You left 76 years ago without a word. You missed Amarantha's reign of terror. Missed the Archeron sister's turning fae, and even the birth of the newest addition to the Night Court. When you finally come back, will the Inner Court understand why you fled?
Word Count: 1493
Warnings: Nightmares, chaos, angsty angst angst
Part 6
The night feels colder than normal in Velaris, but maybe that’s because you forgot your jacket and shoes. At least it was still a bad habit to have a bag by the door, and it unfortunately came in handy. You run from the house, not slowing until you reach the heart of Velaris, only relenting when you were out of breath and bent at the waist, bag slung over one shoulder and carrying much more than just the weight of material belongings.
Azriel… his name is on a constant loop in your mind, guilt eating away at you. When someone nearby complains of an achy chest, you finally move, straightening and walking in a random direction.
Find an inn tonight, re-evaluate the situation tomorrow.
The sights and smells of Velaris settle something inside you, just a little. Stalls and vendors line the streets, shops with their doors propped open that beckons customers closer. Food drifts over you, magic filling your lungs and a strange peace descends in your chest. This had always been home, and you had missed it. You wander for a while, just breathing and taking it all in. You do stop by a clothing shop, plucking out a simple pair of boots because your toes had gone numb from the cold, even with the warming enchantments that most of Velaris uses.
Near the south road, closer to the seaports, you find an inn, looking like a newer built addition. Paying for a room, you immediately head up the stairs to the furthest door in the hallway. The inn wasn’t full in the slightest, but you asked if anybody else came by for lodgings if the kind lady could fill up the rooms closer to the stairs first. Just in case. Not that it would help the patrons just under your feet. You’d worry about that later.
With the practice of control from Rhysand and Feyre, you had a fighting chance to make it through the night. Maybe this meant you didn’t have to be alone anymore… the thought is ruined when you inevitably think of Azriel, how betrayed he looked. You unceremoniously fall into the window seat, a bowl of stew having been brought up by the owner but sitting untouched at the small table nearby.
Your chest ached, thoughts racing at the events of the night. Azriel’s lips, hands, body pressed against yours… it had been everything you wanted. And this- this curse ruined it. Something bitter lodges in your throat, forcing down the overwhelming emotions threatening to change the world once again. Just sleep, you think harshly, body rising and moving towards the bed in the center. Sleep until morning, maybe talk to Rhysand. If Azriel tells the rest of the Inner Circle, you’re not sure how they’ll react. Hopefully, they’ll settle for finding out what is happening to you instead of a witch hunt. You could hope anyway.
Sleep doesn’t come easy, tossing and turning, groaning when your emotions flare violently when someone outside laughs a little too loudly. Eventually, an uneasy darkness claims you, wrapping you in dreams of hazel eyes filled with hurt and reminders of kisses that burned.
It’s late when it happens, the sky dark and the streets nearly empty. A few stranglers are downstairs, drinking and gossiping in the way drunk travelers do. Your dreams turn into nightmares, of monsters and trees, of Azriel sneering at you for what you are becoming. The fear, anxiety, and despair poisons the air, spreading farther than ever. Terror grips the hearts in the inn, even a few people walking outside lurch with sudden panic, none sure of where it’s coming from. Someone screams below, chairs knocking over, chaos descending on innocent bystanders. And you? You’re utterly trapped, twisted in sheets while sweat clings to your skin.
It isn’t long until a shadow finds you, a lone tendril that had promised to never let you out of its sight. The shadow watches the inn, the havoc unfolding inside and spiraling out onto the street. Some people were running, putting distance between them and the air that shimmers with someone’s innate ability. It slinks through the inn discreetly, following the stairs up and bee-lining towards the room at the far end like it knows your habits.
As soon as it sees you, the air around you dark and heavy with something far too powerful to be in the heart of the City of Dreams, it darts back through the streets, off to wake a certain Shadowsinger.
Azriel was awake instantly, hazel eyes snapping wide open at the details his little shadow whispers to him. You’re still in Velaris, struggling in a dream that has people running for their lives. He’s never moved so fast before. He barely gets clothes on, hopping into boots and shouting for Rhysand in his mind, telling him what he can before he’s bolting from a balcony, racing through the night sky to get to you with a shirt half buttoned and his boot laces coming undone.
When he reaches the inn, it’s worse than what he had imagined. People are still tripping over themselves, some stuck in the doorway, others pushing and shoving with some residual anger and panic that wasn’t theirs. Rhysand isn’t far behind him, Cassian landing with him as they start to redirect the crowd away. They all feel it, the negative emotions that could be a natural disaster on their own, radiating from the inn. Azriel knows what room, following shadows to the second story and finding the window that leads him to you. It’s dark inside, the air a tangible veil that looks like it’s been holding time in its grip.
A hard push sends the window up and he is nearly knocked from the air at the stench of fear and pain. Your emotions are so strong, his heart racing from terror that is not his own. Gritting his teeth, he pushes inside carefully, half stumbling towards you in his rush. Calling your name doesn’t do anything to stir you, brows pinched and lips parted in a silent wail, head tossing and turning with rough breaths. Azriel is on his knees next to the bed, fighting against every instinct telling him he’s in danger, to not run away from this, from you.
Scarred hands grip your shoulders, grimacing when touch only seems to make it so much worse. “Wake up!” he begs, crying out your name when some unseen force ripples through them both. When your eyes do open, they’re not your own. Just like earlier, glowing white orbs stare up at him, panic reaching new heights at the sight of him leaning over you with that expression on his face. You scramble back, skin shimmering like the air, hands thrown out to keep him away with a choked cry of his name.
Outside, Rhysand and Cassian had managed to evacuate the affected people, but the bubble of emotion was continuing to grow. They couldn’t step any closer, unable to hold out against the sheer terror and heartbreak that radiates from their friend. It’s all on Azriel to calm you, and when he hears that from Rhysand, he grips your wrist tighter. “Stop! Just breathe,” he urges, trying so hard to get through to you.
You’re shaking your head, trying to follow instructions but hyperventilating comes instead. Azriel’s wings stretch wide and curl, wrapping around both of you, his shadows following suit. He doesn’t budge, doesn’t move when your panicked hands trying to push him away. “I-I’ll hurt you!” You cry, but he only looks at you with a forced calm. His heart is beating too fast, matching yours, hands trembling as he pulls you closer until you are off the bed entirely and in his lap. “I’m not leaving,” he murmurs, hand sliding into your hair, pulling your head to rest against his chest.
You fight him, or try to. His hold doesn’t waver, your pushing and pulling away doing nothing to stop the gentle way in how he presses you against him. Eventually, you deflate into him and break, sobs tearing free and scraping every nerve raw. His hands hold you steady, tracing soothing patterns along your back, the other tangled in strands, scratching softly against your scalp in a way he knows relaxes you.
It takes a while, but the power recedes, drawing back from the streets where Rhysand and Cassian keep herding people away. When the room lightens considerably, he still doesn’t let go. Your eyes no longer glow, but they remain closed, arms having slid around Azriel’s shoulders to hold onto, even as your breaths start to even out.
Rhysand appears in the doorway some time later, eyes concerned as they take in the sight of you curled against Azriel, holding onto him like a lifeline. Not that he was any better. Azriel’s eyes meet Rhysand’s, something unspoken passing between them.
Whatever you were becoming… No one was prepared for it.
