But Home is Nowhere- Chapter 18
Pairing(s): Lucien x Plus Size Reader, Azriel x Plus Size Reader, and Ruhn Dannan x Plus Size Reader.
Summary: The revelation of the prophecy has you spiraling and the weight of your mortality is tested.
Word Count: 9.3 K
Warnings: Language (swearing), brief sexual themes, traumatic injury.
Author's Note: Hello all! I am back. I had to take a very small break to get some things done with changes at work and graduate school. I hope that everyone enjoys this chapter. I should be able to resume my planned schedule of every other month. So, Chapter 19 can be expected in early April 2026.
**If you had left a request to be added to the tag list on Chapter 16, tumblr ate it before I could actually add it to this post. Please comment on either this chapter or the Masterlist so I can make sure that I get everyone. Also, if your @ has changed since your original request, let me know as well so that I can actually tag you and the updates not go into the tumblr void. **
As always, a HUGE thank you to my beta reader @ronibartender for all her help!
Series Masterlist Divider by @/tsunami-of-tears
Previous: Chapter 17 Next: Chapter 19
It had been two weeks since that meeting with the High Lords but Azriel’s mind still hadn’t been able to fully grasp how any of the information revealed was tied to (Y/N). He had followed Rhys’ instructions, meeting with Eris twice to gather whatever information he could find about Beron’s ongoing relationship with Koschei. So far that resulted in little to no information; neither Beron nor any of his personal advisors or guards had left the Autumn Court. However, that didn’t stop Rhysand from tightening the Night Court’s borders. Which in turn meant that (Y/N)’s trips to the Day Court had effectively ceased for the time being, much to Helion’s displeasure.
Azriel could vividly remember the way the woman’s muscles tensed and tightened when the High Lord delivered the news to her. He had hoped that Rhys’ relationship with her would have eased into something…well, something akin to an understanding at the very least. He knew that any chance of them ever being friendly was unlikely. Azriel couldn’t fully blame him though, especially if Rhys’ belief of the Mother truly having a direct hand in her arrival to their world was somehow true. Azriel rubbed his temples, willing away the lingering headache that was sure to make this impromptu training session more difficult.
The training ring smelled of oil and iron, but the glow of the late afternoon sun was accompanied by the faint dusting of vanilla as (Y/N) stood across from Azriel. The scrap of cloth she used to tie her hair into a braid fluttered slightly in the wind. Her stance was solid; evidence of her time spent with Cassian and the Valkyries nearly every morning. The wooden training dagger in her hand was held in the way Lucien taught her; he’d have to fix that. It was too far from her body, and even though Ruhn had shown her how to take a hit and keep breathing, it left some of her softer spots open to attack. Though he was impressed with how still she was. The kind of steadiness you only get from someone who’s been taught to expect pain and survive it. Azriel bit the inside of his cheek, a habit he recently picked up as a way to remind himself to forget the time spent torturing her in that cell.
“Hand up,” he said, and there was a carefulness in the order, as if he were asking permission rather than giving it. Her brows knitted as she lifted her empty hand. He sighed. He could tell she was tired, and her hold was still not quite right. It couldn’t be helped though; Nyx was a ball of boundless energy and practically demanded the woman’s undivided attention.
He had to give her credit for the time and dedication she poured into his nephew. The woman wasn’t just simply keeping the young heir occupied with games, but also challenged his mind. He recalled one night she stayed at the River House late into the evening with a small telescope that Lucien had commissioned for her. Azriel could easily recall the minute motions of her hands as she turned dials and adjusted the scope in various directions. Nyx’ eyes wide with awe as she explained differences between the types of stars. If Azriel was honest, he was in equal awe of how she was able to convey the complex information into a manageable understanding for a child. Her kindness, patience, and intelligence merited equal treatment.
“May I?” Azriel approached her slowly, hands pausing midair to gauge her comfort. With a slight nod of her head, he gently lifted her hand, placing it an inch higher on the hilt. He then guided her elbow, bending it to the slightest degree. The small corrections were not meant to flatten her rhythm but to make it cleaner.
“Oh.” Her voice was soft, eyes lingering on his movements. It was only then he realized that he hadn’t worn the gloves Elain had gifted him a few solstices ago. He waited for her reaction, but it was as if she was already used to them. He then waited for his own shame to flood his senses as it so often did in regards to the burn scars; but it never came. He only felt the sting of memory from that cell. He looked towards her face to ensure his touch wasn’t setting off alarms within her. The setting sun shone fully on her, the soft glow revealing no trace of fear or discomfort in her expression. He had to bite the inside of his cheek again. She was beautiful, determined in learning this new skill. He was surprised when she asked him for pointers in wielding the dagger Lucien gave her as an early Winter Solstice gift. For so long it seemed that Azriel would be the only one to initiate contact, but this time, she sought him out.
Azriel supposed it was an improvement, even if it was for practical reasons and not a more personal one. He didn’t know why that simple fact bothered him. Stepping back, he looked over her form once more. Once satisfied, he walked over to his side of the ring and picked up his own training dagger.
“Let’s begin.” He kept his voice soft, softer than he would have if anyone else was around. He wondered if she even noticed. With a small nod of recognition, Azriel launched forward. She answered him with practiced motions; when he feinted, she didn’t freeze in surprise but slid into the gap with an accuracy that pleased and unsettled him in equal measure.
He pressed harder than he intended, testing timing and reach, watching for the moment a strike might truly land. She parried, stepped, and turned. They clipped wood on wood until, with a fluid shift of weight and a hook of the wrist, she pinned his blade to his chest. The contact was small and precise, the kind of thing Cassian would grin about later. Azriel felt it differently; a hot, immediate awareness that she could close a space he’d always kept for himself.
He moved to unbalance her, but his reflexes were a fraction too strong. She flailed, body falling towards the ground. He lunged, attempting to catch her but had failed to actually move his feet with the rest of his body, causing him to fall as well. His chest landed across hers; wood clattered away. For a second the ring dissolved into the narrow geography of their bodies.
Heat flared where his torso met hers, immediate and confusing. The faint salty scent of sweat at her temple mixed with the soft notes of vanilla that wafted upwards. The scent finding a home deep within his being. Her breath came up in a sharp, surprised hitch that pressed into his collarbone. His wings tightened against the expenses of his back like an animal pulled taut. His emotions swirled— guilt mixed with a shimmer of excitement. He found himself wanting to reach out, to brush the strand of hair that loosened from her braid. But he kept this confusing desire to himself as the vivid memories of hands that had hurt too willingly, of screams that still vibrated through his chest rose to the surface. The taste of metal filled his mouth as he bit down on his cheek again. He had practiced restraint until restraint became a habit. Yet the presence of her beneath him rewrote small rules he had thought were permanent.
He forced himself to feel the cold stone beneath his palm as it splayed to the ground just above her shoulder. His other hand curved over her waist as his arm cradled her back. The warmth of her skin traveled deep into his palm, spreading throughout his entire being. The sensation lingered in a way his thoughts struggled to name apart from a curious, relentless pull that tightened his throat and slowed his breath.
Azriel didn’t move immediately. There was a slowness to the world around them, the torches a distant hum. He could hear his pulse in his ears, not loud but relentless, keeping time with the tiny miniature huffs of her breath beneath him. When she exhaled, the air between them tasted faintly of iron and vanilla and something softer, more earthy, he hadn’t catalogued before.
Eventually, he carefully shifted his weight so he could roll clear without jostling her. As he retracted his arm from underneath her his fingers brushed her skin, as if letting go might tear the fragile moment into pieces. He sat back on his heels and took in the sight of her—dust on one sleeve, hair loosened at the nape, cheeks flushing from impact and exertion.
“You… okay?” he asked, voice considerably small for the space between them.
“Fine,” she said, but the word was too clipped. She pushed to her knees and then to her feet, hands finding the braid at the base of her skull as if steadying herself both physically and somehow inwardly. Azriel watched that motion like a male watching a tide before he followed suit, rising to his feet as well.
He waited, the line between them electric and patient. His fingers twitched at his sides, a flutter of desire at the idea of lingering and creating something tender. But that same resurfacing memory pinned him. His touch had only ever been used as a tool and a weapon; wringing the truth from enemies and traitors. But now those same hands remembered the shape of her curves and wanted to learn more: the bend of her neck, the hollow just below her collarbone, the small indent where a strap cut into skin.
When he finally moved forward it was with the softest of intentions. He swept a finger across the dust on her forearm as if the motion were a correction to the world and not an excuse to feel her skin again. The touch was tiny, deliberate; the heat that came back into his own fingertips stayed with him. She didn’t jerk away. She met his gaze—their eyes locking in a way that was less about challenge and more about recognition—and for the first time he allowed himself to notice the way her pupils adjusted to the torchlight as it flared to life around the ring and the way her lashes shadowed the high plane of her cheek.
“Careful,” she said, voice low. “Someone may think that you’re falling for me”. He looked at her mouth, at the small line that appeared when she smiled. He felt something like a fissure open in his chest. A hundred tiny thoughts rose and fell inside him—the memory of pain he had inflicted, the apologies he expressed, the growing number of instances where he found himself admiring her classic beauty—each one checked by a more stubborn impulse: Protect. The rest of the ring felt distant; the only rhythm that mattered was the slow return of her breath and the pulse at his wrist where their bodies had touched.
“Get it? Because we fell…” She couldn’t hold back her laughter, the melodic sound breaking the tension. They resumed training because the world required motion after stillness, but the edges had shifted. His strikes were gentler; where he had once pushed to find a weakness he now sought to test and teach. The small changes were almost invisible but they accumulated—a softer feint, a hand that steadied rather than shoved, a look that asked permission without words. Each act piled upon the last until he was able to push the rising attraction aside and convince himself that his actions were merely fueled by the never ending guilt he felt.
Later, when the torches were guttering and the ring cooled, he returned the wooden blades to their place among the various training weapons. Azriel returned to her side, arms stretched out in their usual way to carry her back to the townhouse. Her arms wrapped around his neck and the vanilla scent rose again. He inhaled without thinking, the smell lodging in him like a place-name.
The flight was quick and silent, but she still murmured a goodnight as she entered what had become her home. Azriel supposed that was one of the nicer things his brother had done for the woman. He lifted himself back into the dark sky above, the outline of her still present in the low ache under his ribs.
As soon as you entered the townhouse you had received an invitation to meet Feyre at the River House. By the time you reached the entry gate, your pulse had finally begun to settle. The cold night air had done little to cool the warmth still lingering beneath your skin. Heat from exertion, from embarrassment, from something you refused to examine too closely. Azriel had flown off without a word after dropping you off, and you told yourself that was normal and that you didn’t care.
The front door clicked softly behind you as you stepped inside, letting the warmth of the sitting room wash over you. Feyre looked up from her place on the floor and smiled, the kind that made the world feel steadier.
“Perfect timing,” she said. “We were just talking about Nyx’s birthday.” She gestured for you to take a seat and you almost startled when you saw Mor and Elain were also present.
The sitting room of the River House was warm with lamplight, the Sidra’s glow faint beyond the windows. A tray of tea sat between you and the three Fae females, steam curling in soft ribbons. Feyre sat on the floor, her back to the fireplace, as she examined the parchment spread across a low coffee table with sketches of balloons, cakes, and the layout of the back and front gardens. Mor lounged with her usual glass of wine against the arm of a divan, one leg tucked under her while Elain sat on the floor opposite of Feyre, a basket of seed packets at her side. Her hands kept busy placing the seeds into seedling planters. You found yourself on the lone high backed cloth chair, eyes scanning over Nyx’s latest drawing — a crooked star with eight points-Feyre handed to you as you sat.
Feyre sighed, tapping the parchment. “Six years. I can hardly believe it.” You nodded slowly, carefully folding the drawing and placing it in the pocket of your cardigan. The knitted bouclé sweater hugged you with a velour like softness making you feel perfectly content to fall asleep right there next to the warmth of the small fire. Your eyes traveled and fixed themselves on the flames licking up towards the lintel and flue. Their dancing movement was mesmerizing, making you only vaguely aware of the High Lady’s discussion with her sister about the preparations for the little one’s spring birthday.
“We can fill the garden with lanterns, paper stars perhaps?” Elain leaned forward, her voice gentle. “I’m sure I can find colored paper or light fabric to complement the flowers that should be in bloom by then. It will definitely add a touch more brightness to the festivities.” Her hands continued to insert what appeared to be marigold seeds into the planters if the label on the packets were accurate.
Feyre nodded along, her sketch pencil quickly marking the designated spots on her rendering of the back garden. “How many other children should we be expecting?”
Feyre’s question hung in the air for a moment, and you found yourself tracing the rim of your teacup before answering. “I think… maybe a dozen? Nyx has more friends than he realizes. He’s very charming.”
Mor smiled. “He gets that from me.” You chuckled as Feyre lightly shook her head.
Elain smiled softly, though her eyes flicked toward you with a kind of gentle curiosity. “And from you,” she added. “He adores you.”
Heat crept up your neck. “He just likes that I let him stay up past bedtime from time to time.”
“That’s not why,” Elain murmured, arranging another seedling. “Children know when someone sees them. Really sees them.” There was something in her tone—something knowing—that made your breath catch. Elain’s gaze lingered on you a heartbeat longer before she returned to her work.
Mor stretched her legs out. “Speaking of being seen… I heard Azriel’s been training you more often.”
Your head snapped up. “Only because Cassian’s been busy with the Illyrians and Ruhn is currently back in Midgard helping his friend in locating some information about that damn prophecy.”
“Mhm,” Mor hummed, unconvinced. “Well that hasn’t stopped Lucien from hovering like a mother hen.”
Elain’s hands paused over the soil. She didn’t look up, but her voice was quiet, thoughtful. “Lucien worries, he always has. It’s how he shows he cares.” Your eyes flickered over to the middle Archeron sister, catching the swivel of both Feyre and Mor’s heads. You had to prevent your jaw from dropping at the comment. That was perhaps the first positive thing that Elain had ever made towards her mate. A pressure in your chest flared at the thought that she may finally be opening up to their bond.
Swallowing, you changed the subject of conversation. “Azriel clearly cares enough as well?” You couldn’t stop the words from sounding more like a question than the confident statement you hoped.
Elain finally lifted her eyes. There was no judgment in them, only a soft, perceptive sadness. “Azriel protects what he fears losing.” The room went still for a breath. Not heavy, just… honest.
Feyre cleared her throat, tapping her pencil against the parchment. “Alright, back to the lanterns. I refuse to let Nyx’s birthday be overshadowed by the Hewn City’s theatrics.”
The moment passed like a ripple across still water, but its echo stayed with you. Your fingers tightened around the folded star drawing in your pocket. Nyx’s crooked lines made you smile — but mention of the Hewn City tugged at something colder. You had never seen the court itself, only the catacombs beneath it… and even those memories were more sensation than image. Stone. Damp air. Footsteps that never belonged to you.
You’d heard stories, of course — shadows and jewels, cruelty wrapped in silk — but the truth of it lived somewhere beyond your reach. Mor must have caught the flicker of unease across your face. She straightened, wine glass dangling from her fingers.
Mor leaned forward, voice conspiratorial. “Alright, since (Y/N) hasn’t had the joy of a Hewn City ‘celebration,’ let me give you the basics. Expect pomp. Expect posturing. Everyone will be dressed to intimidate, dripping in jewels and shadows. The speeches will be long, the silences longer, and every noble will try to look like they’re the one pulling the strings. It’s theater, really.”
“And we’re putting a six‑year‑old in the middle of it?” You felt fear and trepidation raise within you as Feyre sighed, rubbing her temple.
“Yes, but-and I can’t believe I agree with my cousin- he needs to be exposed to that darkness at some point.” Mor sighed. “The Hewn City is still part of the Night Court. Nyx will be announced as heir, and that’s not something they can sneer away. He’ll be the star, whether they like it or not.”
You shifted in your seat, the awareness of the greater purpose Nyx would grow to fulfill. Nyx, just like everyone else, had a purpose. You tried to keep the despair from settling in your chest. The three females before you belonged here in ways you never could. They knew the customs, dangers, and expectations that made up the Hewn City. You only knew the shadows beneath it. “What about…what else should I expect?” you asked, voice softer than you intended.
Elain dusted soil from her hands, her brow creasing. “Well...the Hewn City isn’t exactly forgiving.”
Mor snorted. “Understatement of the century.”
Elain’s lips curved in a small, apologetic smile. “But what little I do know is that presentation is everything there. So… we should probably think about what you should wear.” Elain perked up, eyes brightening with a kind of hopeful creativity. “Maybe we can find a balance. The pitch‑black attire made me feel so… swallowed. Neither you nor Nyx should feel that way. So, deep blues and purples, maybe with some silver accents. Colors that remind him of the sky he loves.”
Her gaze flicked to you, soft and earnest, as if she were offering you a way to breathe in a place built to suffocate.
Mor stretched her legs out, smirking. “Sounds like Elain has this covered. Which is good, because I’ll be in Vallahan again.” She winked at you. “One additional thing I will suggest is that you'll need something practical. Something you can move in if he bolts for the dais, but also something that lets you hide a weapon.”
You blinked. “A weapon?”
“This isn’t the place to be unprepared and look uncertain.” Mor’s expression sobered. “Or unaligned. I heard about Helion’s stylistic choice at that meeting…” Her voice trailed off. “This isn’t the setting to have your allegiance be considered ambiguous. You are one of us and need to look the part.” Her words felt more like punches to your gut than reassurance of your place among them. Even if others in Rhysand’s inner circle considered you as one of their own, there was one major difference that was never mentioned out loud.
Feyre smiled and placed a hand on your knee, easing the tension. “I’ll commission something for you. Midnight silk, perhaps, or a deep royal purple. It’ll have a lighter lining of course so you don’t roast under the Hewn City torches.”
“You should add pockets, too.” Elain chimed in. “Nyx will think it’s magic when you pull out sweets.”
You laughed, shaking your head. “That little one does love to sneak food.” You looked at them, the three females who all had neatly carved places in this court and felt the weight of your own difference.
Feyre reached further up and gently clasped the wrist of the hand holding your teacup, her hand warm over your skin. “You will be fine. You’ll walk in with the rest of us, and Ruhn will be right there with you. No one would dare harm you even if you are the only human in the room.” You recognized she meant well, but your safety hadn’t been the concern pressing against your heart, at least not until she reminded you. Feyre’s eyes softened. “He’ll remember the party more than the ceremony anyway. This will be the day he feels loved, not just announced.”
The conversation drifted on — lanterns, sweets, music — the kind of easy planning that made the River House feel like a living heartbeat. You let yourself sink into it for a little while, warmed by the fire and the soft cadence of their voices. But eventually the hour grew late, and the others began to rise, stretching and gathering their things. Feyre squeezed your hand once more before you left, her smile warm and certain.
Outside, the cold night air met you like a wall. The River House glowed behind you, full of laughter and light, but the path home stretched long and quiet. You pulled your cardigan tighter around yourself and started the walk back, each step carrying you farther from the warmth and deeper into the familiar hush of your own thoughts.
After the long trek through the frost covered cobblestone road, you found yourself standing alone in the foyer of the townhouse. The lanterns burning low cast long shadows across the floorboards, and the silence settled around you like a second skin. You took a slow and steady breath, but the air felt too thick. The townhouse always felt suffocatingly empty without Ruhn.
Two days prior he traveled back to Midgard with Bryce and Hunt for the upcoming Winter Solstice. While he stated that he hated to leave you, you didn’t want him to miss any spare time he could have with his friends. A pain that was now an old friend to you. After six years living in this world; six holiday seasons away from every single person you had loved…It was only expected that bitter loneliness would be the only companion you were granted. A deep ugly part of you felt the hurt and anger rise up your throat like bile because no one seemed to care that you also held the Winter Solstice as a sacred day. Your fingers curled into fists at your sides as you tried to ignore the lack of any decorations within the townhouse.
The River House and even the House of Wind had no shortage of yuletide cheer. Wreaths and garland made of real evergreen leaves, strings of faelights wrapped around the banister of the main staircase, and glass ornaments from various artisans on the Rainbow hung in the windows displaying miniature scenes of memories shared throughout the year. How many of those ornaments would they all accumulate over the years? No, not just years…centuries.
You choke back a sob as the familiar ache beneath your ribs pulls taught. Hot tears slip down your cheeks faster than you anticipated. It seemed that each year the pain of remembering just how utterly human you were became worse and worse. And despite their efforts, despite Feyre and her sisters once being human, despite Bryce being half-human…none of them would ever understand just how much all of this fucked with your head.
You were the only mortal in this world of beings who will no doubt outlive mountains, whose histories would be studied in books simultaneously with their day to day lives. Compared to them you would be a small blip-a footnote really- in those very books. Almost like a smudge on one of Feyre’s paintings; something that doesn’t quite belong in the composition, no matter how carefully you try to blend the edges into the surrounding lines and shapes around it. It didn’t matter that you lived alongside them, laughed with them, planned parties and ceremonies with them; beneath it all that the quiet persistent truth never loosened its grip.
You will age. They will not.
You will fade. They will remain.
You will be forgotten, but your life will end before you ever forget them.
You love them. Gods, you do; but that didn’t alter the facts that at the end of the day, you were not one of them. It took all of your strength to make yourself move, removing the layers of cold winter clothing. Tears still flowing in silent rivers down your full rounded cheeks. A fire roared to life in the hearth of the small parlor to the right of the foyer. You thought of Nyx — bright, wild, star‑touched Nyx — and how he so often clings to your legs as if you’re the only steady thing in his world. You remember how he laughs when you chase him through the garden, how he curls against your side during naps, how he trusts you without hesitation.
Your mind drifted to the future, his future. The one where he grows tall and strong and powerful, while you… don’t. A knot formed in your throat. What use would be to them then? When you could no longer be a caregiver to the small fae. You pressed your palms together, grounding yourself, but the thought still comes. What if one day he looks at you and realizes you’re breakable? What if he realizes you’re temporary?
The others don’t treat you that way, not intentionally, but sometimes you still caught the flicker of worry in their eyes when you get hurt. On other occasions you could swear you heard the softness in their voices as they said your name. As if you’re something fragile they’re afraid to drop. Sometimes… sometimes you couldn’t help but wonder if they’re right.
The cold truth curled in your chest as you walked into the parlor. You’re human, mortal, and no matter how much they care for you, no matter how deeply you carve yourself into their lives, you will always be the one who leaves first. You sank onto the small sofa facing the fire, letting the heat lick at your chilled skin. Sadly, it didn’t reach the hollow in your chest. Nothing had felt right since that meeting of the High Lords. Not since the prophecy had been spoken aloud and the room had turned toward you like you were a riddle carved in bone.
You pressed your palms to your eyes, willing the tears to stop, but they kept coming: hot, relentless, and humiliating. You hated crying alone. You hated crying entirely, but the silence of the townhouse swallowed every sound you made, and somehow that made it worse.
You didn’t know how long you sat there, minutes or hours, before a soft knock broke through the quiet. Your breath caught as your limbs froze. No one within ever knocked, they always just walked right in. Another gentle and hesitant knock echoed through the front of the home.
You wiped your face with trembling fingers and forced yourself to twist around towards the picture window. Lifting the curtain slightly you saw Lucien standing on the stone steps, head tilted back as snow dusted his hair and shoulders. You noted a small leather-wrapped object in his hand. You knocked on the window and waved for him to enter.
The townhouse door yielded to him, recognizing him as one of the few allowed inside, and he placed his coat and boots near the entrance. Once inside the parlor where you sat, his russet eye flicked over your face, and something in his expression tightened. A subtle, quiet shift you wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t already unraveling.
“You’ve been crying.” His voice was soft as he crossed the room stopping less than a foot away from the couch. Out of the corner of your eye you watched him as he clearly debated on comforting you. The brief hesitation pulled something at your sternum, but didn’t diminish the fact his presence warmed the air like a hearth newly stoked. Finally, he sat himself down next to you and placed his arm along the back of the couch. It was enough of an indicator that you were more than welcome to lean on him if you so chose. And, of course, you did just that. You scooted yourself one seat over and curled into his side, his arm coming down to rest on your arm to cradle your figure. For a long moment neither of you spoke. You realized that Lucien would be perfectly content to just sit there with you the remainder of the night if you didn’t speak up.
“Lucien?” Your voice cracked. “What are you doing here?” The male opened his mouth, closed it, and then reached into the pocket of his trousers.
“I… finished this,” he said, clearing his throat. “For your dagger.” Without removing his arm from your side, he carefully unfolded the beautifully crafted sheath made of dark leather. “Azriel informed me that you asked to train with him earlier tonight. I thought that you should have this before your next session.”
You blinked at it and then tilted your head to look up at him. You shouldn’t have been surprised that he would only show up for a practical reason. “That doesn’t exactly answer my question. You could have given that to me tomorrow. So, why tonight?”
“I know.” His jaw flexed. “That was my intention, but…” He stopped, eyes flicking up towards the hearth, then back to your face. His voice softened, losing its practiced steadiness. “Truth is I was worried. I didn’t get much of an opportunity to speak with you after the meeting,” he said quietly. “You left with Ruhn before I could… before I could make sure you were alright.”
“You always worry,” you whispered, a half smile on your expression as you thought of Elain’s words, not sure if it was a complaint or a comfort. You placed your head back on his shoulder. “But it is appreciated.”
“I should have checked in on you sooner.” His voice was soft, careful. “It wasn’t like I haven’t had the opportunity to do so. I-I kept telling myself you were fine, that you had Ruhn, that you didn’t need me hovering, but…I still should have come.”
You shook your head. “You had enough to deal with. Besides, you saw me when you gave me the dagger.”
“(Y/N),” His voice took on a slight edge, “Please don’t make excuses on my behalf. I saw the way you held yourself together in the meeting, and the fear in your eyes afterward. I should have checked on you then.” The words hit you harder than you expected. You stared at the fire, blinking against the sting in your eyes.
“I’m fine, really.” You swallowed, hardly believing your own words. Truth was you were not fine in the slightest. You were barely holding it together as thoughts constantly replayed variations of that meeting and spiraled in trying to make sense of what everything meant.
“You do not have to pretend with me,” He murmured, resting his head on top of yours. As if he instinctually knew what you needed in that moment his arms wrapped around you. “And you don’t have to do any of this alone.” You looked up at him, at the concern etched into his features, at the way he seemed to be holding himself together like he was afraid his words were too bold. Your throat tightened.
“I just… I don’t…” Your voice cracked and trembled. Lucien’s thumb slowly rubbed along your arm as he held you. “My heart is breaking, Lu. There is just so…much. I don’t even know where to begin to process. This prophecy brings so much into question. I…I just…” He shushed you gently, turning his head and placing a chaste kiss to your brow.
“We don’t need to figure out any of that just yet,” His voice was soft. “We have plenty of time.” How you wished that were true. Time was the one thing that you did not have.
“Lu…we don’t-”
“No…I know,” He pressed another kiss to your brow. “But let’s not think about that right now okay, love? It doesn’t change the fact that we want you around and that you improve all of our lives.” An invisible weight yanked at your sternum and your heart fractured even further. Breath caught in your throat as you attempted to hold back the sob that desperately wanted to make itself known. A fresh wave of hot tears resumed streaming down their paths on your cheeks. His intrinsic understanding of your thoughts and feelings never ceased to amaze you, and you were grateful that you didn’t need to speak any of that outloud. Despite yourself, you were glad that you weren’t the only one to recognize your impermanence in this world. Though, that didn’t stop the pain and tears that were going to be shed. Perhaps it was that knowledge that broke you as you continued to sob into his tunic. His warm hands rubbed along your back, soothing and reaffirming his solid presence in your life.
“Do you want me to stay?” His voice was so faint you weren’t sure you heard it. “I know we-”
“Please,” You whispered back. “I… the tonic wouldn’t be a good idea tonight. I don’t want to numb this. But I also… I don't want to be alone.”
“Of course, love.” Slowly he lowered his arms, standing and reaching out to help you up. The walk to your room was silent, Lucien’s hand laced with yours. Neither of you bothered to change or even get under the covers. Instead, you both laid atop the plush duvet, his warmth steadying you as you quickly drifted off to sleep.
Lucien woke before dawn. It had become second nature after years of sleeping lightly; of listening for danger and never quite trusting the world to leave him in peace. However, this morning the first thing he registered wasn’t danger, but a warm and soft weight against his side. The faint scent of vanilla and amber filled his senses. It was soon accompanied by the memory of her tears soaking into the fabric of his tunic and the way her fingers had curled into his sleeve, as if anchoring herself to the world.
He exhaled slowly, careful not to disturb her as she slept. Her form curled toward him as she continued to breathe steadily, her face relaxed in a way he hadn’t seen in ages. Lucien dared not allow himself to believe that her serenity had anything to do with him. He knew he should move; should put distance between them before she woke, but he couldn’t get his limbs to comply with what was proper for a mated male. Not when some even deeper instinct urged him to hold her closer and warned him that if he let go too soon the world would somehow shatter.
His golden eye whirred softly as it adjusted to the low light, tracing the curve of her cheek, as she nuzzled closer towards the crook between his neck and shoulder. She’d cried herself into exhaustion. And he’d held her until her breathing evened out and her trembling stopped, the weight of her grief finally easing enough for rest to finally take hold.
He hadn’t meant to fall asleep beside her. He only meant to stay until she was well and truly asleep and then return to his own apartment in the city. But when she had whispered please, something in him had cracked open. Something he’d been holding shut for months, maybe even years.
Lucien swallowed as her breath fanned against his skin, the soft warmth racing down his body straight to his cock. He shouldn’t have stayed. He shouldn’t have let himself feel this. He shouldn’t have let her lean on him like that, not when she was so vulnerable, and definitely not when he was… whatever he was.
He closed his eyes, pressing the heel of his free hand to his brow. He cared for her. Much more than he should or had any right to.
And yet…He’d do it again. He’d always be there for her; through every spiral, every fear, every tear. He’d hold her through every storm for as long as she’d asked him to. Even if it broke him; especially if it broke him.
She shifted slightly, her hand brushing his ribs. Lucien froze, breath caught in his throat. But she didn’t wake, her body seeking warmth and pressing closer to him. His heart clenched.
He needed to leave before she opened her eyes and saw him like this; unguarded and absolutely aching for her. He also didn’t want to give her the chance to apologize for needing him; to thank him in that quiet voice that made him want things he shouldn’t want.
Carefully, painfully, he eased himself out from beneath her grounding weight. Soft incoherent words murmured into the quiet of the room, her brow creasing, and he paused, hand hovering over her shoulder.
“Shh,” he whispered, barely audible. “You’re safe, love.” Her expression smoothed and she settled once again. Lucien stood and took to the throw blanket from the chair near the window and placed it over her. He lingered for one heartbeat too long, then forced himself to step back.
Silently, he left the room and headed down stairs where he saw the dagger sheath was still sitting on the couch in the parlor. Silently he tugged his boots back on and prepared to exit, only pausing to glance back toward the stairs. He hoped today would be easier for her. That she’d find peace and never need to cry like that again.
He hoped—
Lucien stopped himself from finishing that dangerous thought and instead stepped out into the cold morning air, letting the front door of the townhouse close softly behind him.
Days later your heart thundered in your chest as you raced through the River House. You only had a marginal head start. Rounding your way around the kitchen counter you skidded to a stop, swinging your head left, right, and left again. The coast was clear. You took off in a mad dash for the front door. Bursting through the swinging door that led to the main entryway from the kitchen, you careened and wound your way through the main hall. You narrowly avoided running into a large round table in the center of the foyer, its surface littered with flowers of all colors in small paper planters. Likely left behind by Elain before she and Azriel left for their shopping trip. Finally reaching your goal, you thudded against the solid wood door, wrenching it open as fast as you could. Before you could make it two steps out the door you ran directly into a warm broad chest. An equally warm pair of hands kept you upright as they rested on your waist.
“Whoa there, what’s the rush?” You were greeted by Lucien’s surprised chuckle. A smile found its way across your lips. You opened your mouth, only to be interrupted by a high-pitched squeal.
“I found you!” The bright chirp of Nyx followed you out of the heavy oak doorway. You let out your own squeal as you shoved the grown male between yourself and the six-year-old child of night.
“Lucien’s neutral territory,” You giggle, “I’m safe!” You wrapped your arms tightly around his middle, not caring about the fact that he went utterly still at your touch. However, your wish to find sanctuary was not going to be fulfilled.
“No, he’s not,” You felt the force of which Nyx slammed into Lucien’s shins, “Because he’s it!”
“That’s not fair,” Your arms dropped from the male’s waist, and you immediately backed away, matching the child’s fit of giggles.
“No tag backs Uncle Lu!” Nyx shouted gleefully, letting go of his own hold on the older Fae’s legs.
“What is happening?” Lucien’s crimson hair shifted as he whipped his head between the two of you, a smirk gracing his features.
“You have to chase (Y/N)!” Nyx exclaimed. You watched as a gleam appeared in the male’s russet eye, the golden one whirring alongside it.
“N-now Lucien…w-we can talk about this,” You continued to slowly back away, “We’re both adults here…” You knew you were in trouble as soon as his grin reached his eyes.
“Oh, my sweet girl,” You swallowed as he took a predatory step towards you, “I believe you heard the little Lord; I must give chase.” He took another step towards you, eyes bright with the infectious mischief you and Nyx found yourselves in daily.
“Shit.” Without a second thought you took off in a run, your slipper clad feet nearly sliding out from under you as you made your way along the side of the large house. The only sound that clued you into Lucien following was Nyx’s squeal of excitement. You ducked around a tree, the male hot on your heels. You made to sprint away again, but the grass was too slick from the moisture of the nearby riverbank. Tendrils of the mists from its shores spilled into the backyard.
“Fuck this.” You kicked your flats off and began to run away again, your feet finally finding some purchase in the dirt. If only it were enough to allow you to outrun the High Fae male. Sadly, Lucien gained on you quickly. You already knew that he wasn’t chasing you at his full speed, to which you were grateful as it would just be embarrassing if he caught you too quickly.
You spied Nyx’s dark black hair out of the corner of your eye, which clued you into the fact that he was going to attempt to help his “Uncle” in some way. No sooner had the realization crossed your mind did the child dart across your path, causing you to stumble to avoid what would have been a painful collision. The child’s ploy was sufficient in getting you to pause long enough for Lucien to catch you. His arms wrapped around your middle in a bear hug, Nyx cheering him on.
“That is cheating!” You scolded Nyx, but a smile remained stretched on your features, “No helping the enemy.” The deep rumbling laugh vibrated from Lucien’s chest against your back. His hands lowered to your wide hips and his nose nuzzled against the back of your ear. His breath fanned against the hairs on the back of your neck caused a shiver to course through you. It seemed as if the asshole was perfectly aware of the effect he had on you.
“No helping the enemy?” His whisper was so low that only you could hear, “What about sleeping with the enemy?” You felt your face instantly heat up as Lucien’s hands squeezed the soft flesh of your hips. Your jaw dropped and you whipped your head around. His grin was the perfect picture of smugness, like a cat that caught a canary.
“Lucien!” It was clear that he was proud of the scandalized reaction he could elicit from you. “We’ve talked about this.”
“I’m joking (Y/N),” He chuckled, but his hands remained firmly planted on you. “Speaking of, there is something that we need to discuss. Come to my place tonight?” You pretended to think over the invitation. It had been too long since you and Lucien had any time just to yourselves. Well, that’s if you weren’t counting his overnight visit a few days prior. Before you had the opportunity to respond, Nyx ran up towards you, purple eyes sparkling bright. Lucien released his hold from around your waist, and you took the opportunity to immediately tag him back.
“No tag backs!” You skipped away in a sing-song voice. The auburn haired male rolled his eyes before turning and chasing after Nyx.
The laughter from the lawn carried up through the air. Nyx’s delighted shrieks echoed as he darted between shadows, barely evading Lucien. However, the grown male gained on him quickly as the child attempted to hide amongst the hedges, his wings flashing along their tops in the sunlight. Lucien’s long strides closed in behind him before picking him up and spinning him around. You were already breathless from the chase, the grass cool beneath your bare feet as you pivoted sharply to avoid Nyx’s outstretched hand as Lucien carried him while chasing after you.
“Too slow!” You called over your shoulder, grinning as Nyx squealed in delight.
The game continued almost unfairly, as both males were much faster. Running with all your might, forearms up and pressed against your breasts in an attempt to run more comfortably, you spot Elain and Azriel out of the corner of your eye as they walk through the small gate leading to the back garden. The Shadowsinger’s dark wings caught the light like oil over steel.
Something in you stirred before you could stop it. Maybe it was the rare warmth in his eyes, or maybe the tug of some reckless impulse which the years of being out of that dark cell allowed your body to build up once more, but you ran right up to where he stood. “Fly me up?” You asked, pointing towards the roof three stories above.
Azriel blinked, surprised, and you had to suppress your grin. “You want me to—”
“Up there.” You clarified, before your brain could protest, voice sounding steadier than you felt. The dark slate roof gleamed in the mid-afternoon winter sun. “Out of Nyx’s reach. Just for a moment! He’ll just catch me again! Please?”
A small, incredulous smile flickered across his mouth. “All right.” He stepped close, arms outstretched and waiting for you to literally jump onto him in what he often refers to as your “Kola hug”. Just as sure as your voice was, your body doesn’t hesitate. Arms and legs wrapping around his shoulders and torso before he lifts you both into the air. The warmth of him, and a faint scent of cedar, steals the breath right out of you…almost like Ruhn… almost. Before you can think, the ground is gone. The air sharp and cool as his wings beat once, twice, lifting you above the glittering river below.
“That’s cheating!” the small Illyrian Fae shouts, his high pitch tone meeting your ears as it's carried by the wind.
“You cheated first!” You called back, head poking up from over Azriel’s shoulder. You winced, having realized that you practically yelled directly against his ear. However, the male only chuckled slightly in response. You couldn’t help the flash of pride in your chest at getting him to break that stoic facade twice in the span of just a few moments.
Clinging to Azriel, the world fell away in a rush of color and sound. The laughter below became distant, and for one brief suspended moment you felt free. Azriel landed lightly on the roof’s peak, allowing you just enough space to lower your legs and stand on the edge to look at the garden below. The dark stone tiles were pleasantly warm beneath your bare feet. Something that would have been unheard of where you lived with the near constant shining sun. Walking around any artificial surface outdoors, even in the spring, was completely unheard of in your hometown. But you couldn’t deny how breathtaking the view was. The sun shining above the bluest sky, the Sidra flowing silver below. A laugh, wind-tossed and dizzy with wonder, escaped you.
“This is incredible,” Your eyes scanned over the horizon as you held on to the chimney, bare foot slipping a fraction as you turned to look towards the House of Wind in the distance.
“Careful,” Azriel warned softly. You chanced a quick glance at him, his mouth curving as if your joy had undone something in him. From below your position at the chimney you hear the quick, determined beats of smaller wings. Nyx.
You scoot yourself around the staff of the chimney, hand splayed against the brick to maintain your balance, and craned your neck over the edge to see him climbing fast through the air. His tiny body luminous with power and pride, his laughter bright and wild.
“(Y/N)!” he calls. “I’m coming!” Nyx’s wing beats are unusually uneven, the shifting of his body clunky, but he continues to make progress. The movement was something that you had not seen from him since he first started flying at 17 months old. You remember overhearing how that was late for an Illyrian.
“Az?” You carefully turned your head towards the fully grown Illyrian to gauge his expression. Was he seeing the same issue as you? However, the Shadowsinger’s attention was nowhere near you or Nyx. You followed his line of sight to see Lucien slowly approaching Elain.
The awkward air between them could be felt from the rooftop. Though, not even a minute later, it seemed that whatever exchange of words- words too distant for human ears- were sufficient for her to allow him to lead her away to the flower garden on the side of the house. You felt a soft pang in the dead center of your chest, but forced a smile. It was good to see her actually acknowledge him for once.
Your attention returned to Nyx as he persisted through his struggles, his wings bringing him higher and higher towards the rooftop. You heard the slight rustle of Azriel’s wings twitching, and something in the air shifts. A ripple of magic, subtle but cruel, snakes its way through your nostrils and coats your tongue with the tang of metal. Nyx’s laughter falters and by some unseen trick of fate, as if ripped from existence his wings, his beautiful wings…were gone.
Everything went still and eerily silent as you stared at Nyx. His already wide eyes now looked like saucers filled with utter terror.
“No.” You couldn’t tell if the word was even spoken aloud. Rhysand’s son, Feyre’s heart, your little one, began an all too fast descent as gravity yanked him back towards the ground. Your mind had gone completely blank as your body moved entirely on protective instinct. Hard brick sliced your toes as you launched off the roof. You ignored the call of your name on the wind as it tore at your clothes. Your stomach lurched and rolled as your body also succumbed to the forceful pull of the planet. Your glasses dislodged from their perch on your nose, but it didn’t matter. Your gaze never left Nyx. His eyes wide, lips parted in a soundless cry and arms reaching up towards you.
By some miracle you managed to catch him midair, wrapping your arms around him and twisting the both of you around so his tiny body would be shielded from the impact. You had no time to do anything else. No magic to protect yourself or circumvent the inevitable impact of the hungry ground rushing to meet you.
Pain. Sharp as a bolt of lightning pierced your body and instantly the world went dark, but not silent. A cacophony of screams and shouting were muffled by a high pitched wail. You willed your hands to cover your ears, but the muscles didn’t so much as twitch.
You couldn’t catch your breath as every attempt at an inhale felt like splintered glass. The feeling of pins and needles traveled from your fingertips towards your elbow as numbness took hold. Nyx’ trembling became just as faint as his sobbing. He’s alive.
“(Y/N)!” Nyx’s voice sounded distant and the warmth of the sun on your face suddenly disappeared. A chill you recognized all too well replaced that warmth. Azriel’s shadows, frantic and cold, swirled around your neck and down the left side of your body. He was close, too close if the alarm bells of your lizard brain senses were any indication. His voice was soft and cracking like he was breaking in ways you’d never heard before.
“No…fuck…stay…Stay with me. Please.” A soft pressure settled against your forehead. The pain and pressure in your chest dissipated almost immediately. A gloved thumb brushed your brow, or maybe it was bare skin, warm and trembling, and the shadows surged as if trying to knit you back together.
“(Y/N)!” Lucien shouted, his voice sharp and clear in your ears. The pressure and coldness was ripped away from you. Fierce warmth flooded in, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. His voice held too many emotions to count as he barked orders to whomever else was present. Pain flared in waves. Echoes of different voices, known and unknown, floated above you. Breathless whispers praised the Mother of your survival from a fall from such a height. Perhaps all the speculation surrounding you was right. A greater power must be looking out for you. Deep within you knew the fall should’ve killed you instantly, but here you were, teetering on the edge of consciousness. You released a silent thanks to the Mother as well. Warmth and coldness filled you simultaneously in what you could only assume was in response. Fatigue was starting to catch up as the adrenaline subsided. The sound of the world around you dwindled until the last thing you heard was Nyx’s soft whisper begging you not to leave.
Your thoughts slowed as darkness pulled at the edges of your vision. Nyx was alive — that was all that mattered. The pain ebbed, replaced by a weighted tug at your sternum, steady and insistent, as if something ancient refused to let you slip away. The last sensation you felt was warm, trembling hands sliding beneath you, lifting you from the ground with a care that made your chest ache. You let yourself go limp, the world narrowing to warmth, motion, and the faint echo of Nyx’s voice whispering your name like a prayer.
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