you doing? You were standing in the break room, having a goddamn panic attack. You were doing nothing.
Dimly, you heard footsteps approaching: lithe, quiet footsteps that did nothing to ease your anxiety. If anything, they made it worse. No. No, you couldn't get caught in this state. What would everyone think? Hell, Captain Fowler would probably fire you on the spot. That thought alone brought tears to your already red eyes. You struggled to compose yourself, to plaster on a smile that would tell whoever was coming that you were alright. You just needed a minute.
"Are you using the coffee pot, Detective Y/L/N?"
At the sound of Connor's voice, you tried your best to sound normal. "N-no. Go ahead."
You internally winced, knowing the ragged tremor in your voice gave you away. Keeping your back to the android, you shifted until you were no longer blocking the coffee pot. Your knees threatened to buckle, but you managed to keep your balance. More footsteps echoed as Connor came closer. The sound of a ceramic mug being gently set against the counter reached your ears, and with a jolt, you realized he was standing next to you. Shit. He couldn't see you like this. Connor was still so new to being a deviant, new to emotions. You didn't want to give him anything else to think about.
"Detective Y/L/N..." There was a type of odd... gentleness to his voice, something that sounded foreign coming from an android. Even a deviant. "Are you alright? Your stress levels are..." He seemed to struggle for the right word, finally settling on: "high."
You barely bit back a "no shit, Sherlock," knowing the expression would be lost on him. Instead, you focused on calming yourself down. "F-Fine," you stammered, wincing again at your shaking voice. "I'm fine."
Something told you he was skeptical. You could practically see his brow furrowing. Finally, you risked a glance at him, only to find those brown eyes watching you with what seemed like concern. Quickly looking away, you felt tears leak out of your eyes. You tried to stop them, but they wouldn't quit, and just like that, the damn broke. You turned to face Connor completely, barely resisting the urge to run out of the room. For a moment, he simply stared at you, clearly confused.
"I," you began, but the words suddenly turned to ashes in your mouth, and you covered your face with your hands. Choked, broken sobs escaped your lips, not quite loud enough for anyone else to hear, but enough that you felt yourself spiraling out of control.
Connor stayed quiet for a moment, then gently asked: "Is there anything I can do?"
Raising your head, you blinked away more tears and, after sucking in a deep, shuddering breath, managed: "I... I don't know."
"Do you like dogs?" The android's tone shifted from concerned to lightly conversational.
Caught off-guard by the question, you frowned as you considered it, wondering where in the hell that came from. Still, Connor was expecting an answer, and you knew you needed to give him one.
"Y-yeah?" You couldn't help but frame it as a question while you swallowed a sob.
Connor's lips twitched, and he leaned against the counter. "I do too. Hank--Lieutenant Anderson--has one. His name is Sumo."
Despite everything, you couldn't help but smile. Sumo, you thought, feeling the panic beginning to ebb away, piece by piece. That's adorable. You slowly straightened out of your defensive, borderline-hysterical slouch and leaned heavily against the counter.
"He's a Saint Bernard," Connor continued. You didn't miss the way his hands hovered slightly by your arms, as if he ready to catch you, should you start to fall. "I try not to feed him too much, but he's always hungry. I think you would like him."
You found yourself smiling wider. The fog in your head was clearing, allowing you to think without spiraling down into a dark place. Mercifully, the tight sensation in your chest and throat eased up a bit, and you breathed easier. Deeper. Slower. After a moment of hesitation, you discovered you could speak in a relatively normal voice.
"I think so, too," you managed, briefly shutting your drying eyes. No more tears, you were pleased to find. "I've always wanted a dog. And a cat. Just... animals in general."
When you opened your eyes, you saw Connor nodding. You smiled again--genuinely. Although exhaustion made its way through your body (all-too-familiar, given your history with panic attacks), you knew you were pretty much ready to go back to work. You imagined you must look terrible. Still, you couldn't bring yourself to care. In all honesty, the relief, the knowledge that everything would be okay, was too strong for you to give a damn about your appearance.
Wordlessly, Connor grabbed a paper towel, soaked it with water from the sink, and handed it to you. You took it with a grateful nod and began dabbing at your eyes. It felt cool against your inflamed, irritated skin. When you were done (and when you looked more put-together and less like a freak-show), you tossed the paper towel in the trash and turned to the android.
"Thank you," you said, voice still slightly thick. "Seriously. I..." Unsure of how to continue, you simply repeated: "Thanks."
Connor offered a small smile and tipped his chin in what resembled a nod. "Your stress levels look... better."
Barely holding back a laugh, you pushed away from the counter. "What were you doing in here, anyways? This room's usually empty."
"I was..." Connor suddenly looked troubled, his LED flashing yellow. "Making coffee."
You frowned at his shift in demeanor and crossed your arms over your chest. "You like coffee?" Something wasn't adding up in his story. "But I thought--"
"It's not for me," the android interrupted as he glanced aside. "Detective Reed wanted some, and expressed... anger when I initially refused. I didn't want the situation to get worse, so--"
"So you agreed." You didn't phrase it as a question, your fingers curling in anger. It's always got something to do with Reed. You sighed, uncrossed your arms, and murmured: "You okay?"
Connor's brow furrowed as he clearly tried to analyze what you said. "I... my systems are functional, if that's what you meant."
"No, Connor, I meant are you okay. Y'know... emotionally."
There was a brief moment where you thought you would have to explain yourself further, but then Connor caught on. "I don't know," he admitted, sounding more confused than ever. "I... I think so."
You smiled softly and took a step toward him, careful not to crowd his space. "Good. Just try to ignore Gavin. He's an ass."
"That's... accurate." Connor returned your smile. "Thank you, Detective Y/L/N."
"After everything, I think we're on a first name basis," you said, wanting to roll your eyes in exasperation. "You can call me Y/N." You didn't wait for him to agree, instead opting to start walking toward the door. "And let Gavin make his own damn coffee. We need to get back before Fowler kills us."
Later that day, after you'd both returned to your desks, you felt your anxiety levels sink to an all time low. And when Gavin started giving Connor a hard time, well... no one could prove it was you who loosened the bolts on the prick's chair.
(Though the knowing smile Connor gave you after Gavin fell flat on his ass was enough to make your heart sing.)
A/N: Okay, so this is my very first [Character] x Reader type of fic. I honestly had no idea what I was doing, but if you liked it, a review/reblog/like would be great! Let me know if you want to see more of these in the future.
5 months. The War had been going on for 5 months. Months of hatred, suffering and death.
Stood on the balcony to her second home, Aria looked out over Velaris, at the river Sidra, at the untouched serenity of the city she loved and not for the first time wondered how they had ended up in such a mess. She was tired. So, so tired. The war was slowly taking everything out of her as she dealt with irritated court members who asked her questions she didn’t know the answer to. The answers no one could give except her father. But, before he left to fight with his men, the High Lord had announced that Aria would oversee the City of Starlight, but she hadn’t heard anything from him in weeks.
Or Rhys.
When the news arrived that war had been declared, she had sobbed with Mor for an hour before she collected herself, promising Mor she would be back before morning and flew as fast as she could to the Illyrian Camp. Rhys had been waiting by the house, pacing, and Aria had barely made a solid landing by the time Rhys had ran to her and wrapped her in his arms.
They held each other for a long while before Rhys pulled away hurriedly and said, “We haven’t got long. The Illyrians moved out to the front line earlier - Cassian and Azriel with them.”
Her heart had stuttered at that.
She had been spending as much time as possible at the camp since that night, training with Rhys and Cassian while Azriel was busy. She had grown fond of Cassian who treated her like a little sister and always laughed but immediately apologised as he threw her in the mud at every training session. The first time she had won hand-to-hand combat against him, he had been covered in mud but that didn’t bother either of them as he jumped up and spun her around to the whooping of Rhys.
“Ria,” Rhys had continued drawing her back to that dreaded moment, “I need you to stay with mother, I don’t know what is going to happen to me - but… I need you to promise me you will look after each other.” Tears had rolled down Aria’s cheek as she was stunned into silence.
Rhys grabbed hold of her shoulders, “Ria promise me!” Aria had never seen Rhys so panicked before and could only nod her head in agreement. It seemed to be enough for Rhys and he sighed before enfolding her in another hug.
“Please come back,” Aria had sobbed. Being the High Lord’s son made him a bigger target on the field even without his training being a threat.
“I’ll try” Rhys had replied as he stopped a tear from running down Aria’s face, “Look after Velaris for me, I don’t want to come back to it in ruins.” He tried to joke.
“Fly with me?” Aria asked and that had been that. Rhys had flown with her for an hour until he needed to go and they landed on a rocky edge of a mountain. He had then taken out a chain from his shirt Aria didn’t know he carried, formed a small star and tucked it into the locket. Rhys gave it to her before she left.
“I will always be with you. I will send messages whenever I can.”
Aria untucked the locket she never took off and looked at it as her fist clenched on the balcony railing. That had been five months ago. Five months of not seeing her father, brother or best friends.
At first, she always received letters from Rhys and even if he couldn’t he would reach down the daemati link and notify her of everything important. All she really knew was that the brothers were in different legions: Cassian was way below what he should have been as a foot solider and Azriel was being used as the High Lord’s personal spy. Aria hated how much danger they were all in. Every time the list of the dead arrived she would scour it 5 times over to be certain those 4 important names did not appear on it.
And now it had been weeks since any message. Weeks of not knowing whether they were alive or -
A shiver ran through Aria’s body and she took a deep breath as she tried to block out any panic that always invaded her mind when she thought of her brother on those killing fields. She had to be strong for her mother – and for her court.
Needing to clear her head yet again, Aria fell from the balcony, opened her wings and flew down to the city beneath the mountains.
Most days, when she wasn’t busy at the court of nightmares, Aria flew into Velaris to aid in whatever way she could; whether that was helping unload supplies or simply helping families in need. When she arrived, she noticed an old man struggling to lift newly arrived barrels that no doubt needed to be transferred to the dock. Everyone else in the square were busy selling rationed items or were unloading barrels themselves – there never seemed to be enough people to help.
It was quite a distance to the dock so, she jogged over, taking a barrel from the cart and carried them down the streets to be loaded on to a ship which was on it’s way south of Prythian. 10 trips later between her, the old man and a young boy Aria managed to twist into helping, all of the barrels had been safely transferred to the dock. She blushed as the old fae continued to thank her and just replied, “It’s my job.”
As she walked by the Sidra dock, wandering to find another job, people looked to her and smiled, praising her for looking after the city and it’s people well. Aria wasn’t so certain.
Ships filled the Sidra bringing new weapons and supplies to aid the Night Court’s army ever day but Aria’s mind always fell to the hundreds of families stranded in other territories whether they were in her court or far away. By whatever luck they had, the wards surrounding Velaris had kept trouble from entering the city, keeping the city out of Amarantha’s grip but Aria couldn’t help but feel guilty they weren’t doing more to help.
They should be doing more to help.
It was her own personal battle she fought. Her heart was desperate to open the borders to help families in need- but she couldn’t. Not when she had a duty to protect her Court no matter the cost. It was worth the cost if it meant Velaris was safe from harm- surely? It had to be.
Hours later, Aria was exhausted. Ready to crawl into her bed, she flew back to the House of Wind, fighting the harsh currents that whipped against her wings. When she landed on the balcony to her room, she literally ripped off her boots and dagger which she carried despite never needing it with her well of magic and fell onto her bed with a loud groan. Why did everything have to be so complicated?
She opened her eyes when a knock sounded from the door. Aria looked out to the balcony and was surprised when she saw the night sky closing in. She could have sworn she only closed her eyes for a minute. Sighing she heaved herself off the bed and opened the door. Her mother was waiting on the other side with a plate of delicious looking food.
“You missed dinner,” Her mother acknowledged when she came into the room, setting the plate down on the bedside table. It was only then Aria realised her stomach growled and that she hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast early that morning.
“I was tired,” Aria snapped. Her mother didn’t say anything but hum as she took in the state of her daughter’s messy room. Everything was so much to handle and it was finally getting to her. Aria tried to take slow deep breathes to calm herself, but nothing worked so she walked back to her earlier post at her balcony wall.
Her mother joined her a few minutes later, looking down onto her beloved city. “You know, I’m proud of you.”
Aria huffed. “People keep saying that.”
Her mother faced her, curling a piece of Aria’s thick, long, black hair behind her ear. “Because it’s true. No one could want anything more from you. They’re safe and protected. People see the way you help every day without fail. Not many others would do that.”
A faint smile blossomed on Aria’s face at that. She had worked hard.
Her mother continued, “I know it’s all doom and gloom but the Night Court have something to look forward to. Starfall.” It would be the first Starfall in Aria’s life, let alone centuries of the Night Court, where there wasn’t going to be a huge party. Where she danced all night with Rhys and Mor.
“The fighting won’t stop for the soldiers to see it though,”
“No it won’t, but it gives people hope that they will one day see it again.” Aria looked down at her hands. She wished she could be like her mother. All loving. All caring. Silence fell for a moment as both fae admired the city that did truly look splendid in starlight.
“This came for you,” Her mother broke the silence as she handed over a worn looking letter. Aria looked at her name on the envelope. She looked up at her mother’s smiling face and for what felt like the first time in weeks she truly smiled.
“He sent me one too,” For it was Rhys’ handwriting on the envelope. After weeks of nothing… she finally had something.
“I’ll leave you, I need to attend to some males who might have got into some sticky situations at the Court of Nightmares today,” her mother chuckled. Aria didn’t even want to know. She sent many fae to deal with the Court during the five months and they all came back wishing to not go again. She had a lot of thanking to do once this was all over.
Her mother left after a swift hug and Aria walked back to her bed as her thumbs traced the paper. What if something bad had happened? She tried not to think of that as she carefully opened the letter. It read,
Dearest sister,
All is good. Not much has changed since my last report. I don’t know where Cassian, Azriel or Mor are but I know they are alive at least.
Hope you haven’t got into too much trouble. I can’t wait to come home.
Love, the most handsome brother in Prythian
Aria closed the letter. The date read four weeks ago. Yes, the letter said he was okay but it had been written weeks ago. Three weeks had gone by and still nothing. And Rhys didn’t even know where the trio were. Maybe she was being paranoid. Maybe she was scared but she had had enough. She needed answers to where her family were. She needed to go to the War Camp.
She threw open her wardrobe and immediately started pulling on her Illyrian leathers. Aria tucked Rhys’ pendant under her shirt. Strapping her trusty dagger on to her belt she once again stepped out on to the balcony in the cool evening. Conflict tugged at her heart though like always. Could she really go? She needed to stay in Velaris – was trusted to stay in Velaris.
But…She didn’t care. Not at that moment anyway.
She took a step closer to the edge. She was fed up and would damn the consequences. She braced her wings for take-off. She needed to see her family. She needed to see they were okay with her own eyes. Setting off into the night, she began her flight south to the war camp.
The war camp looked just as dreadful in the rising sun than Aria had imagined. It looked as if all the light and life had been sucked out. She had travelled all night, winnowing at times when she could feel herself tiring from flying. She landed at the border, not bothering to hide as she wound her way through the tents and weaponry. A few Illyrians stopped and looked as the daughter of the night court stormed to the High Lord’s tent, some she recognised from her brothers’ training camp. Every person she crossed looked weary and downcast. Something hung in the air that seemed dreadfully wrong.
Her heart thudded in her chest like a drum beating.
She needed to find someone. Mor, Rhys, Cassian or Azriel. Quickening her pace, Aria rounded another tent when -
“Ria?”
She knew that voice coming from behind her. She turned around and there stood Azriel, filthy, caked in mud and looking like he hadn’t slept in days. Ignoring the stares they received, most likely from Azriel calling her, Aria approached the Illyrian. They hadn’t seen each other since that first dinner and when she got closer to him, she noticed his hair was slightly longer and he seemed older, like he had already lived hundreds of years compared to his mere eighteen.
“Aria, you aren’t supposed to be here. What are you doing here?” Azriel asked worriedly, taking in Aria’s harried state.
“Rhys. I need to speak to him,” Aria replied searching Azriel’s eyes for information but Azriel refused to meet her gaze. Without even knowing him very long she felt as if she could read all of his emotions instantly and her mind was telling her something was wrong. Very wrong. Sighing, Azriel took hold of Aria’s hands and looked up meeting her gaze.
“He’s not here,”
“Then I need my Father to send for him. I just – I need to check he’s alright,” Aria turned away, ready to storm to the High Lord’s tent to demand where Rhys was.
Azriel sounded like he was talking to a frightened animal when he said, “Aria he’s not here because… he’s been captured.”
Silence roared in her head. There were no other sounds other than Azriel’s voice. No other sounds that could possibly make it okay. She must be dreaming. It couldn’t be true.
“What?” A breath of a word.
“A week ago, his legion was dispatched to find Jurian and Amarantha - they never came back. All we know is that Amarantha has him. Most of his legion is dead but she kept him. I’m sorry, he’s gone.”
Sorry this took a little while to get out! Sorry not much happened this chapter. The drama starts to happen around chapter 5/6. Thanks for reading.
Nordel [The Chronicles of Duracia] [Book One] (on Wattpad) https://my.w.tt/FHSOmEyOBO
Summary: Clan Redbriar has ruled the province of Nordel for centuries. Faithful subjects to the Duracian Empire, they lived under the Emperor's peace-until now. Niri Redbriar, the matriarch of her clan, has died and the Royal Court has summoned her first-born son to swear an oath of fealty. But the Empire's terms have changed: the worship of the Six Bastards, the Gods of Nordel, is now illegal. Faced with a difficult choice, the Redbriars must do what's right for their people-even if it means all-out war. Book One of the Chronicles of Duracia.
