In The Stars (2 - The Lord of The Night)
Thank you so much for all the love on my first chapter:') So excited to keep this going. This fic is also posted on my ao3 (fortheloveofstark)
AZ x TOG!OC (This is a work of fanfiction)
Age: 18+
Warnings: Cannon level violence, mentions of torture, mentions of Maeve, a lil tiny bit of blood, Asteria proving how much of a baddie she really is <3
Asteria’s death does not come as Maeve needs it to.
She had crashed down from the night sky in a burst of red light and collided with the earth hard enough that she doesn’t know how she kept breathing.
Or how she breathes now. But she is. She inhales, and her chest rises, and with every exhale it lowers. A slow, steady rhythm reminding her how alive she really is, even if the ache in her head begs to disagree. It’s a throbbing, the pain aligning itself with her heartbeat.
The pain in her chest is worse, where a dagger once laid, was twisted, and yanked out.
The sharpness of the blade’s absence is all she can truly focus on. Her thoughts slowly come back to her; her name, her home, her magic, what and who she trusts; she begins to list the things she knows until a hand gently brushes her shoulder.
The touch makes her eyes snap open.
Asteria expects the course sand of a beach beneath her, the smell of salt wafting into her senses. Instead, she’s met with the soft sheets of a cot beneath her, completely unfamiliar.
She doesn’t wince at the sudden onslaught of light on her senses, or shudder away from the strong herbal, definitely medicinal scents that invade her nose. Instead, her eyes dart to the unfamiliar female standing beside her where she lays, dark eyes and long blonde hair tucked behind pointed ears. A stranger, and a captor. Her mouth quirked as though she may smile parts, about to say something.
She doesn’t get the chance. The stranger is pushed back enough to give Asteria time to raise her leg, a forceful kick hitting the blonde’s chest with enough power to send her flying backwards, crashing against the wall across the room with a loud wail of pain.
Not hesitating, Asteria’s feet meet the cold floor, and though her muscles groan in protest, having been bed ridden for longer than she thought. It takes a couple steps to steady herself, but once she gets her bearings, she’s running.
Dipping out of the room she’d awoken in and finding herself in a hallway filled with luxury, Asteria looks both ways, one way leading around another corner, lined with various doors, and the other leading to a large window. She’d been captured before, and she knows an escape when she sees one.
Arms pumping as she gains momentum, Asteria sprints towards it. Powerful legs bound her towards the glass, whisps of her own silver hair blowing into her eyes for barely a second before being pushed away by the sheer speed of her movements.
When she’s close to the glass, she leaps forward, arms shielding her face and knees out, the sound of the shatter reverbing through her bones as salt and lemon verbena scented air suddenly surrounds her, and she’s falling forward and down.
Gaze shooting downward and arms flying out, relief floods through her when she sees that she’d only been a few stories up, and she prepares herself for her landing. When she hits the ground, her feet absorb only a bit of the impact, and she uses her momentum to roll forward, training she had received over the centuries of her life making the maneuver automatic.
Asteria springs back up to her feet, quickly and boldly while taking note of the well taken care of grass underneath her, and she darts towards a stone fence on the edge of the yard only to be stopped abruptly by the sudden drop of red light in front of her. She bounces off of it, skidding back abruptly.
A shield.
A moment later, the ground beneath her shudders as a massive being drops to the earth in front of Asteria, cutting off her escape. He rises slowly, his impressive height only challenged by his broadness, fighting leathers strapped to each part of him. The female’s eyes narrow on the red, gleaming gems on his chest, shoulders, hands, and knees, the same colour as the shield slowly dissipating before her. He has long, curved blades strapped to him, and she becomes aware of the fact that she has nothing. Her weapons had been taken from her.
His skin is bronzed, and dark hair flows just past his shoulder line. Hazel eyes run over her figure, assessing and analyzing just as Asteria becomes aware of the large, almost demonic wings sprouting from the male’s back.
Her mind works instinctively, checking his neck for a collar and his fingers for a ring, seeing nothing of the sort. Asteria clenches her fists, her stance widening in preparation for what comes next. She’d fought bigger than him before, and she would never back down.
“I’m going to need you to apologize for the window,” The male says casually, his stance reflecting his tone, “It was my favourite.”
Asteria doesn’t dignify him with a response, her eyes darting to the blade on his back, her lips pulling back to let loose a low snarl.
The male opens his mouth to speak again, but before he can Asteria is lunging at him with a yell, forcing him into a fighting stance the split second it takes for her to reach him.
Her blows are fuelled by a speed he’d rarely encountered before, based on the fact that his blocks are desperate, almost sloppy as he tries to keep up, his careful eyes seeking an opening for his own strikes.
Asteria doesn’t let up, driving the male to take step after step back to try to make space between them. But as quickly as he moves, she advances on him twice as fast, swiping and punching, and waiting patiently for her opening. She’s toying with him.
Though her eyes don’t move, her attention goes to his blade, and through her fury a small smirk graces her lips. Asteria slows, just for a moment. Long enough to let him think he can take control.
The male takes the bait, going for a blow of his own, one that the female easily ducks under, grabbing his arm and pulling him forward and off balance. He’s trying to use his wings to balance himself, flapping them to attempt to stand back straight, but the smaller female is climbing him, driving her knee into the place where his wing sprouts from his back.
He cries out in pain, reaching back for her as her legs wrap around him and she’s flipping them backwards.
They hit the grass with a thud, and before the male can recover even the slightest breath, Asteria is on him again. He’s turned onto his side, his arms pinned in a painful hold orchestrated by just the female’s powerful legs, his own blade pressed against his throat just enough to sting, making him look up at her.
He tries to move, but Asteria has him locked in, his demonic wings flapping helplessly behind them, one of them twitching in pain from the blow it had been delivered.
Asteria growls above him, grip tightening around his blade as if she’s about to drag it across his skin, and she is, when a figure appears from nothing before them.
“Please don’t,” A new male kindly requests, violet eyes gleaming and dark hair swept back neatly from his face. He stands straighter than the one beneath her had, commanding power with just his presence. It’s enough that the grip on the blade loosens slightly.
Asteria’s eyes assess him, taking in his confidence, and the handsome face that most probably find devastating. The quiet authority that surrounds him.
“He meant no harm,” The male continues, taking a step forward and holding his hands up, showing he’s unarmed.
“She does,” The male underneath her grits out, “She means harm. Did you see the window?”
Ignoring him, the powerful male takes another step closer, “What's your name?”
She doesn’t answer him, her icy glare remaining on the stranger, whos jaw clenches.
In her still aching head, Asteria feels something against her ever-present mental shields. At first, it’s a gentle brush, purely investigative. But right after that, there’s a push, and she shudders at the feeling.
“Do that again and I’ll spill his blood,” Asteria growls out, pushing the blade harder against the male beneath her’s throat. A small line of blood dots the edge of the metal.
The male crouches, hands still up, “I just want to know your name.”
“Are you the King?”
“High Lord,” He corrects, “My name is Rhysand.”
“Where am I?”
“Prythian. The city of Velaris, in the Night Court,” The male, Rhysand, says.
Asteria never heard of such a land. She channels her magic to her feet and through the leather of her boots, one of them planted firmly in the grass beneath her. She calls out to the realm she’s come to know so well over her three and a half centuries roaming it. She’s met with silence, and the cease of the power she’d summoned.
No, The realm sneers in an unfamiliar tone, the words echoing deep in her soul for only her to hear, I am not yours. You are not mine.
The female tenses at the response, her heart thudding hard in her chest. The Realm does not lie. She does not belong here. You are not mine.
Maeve had thrown her through the door between worlds, and she had ended up here, in this strange world when she was supposed to fall for the rest of her eternity, or until she lost so much blood that her heart gave out. Whatever came first.
Asteria can feel her muscles lock up with dread, the tenseness drawn directly from the words of the strange realm; A voice she’d never heard before. She’d never heard of Prythian because it shouldn’t exist. She’s in the wrong realm. She’d left a war unfinished.
The words continue thundering through her, a chorus in the back of her head she cannot ignore; I am not yours. You are not mine. I am not yours. You are not mine. I am not yours. You are not mine. I am not yours-
“We can help you, we want to help you,” Rhysand continues, seeing the devastated look on her face and silencing the crescendo of panic building, “What’s your name?”
The green-eyed female takes an unsteady breath, moving the blade a hair's width away from the male she has pinned, who had ceased his struggling beneath her, “Asteria.”
“Asteria, will you please release my General?”
Muscles loosening with only a moment’s hesitation, Asteria nods, letting the General go from the hold and taking a few steps away as he rolls onto his back, catching his breath.
When he stands, he glares at the silver haired female, the High Lord taking notice with careful eyes.
“Cassian,” The High Lord scolds, giving the winged man a name, “Why don’t you check on Mor?”
The winged-male hesitates, Rhysand giving him a nod to urge him along, and with the brush against her mental walls just a few moments ago, Asteria has no doubt the powerful male in front of her has the ability to speak in his General’s mind.
“Mor?” Asteria repeats.
“The female you nearly sent through the wall,” The General states with a glare, moving with a wide berth around the silver-haired female, “Another apology to put on your list.”
All he gets in response is a low growl. One that he sends right back. The pair watch each other with pulled back lips until Cassian disappears inside the luxurious estate.
“Your General is a bastard,” Asteria grunts, turning back to the High Lord to see an amused smirk upturning the corners of his lips.
“He’s been called worse.”
“I don’t doubt that.”
“He’s got a real soft heart when you get to know him,” Rhysand smirks, “He’s just upset that you put him on his ass before he could blink.”
“And why shouldn’t I do the same to you?”
Rhysands eyes glisten, and Asteria swears there are actual stars trapped within the violent toned shade of blue. His mouth doesn’t move, and yet Asteria hears him, Because I know what you are.
Is that so, High Lord?
Your mental shields are impressive. Some of the strongest I’ve encountered, but not nearly as strong when you’re unconscious, Realm Reader.
Asteria’s eyes narrow, her title making her thudding heart pick up speed yet again, I am not yours. You are not mine.
“You fell from the stars seven nights ago,” Rhysand says, a sigh leaving his lips as his hands clasp behind his back, turning to look over the stone fence Asteria had been rushing towards before Cassian got in her way, “It was the night of the Winter Solstice. You gave my Mate and I quite the surprise.”
“You seem to have recovered since then,” Asteria mumbles, moving to stand beside the night-blessed male, looking over the same view he gazes upon so fondly.
A view that makes her heart drop to the pit of her stomach.
Before her is an endless sky, wisps of night-darkened cloud surrounds them, more stars than Asteria had ever seen glistening above, and below; a plummeting drop to the hard, rocky earth. She had been racing towards it prepared to jump, and in this strange realm, one that does not know her or care for her, it would not protect her.
Even her immortal body wouldn’t have survived.
“Quite the view, isn’t it?”
Asteria gulps, “Please don’t make me thank your General for stopping me.”
Rhysand’s chuckle is a deep and breathy sound, one that would have been beautiful if Asteria wasn’t so stunned by what she’d almost done to herself, “He doesn’t need that ego boost.”
“Why did you bring me here?” Asteria asks, her eyes scanning the side of the High Lord’s face.
“It seemed better to contain you here rather than down in the city,” Rhysand answers, his voice nothing but honest, “Based off what I saw behind your shields, I didn’t know what you’d be like if you woke up.”
“If?”
“Do I have to repeat that you fell from the stars?” Rhysand asks, turning to the female with a quirked brow, “It’s a fall you shouldn’t have survived.”
“And because I did, you looked into my head?”
“Not many people outside of this court know about Velaris, but you landed right outside the city’s walls. I needed to make sure you weren’t sent by an enemy. It was to keep both you and my people safe.”
Asteria’s leather-gloved hands clasp themselves behind her back, mirroring the violet-eyed male’s stance, “What did you see?”
“Everything.”
“And? Am I your enemy?”
“No, Asteria,” Rhysand breathes, “I believe you may be exactly what I’ve been looking for.”
“I fear that the realm is weakening,” The High Lord continues, that quiet power more prominent than ever despite his suddenly solemn expression, “There was a war, something I know you are no stranger to.”
Asteria eyes him wearily, “The war isn't over.”
“Maybe not in your realm, but in this one it is. We won, but the cost may have been-”
“The wellbeing of the realm,” Asteria finishes, earning a nod from Rhysand.
“The battlefields haven’t healed, and the woods beyond them are rotting. The High Lords across all territories have tried to fix the damage, but it’s no use. It’s spreading, and I think you may be capable of stopping it.”
Asteria shakes her head, “I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
Swallowing a lump in her throat, panic beginning to build in her yet again, Asteria’s eyes shift back to the glorious night that stretches on before her, “I do not belong to this Realm, it’s already told me as much.”
“You do not belong to this Realm now, but you could,” Rhysand says, turning to face the silver haired female and returning her gaze to him, “Realms feel pain, and joy. They know trust. It’s how it decides its High Lords. It picks who it trusts. If you earn that trust, you could help it to heal.”
“Your faith is misplaced,” Asteria states, her own green eyes searching deep within Rhysand’s, searching for any kind of deceit or trickery. All she finds is a burning passion. A genuine one. It pisses her off, “You believe all of this after just one look behind my shields?”
“I do,” Rhysand nods, his smirk reappearing, “Your magic is unique, Asteria. It’s been missing from Prythian far too long.”
“Maybe so,” Asteria shrugs, having no reason to argue, “But what reason do I have to trust you, Lord Rhysand?”
“Just Rhysand is fine,” The High Lord tuts, and Asteria rolls her eyes in response, “And you can trust me, because I’m willing to give you the very thing I took while you slept.”
He holds out his hand, and Asteria understands.
She swallows, eyes locked on the High Lord’s upturned palm, “You truly saw everything then?”
“I did. It’s time for you to do the same.”
Asteria’s movements are slow, and stiff, her eyes locked on Rhysand’s as her fingers pry themselves free of the brown leather gloves that always cover them.
Revealing what lay beneath, the High Lord doesn’t gawk, or cower away. No disgust lines his features. He looks at her expectantly, and with patience.
He does not fear her, even after what he’d seen.
So, Asteria presses her palm into his, the little magic she has that isn’t reliant on the Realm glowing brightly between them, wisps of light winding around their arms and further; around each piece of them.
Her magic brushes against Rhysand’s mental shields, grand walls made of the strongest, most elegant obsidian. At her gentle prod, the gates give way.
And then five hundred years of memories slams into Asteria.
She sees it all; feels every second of it. Every sharp inhale on the battlefield, and every relieved exhale in moments of peace. She’s lived in Illyrian war camps, and found bastards there that she lovingly calls brothers. She mourns her mother and sister, and takes swift revenge for them, losing her father and becoming High Lord in the process. She knows and loves her inner circle. She suffered under the mountain. She knows her mate; heard her neck snap and felt her die, only to be brought back.
Feyre, Rhysand’s memories purr, the bond glowing in an incandescent light that has nothing to do with Asteria’s magic. Feyre, Feyre, Feyre.
What follows makes Asteria shudder, she sees her mate as a shell of who she is, hollowed out by the ignorance of the High Lord of Spring. Sees him lock her in the house, only for her to be saved by Mor. She sees her training, her healing. The cabin. Her sisters being plunged into the Cauldron and emerging as high fae.
Then, after a meeting with each of the High Lords of the Realm, she sees the war.
She sees Hybern coming for them, and the efforts taken to hold the front line. She tastes the blood that filled the air, felt the surges of power from the creatures that joined them, and the unlikely allies, both fae and human, that came to their aid.
Then, she feels the cold kiss of death. She sees the light back home, and clings to the bond of two souls. Then she is brought back.
She sees the aftermath of the war, the rebuilding and healing. The impact on the inner circle, on her mate and especially her sister. She sees the Winter Solstice, the night of her mate’s birth, their private celebration interrupted by a burning red star blazing through the sky. She sees the week leading to where they stand now.
Asteria lets go, having seen every piece of the High Lord’s past in mere seconds.
She breathes heavily, looking up at the male to see his eyes lined with silver, about to spill over, “You truly saw everything then?”
“I did,” Asteria nods, breath coming in uneven heaves. She squeezes her eyes closed, her focus shifting on regaining herself. Her thoughts slowly come back to her, her name, her home, her magic, what and who she trusts; she begins to list the things she knows, finding gaps that are still filled by Rhysand, but everything else is her own.
Using her magic this way strips her down, and makes her bare. She experiences another person’s entire life; their memories, thoughts, fears, joy. All of it. Over the centuries it had gotten easier to control it, and to come back to herself. It is still an effort, and Asteria still feels as though she loses a part of herself every time. But she’d always had her Realm to soothe her, to remind her who she is. She doesn’t have that anymore.
You are not mine.
“And do you trust me?”
“I-” Asteria pauses to breathe, thinking about what she had seen. For a while she was Rhysand, and she knows his purest intentions. Despite what he thinks of himself, he is a good, honorable male, and he’s been genuine since he appeared before her, “I think I do.”
“If you help me, if you help this realm, Asteria, you will stay here under the protection of my inner circle, with free reign to come and go as you please.”
The bargain is nearly perfect to the silver-haired female, so much so that she lets the corners of her mouth perk up into a small smirk. But then, the memory of a naive seventeen year old fae with too much budding power than she knew what to do with rams into her with all the pain that followed. All the torture.
Asteria frowns, meeting the High Lord’s eyes again, “I won’t take your blood oath.”
“There are no blood oaths here,” Rhysand assures, a hand clamping down on the female’s strong shoulder and squeezing, “That’s a primitive practice, it hasn’t been used in thousands of years in this court. All you can give me is your word.”
“And if I deny you?” Asteria prods.
“Then you may go,” Rhysand says with a slight shrug, as if it were the easiest thing in the world, and to him maybe it is, “There are lots of places to live in this court and the others beyond it.”
The answer makes her feel like she can breathe again.
It’s with certainty that Asteria nods to Rhysand, standing a little straighter, a little more confidently. She knows her answer, and she’s known it from the second the male gave her his hand, “Okay,” She says steadily, “I’ll help you.”
Rhysand’s grin is bright enough to light up the entirety of the glorious night sky that stretches out before them, “Well then, allow me to welcome you to the Court of Dreams, Realm Reader.”