I remember I made a poll if you wanted to see my Pinterest boards for my Elain and Azriel AU boards , I can't find the poll but here the boards are . I have only recently started making boards , if you want to see some of the others click on the link :
See what book nerd (bookishnerd2004) has discovered on Pinterest, the world's biggest collection of ideas.
Mind you Nuala and Cerridwen were one of the few people UTM who were doing something useful (Lucien wasn't) .
Being sarcastic aboht Azriel's powers when you like Lucien is just some level of delusion. It's almost as if Azriel would've had his spies do things without Rhys or Feyre knowing .
Why would Rhys or Azriel sent one or two of their great spies with loser Lucien ? . Mind you in that part , SJM spoonfed the readers that Lucien didn't have anything useful to contribute . Also Lucien wasn't even the one whp found Vassa btw , it was Papa Archeron .
Nuala and Cerridwen did more than all 3 Band of Exiles btw .
Nuala and Cerridwen are connected to actual plot and are not some throwaway characters . Nuala isn't some ab*ser apologist like Lucien , she would hate his spineless self even more . She would have to be the one doing the heavy lifting . Also what dangerous lands ? He literally just happened to see Papa Archeron and the people he found to fight the war along the way . Drakon didn't even know who Lucien was . Lucien never saw Koschei . This person want Lucien to have a lackey .
Also noticing how they want to make Elain seem weak or less impressive for the feat Elain performed .
The twins would be as useless as Lucien is he was the one they knew from the beginning . They would be the Alis type of characters . Not the strong , brave , skilled characters they are now .
"There is zero plot showing how they are connected to Azriel" looks like they don't know how to reas their own words either . They literally stated that Azriel is their mentor . The last sentence makes as much sense as their entire ridiculous arc . Where did we ever see Azriel doing his spying job outside of ACOSF ? .
Summary: You had always been a reader—always drawn to worlds outside of your own. Always seeking more. This world, Azriel's world, was trying to teach you something; you were sure of it. Or, maybe, it was where you were always meant to be.
Word count: 3.6k
Warnings: Confusion, self-harm in desperation/confusion, angst, reference to psychosis and related symptoms
a/n: Sorryyy this took so long I wanted it out sooner but life was happening! I hope you enjoy :) Promise romance will come along in time and there are some hints of something already ;) This is def slow burn though which I think is crucial for this trope okay I'm blabbing love you bye <3
Read Part One Here
Main Masterlist ♡
~~
You were alone in a room you had once read about.
Well, maybe you hadn’t read about this room exactly, but you’d read about this house, how it was alive and had agency and had magic. You’d read about the magic that blanketed the entire world, the land of Prythian, and what a magnificent read it had been. You could vaguely remember the stage of life you had been in. You could picture the covers. There was an audiobook downloaded on your phone for one of them—maybe the second—because you’d been on a road trip and you couldn’t put the series down.
The characters had looked a bit different in your mind. Rhysand was more built than you had initially imagined, more imposing and less lean. Azriel was… well, he was more of everything. His shoulders were broader, his jaw sharp and defined. He was frightening, in every sense of the word, but you could also remember how he moved when you were panicked. How he held your head in his hand and spoke low when he asked you questions. Your skull gave a dull throb as you thought back on your run-in with the wall, and you threw a sidelong glance at the disruption in the paint by the window.
That had been real then. There was evidence that you had been there. Your head ached because you had done something to it. You reached your hand up to brush along your hair and had the absent thought to pinch yourself, even though you’d already experienced pain in this strange state, and so the theory that you were dreaming was squashed. You hadn’t been too attached to that one, anyway; everything had been too vivid, too coherent for it to be a figment of a dream.
But that still left psychosis, or maybe a coma. You figured there was a difference between normal dreaming and medically induced dreaming. Given the long duration of typical comas, there were many opportunities for something like this to occur. But you had somewhat of a hard time believing a dream—even a comatose one—could be so clear. Most of your knowledge of comas was from fiction, so what you believed was also not a very reliable source. You cursed yourself for not delving further into the medical textbooks in the campus library when you were on shift.
Frustration nipped at your chest when logic and sense continued to evade you, so you huffed, slapped your palms on the bed, and gave in to the nonsensical. You slid from the bed, finally doing so without watchful eyes, and meandered around the room. You’d taken it in from the bed, mostly, but there was still the chance that you’d go to open a drawer and it would be a cardboard cutout of a desk rather than the real deal. You sighed from your nose when you opened four drawers, and all of them were, unfortunately, very real.
To your continued disappointment, the room was rather empty save for the furniture and the pictures on the wall. It made sense that a flighty stranger would be placed in a barren guest room, but you were hoping for a little more context. For that, you walked over to the window and tried to make sense of something there.
Your breath caught in your throat at the view. You remembered from the books that the House was built into the side of a mountain, but it was surreal to see the plummet. No rock face or landing was keeping this building up, and the sky seemed… endless, clouds and strange-looking birds flying past the walls as if the house were part of the environment, and you supposed it was.
Velaris—the name was dropped into your memory. You peered down and could see speckles of a city, the city, but were too far up to make anything out. The passing clouds were another deterrent, and you gave up with the window after another beat. You turned, and in the vaguest reflection, you startled.
Your hand moved up before you willed it to, tracing over the shell of your ear and then slamming back down to your side. But that wasn’t enough time to properly assess, so you found your ear again, moving it in every direction it would manage, pulling closer to the window to find the point you were sure you were feeling. It was getting you nowhere, the bright sunlight washing out your reflection.
There was a mirror in this room. You remembered how it had made you panic. You spun on your heel, fingers still running over your cartilage, but you looked across the room and found nothing. The wall held a suspicious space where a picture, or a mirror, might hang, and you searched your thoughts for what you had seen before.
Yes, there had been a mirror, and you could picture yourself in it—a blurry image of yourself, tainted by panic. Your limbs had seemed longer. Your skin had seemed to glow.
But then you had bashed your head into the wall, and thus, your mirror privileges were taken away.
You turned back to the window and searched for the outline of your ear.
“Um, hello.”
You gasped, maybe yelped, your back connecting with the wall as you registered that another person had entered the room. You could hear their blood running in their veins and exactly how fast their heart beat; that didn’t seem normal. You ignored it as you took in the effervescent woman before you.
Her hair was golden and sleek, falling in waves along her back and covering her shoulders. She wore casual clothes that seemed out of place on her, a plain shirt tucked into a flowing, draping skirt—not actually casual, not by your standards, but in comparison to what you knew this setting to be, it was quite lax.
This had to be Mor. She clasped her hands together in front of her waist and tipped onto the balls of her feet.
“I’m Mor,” she smiled, and you felt the muscle in your eye twitch. “I know… Well, I know that you have been through a lot, and I didn’t think you’d want to talk to those two buffoons any longer. I heard they didn’t even introduce themselves when you woke up. It’s no wonder you… well—”
Mor seemed to wince at herself, words trailing off. Her head lopped to the side, and you snatched your hand to your side, realizing that you were still clutching the high point of your ear—which was undoubtedly pointed.
“Tried to bash my head in?” you offered. You sounded insane, voice twinkling and light. Was that your voice? It had to be. Perhaps you were depersonalizing along with your psychotic break.
Mor grimaced. “Right. That’s what I meant.” She nodded to the bed, taking a hesitant seat on the edge. “Would you mind talking with me for a little? I just want to know more about where you came from. We don’t—none of us want to hurt you, but the circumstances of your… appearance have been strange.”
Of course they didn’t want to hurt you; you figured that wasn’t their way. You had stopped reading the series a few years ago, too inundated with work and school and trying to figure your life out, but from what you’d heard, the cast of this novel had been acquainted with unexplained figures appearing in their home. You weren’t sure where you were in their timeline, however. That thought struck you as you slowly stepped towards the bed and sat too far away from Mor.
“The men in here before,” you started, once again giving in and leaning into the crazy. “They mentioned something about me landing in the library?”
Mor perked up, obviously eager to have a conversation going. “Yes. We have a library further down the mountain. There have been reports from the priestesses there that a creature living in the depths has been unsettled over the last few days, today being the most unruly. One went down to see if she could speak to him—rather brave for a priestess—and she saw you. You were, well, unclothed. And unconscious. She called for us then. You only woke up that first time when Rhysand and Azriel were in the room. Unfortunately.”
Bryaxis—that was the creature. You also knew of the library, and the priestesses, and were able to pinpoint somewhere in your mind that Cassian, who you had not yet met, was terrified of the very creature living just beneath this house. But you couldn’t say any of that. Couldn’t paint yourself suspicious with too much information.
Of course, if you were imagining this all, that wouldn’t really matter. Unless, of course, you chose to punish yourself in this wild fever dream. That would definitely be something your brain did.
You shook the spiralling thoughts away.
“How long was I out?” you asked, because that was neutral.
“About a day and a half. Rhys had tried to—wait, are you aware of… where you are?”
“Um, Velaris?” you offered, the name sounding bulky as it came out of your mouth.
Mor paused. Her expression twitched.
Wrong answer. Wrong answer. You should have said no. You should have said Night Court, or even Prythian, or anything other than the only secret city in the book.
But could you keep your origins a secret?
You felt a hysterical laugh build at the base of your throat, and the thought to ask the year drifted through your mind because, at least then, maybe you could know where in this delirious fantasy delusion your brain had dropped you off at, but you didn’t know how time was quantified here. You hadn’t the slightest frame of reference, and you couldn’t exactly ask, “Mor, remind me, have you yet killed the King of Hybern, or are we in book two?” and expect to be trusted.
You kept your mouth shut as Mor processes the two words you have spoken.
“Yes,” she eventually replied, the ghost of a confused smile on her face. “Are you from here? A citizen? Or, um—”
She was having trouble finding words. In the books, you remembered Mor as confident, sure of herself, and casually intimidating. Right now, she was none of those things, and it was because of you.
And you had a decision to make.
You could lie, but you’d never been a very good liar, and your lack of context would make it difficult to fit into the time. One wrong move and this would all be over, your fate most likely ending with Azriel’s blade to your throat out of fear you were infiltrating their lands, and you weren’t exactly sure what would happen if you died in this strange figment of your recollection. If you were hallucinating, or even dreaming as a comatose, there could be repercussions.
You were taking too long to answer. Mor’s expression had gone from hesitant to wary, and you were still mulling over your options. Still considering the impossible as if you weren’t already experiencing it.
“I’m not from here,” you landed on. You stared down at the lithe stretch of your fingers and then tucked them beneath your thighs. “I think my home is very, very far away.”
“You think?” Mor pressed.
“I’m not exactly sure where it would be in relation to here. I don’t think I could show you on a map. Or a globe. Do you have planets here?”
“Do we have planets?”
“Right. That feels like a ridiculous question. I’m not quite sure how to explain any of this.”
“Perhaps it should be done all at once.”
~~
It took a few moments for Azriel and Rhysand to return to the room. You had half a mind to ask for the rest of the inner circle to join, simply to get more explaining out of the way, but you still hadn’t decided how much you were planning to share—how much you wanted them to know that you knew.
You startled when Azriel's wings displaced the air in the room. You heard them before you saw them, the sheer size creating a presence that body alone couldn’t replicate. So far, your reflection and the ethereal, larger-than-life qualities of the fae were the most jarring to come to terms with, but you had yet to leave this room, so there were surely other feats you would need to overcome. Unless your brain shook itself loose from this state before then.
When you jumped, Azriel seemed to as well. His feet moved in a small, unsteady pattern, his wings pressing into his back. He had kept his eyes down upon entering, but you must have made a sound, a gasp, and he looked at you with a pinched expression. You tried to avert your gaze, but it got caught on the shadows again. He was so huge, his wings hooked and towering, the inky wisps taking up even more space.
Rhysand had also joined the group, though you found it much easier for your eyes to pass over his form as he settled against the window.
“I apologize for scaring you earlier,” Rhysand offered, a sincere hand over his heart. He didn’t need to apologize; you had scared yourself. The lack of reflective surfaces in the room was a testament to that. “We hadn’t meant to. Truly.”
You shook your head but didn’t reply. Struggled to reply. This felt insane.
“Mor said you aren’t from here?” Rhysand posed.
“I’m not,” you said, taciturn from lack of direction. You hadn’t made up your mind. Hadn’t made sense of your brain and why it was taking you on this strange trip. You could give in, or you could give way to reason and see yourself back to reality from pure spite.
To your dismay, being curt only got you more pressing, gentle looks. Rhysand was looking at you with a tender caution, and that was confusing because before, it was only suspicion. Before, he had stayed by the door and observed you like an animal.
Was this your brain digging in?
The High Lord met you on the bed, sitting on the corner and giving you space, but coming down to your level. "I realize that you may have been through a lot, so I’ll give you some information first, okay?” he enticed. Azriel was still standing by the window, every muscle in his body seemingly on edge. You threw him a glance before nodding at Rhys. “You know you are in Velaris—Mor told me that. And she was also gracious enough to share our names, I’ve heard.”
Mor snorted, crossing her arms as she stood beside Azriel.
Rhysand lowered his brows from the look he threw her. “I am the High Lord of this court. You were discovered in my library. The library is not open to the public, so since you arrived there, seemingly by a magical occurrence, my inner circle and I have had many questions.”
“Why don’t you just look into my mind and answer your questions?” you shouted into your thoughts. “Mind-reading would be the clearest solution, since I’m already going insane.”
“I don’t know how I ended up there,” you said instead, digging your fingers into the plush material of the bed. “I wasn’t feeling well, I passed out, and then I woke up here. I don’t—I don’t even know what your library looks like.”
A partial lie. You had read about the contents of the library and had a general description floating in your mind, but you could only remember the vaguest outline of the space.
Azriel was next to speak. “What do you mean—not feeling well?”
That was simpler to answer; you could handle that. Maybe Azriel was a doctor, and this was reality seeping through. “It was like a pain in my stomach, but more like an excruciating pulling. Something was… strange inside of me. I thought maybe my appendix, but now that I’m thinking back, I’m sure that couldn’t have been it. I got up to get help, but I barely made it to the door before I was out. That’s all I remember before I woke up in this room.”
“Appendix?” Mor murmured as Rhysand paused, let the word simmer in the space, and then leaned his elbows on his knees.
Anxiety spiked as he sat there, contemplating. Your fingers felt glued to the bed, the back of your neck prickling. You gnawed on the inside of your cheek as silence ticked past, and then you were screaming again. You were tired of screaming.
A slinking feeling had inched its way into your mind, rolling along the edges and searching for a weak point. You thrashed back on the bed, pushing yourself against the headboard even though the threat wasn’t physical. The feeling flattened against the surface of your mind, expanding in rolling darkness, and prickled pain across your vision. You held your head in your hands but felt no relief.
“Rhys,” Azriel said, his voice low and strained. “It is not working.”
“Working?” you breathed out, clutching then at your chest. “What’s—”
“Let me—”
“Rhys.” Azriel snapped when you let out another shout. His voice was calm, a measured calm, when he said, “We can ask her. We don’t need to resort to this yet.”
“We tried asking,” Rhysand countered. Your mind was still being invaded. Invaded, but nothing gleaned. Something ached, and something else was a sharp crack.
“I don’t—” you started and failed. “You can ask me. Ask me!”
Shit. Shit. What was this? Were you being lobotomized in real time, unable to find your way back to the present before you were deemed really and truly unfixable? Something in your head knocked, but you were unable to answer with the pressing pain. Unable to even make sense of a knock in your mind.
“Maybe we shouldn’t—”
Mor’s hesitant tone was cut off. Rhysand gritted out, “We don’t have the luxury of waiting for a lie. She wasn’t telling us everything. If she’s working with them—for him—we need to—”
“Need to what?” Azriel spat out, his voice sounding closer. The pain lessened, but the fog in your mind remained.
“Azriel, I don’t want to hurt her, but—”
“And so you won’t.”
A long, pointed pause.
The High Lord spoke once more. “We can’t take any chances.”
“You haven’t given her a chance.”
“No fae has that strong a barrier in their mind without having secrets. We cannot afford secrets.”
“I can’t—”
Your whimper cut Azriel off, the pain building again, and you couldn’t take it. It seemed never-ending. If you could drop whatever barrier they were talking about, you would, but without even the slightest knowledge of what it was, Rhysand would never stop his assault. You cracked your eyes open despite the light blistering your vision, tears brimming from the discomfort.
“I won’t lie,” you promised, heaving out breaths before the pain could take over again. “I won’t. I promise. Please don’t do that again. Please. I don’t know—I didn’t make a barrier.”
Azriel was nearly on the bed, his knees brushing along the mattress where he stood. You would have been startled by the proximity, but the throbbing in your head had lowered the threshold for shock. Still, the hulking Illyrian dwarfed you where you sat, shadows pooling along your lap. If you extended your hand, you could have grabbed his.
The thought quickly extinguished from your mind.
“Are you working for the uprising?”
That threw you. You shook the lingering murkiness from your mind and squinted into the room to find Rhysand, the shadow from Azriel helping immensely. “I don’t know anything about an uprising.”
It didn’t ring a single bell from the books. Maybe it was from one of the newer series you hadn’t read yet? Or a novella? An uprising seemed much too poignant for a novella.
An ache was returning in your brain, and so you panicked. “I swear. I swear! I don’t even know how I’m here! I live in New York! I’m getting my master’s degree, and my student loans barely cover my rent! My upstairs neighbor got a tiny dog that keeps me awake half the night, and I swear I’m hallucinating all of this from chronic lack of sleep, so I’m probably shouting this into a void, but that hurts so bad and I’m begging you to believe me. I know I sound crazy. I just—”
You paused. Took in the room. The pain had ceased, but the looks you were getting weren’t much better. You thought back to the source material these characters came from, and said what you thought might make sense.
“I’m human. I’m not—I’m not supposed to be here. I got so scared when I saw myself because I don’t look like that. I’m not from here, and I meant that. I need to go home. Through a portal or some magic object or through that creature in the library maybe. And I don’t know what uprising you’re talking about because I come from a place where the most exciting things that happen are on my phone so I need to get back home because I have experienced more pain and fear in the last hour than I have in my entire life.”
Sharing this here for my fellow Azriel fanfic writer girlies! This is so interesting and I hope we get more insight in the next books about how and why the shadows react and move the way they do in correspondence to Azriel's emotions.
