I know requests are closed but if you ever open them, would you do Azriel and his partner having an argument? It can be any of your existing ocs or someone new.
Battle it Out
Azriel X Winged!FMC
summary: Tired of Azriel avoiding the topic of their feelings for each other, Lilja forces him to confront them by force. Azriel rises to the challenge.
word count: 2705
author’s note: an angsty argument turned smutty! The relationship isn’t established, but they’ve had some moments in the past and it was inevitable they come together. Hopefully this is along the lines of what you were looking for my friend, but if not, let me know!
{Tags: reader insert fmc, brattiness, some angsty arguing, azriel being afraid to love ofc, sparring match that turns into sex, oral f receiving, some wing touching, azriel likes his partners sweaty, peregrine!reader}
⊹ Masterlist ⊹ Read on Ao3 ⊹
The Townhouse was quiet. Far too quiet. This late in the evening, Cassian would be cajoling Azriel, asking for way too many intimate details. ‘Did you score?’ ‘What was she wearing?’ ‘How many times did you make her-‘
Ugh, it made Lilja sick to imagine. She was much more content in this silence, where she could listen to the sound of her sharpening blade without straining. She swore there was a proper sound to it, the sound the blade sang when it was ready to pierce flesh again. Or her training dummies.
A gentle whooshing sounded on the landing. Likely, one of them had been beckoned to the River House by Rhysand for a mission. Lilja was glad it wasn’t her.
She had reserves of energy to spend, but her frustration with Azriel would make her sloppy. This kind of boost was meant for the rings only. Lilja trudged up the spiral steps that led to the House of Wind’s roof, trying not to wake Nesta, or anyone else in the house.
It wasn’t her fault things with Azriel were so weird. It was certainly his. Anytime they got close, close to sharing something personal, close to touching, he locked up. They were weird because he was weird.
Lilja spread her wings wide, the open air ring allowing her to move as freely as she liked. Baggy pants, training bra, free wings. Knife. Only the essentials tonight.
She hefted a dummy into place, walking the tip of her blade up from the stomach region to chest to decide her target.
She trotted back about twenty feet and threw. Right lung, a clean puncture.
She backed up another ten feet, hurling her second dagger into the dummy’s chest. Left lung, definitely collapsed if the dummy were real.
Lilja backed up the last ten feet until she hit a solid wall. There were no walls on the roof.
She tipped her head back to see Azriel looking down at her. “You should be more careful.”
Lilja followed his gaze down. Azriel’s heels were hanging off the edge of the rooftop. She had been this close from just walking off a cliff. Rather than admit her thanks, she crossed her arms and righted herself away from him. “I could have flown if I fell.”
“If you remembered to fly,” he quipped, crossing his own arms back at her. “You’re prone to forget.”
“I’m not stupid.”
“I didn’t say that. Forgetful is all I said.”
“Same thing,” she hissed.
Azriel’s lips twitched in amusement, and she huffed a breath. It must have been Cassian that had left the House earlier, leaving Azriel without one of his cronies to keep him away from her.
“How was Rita’s,” she hedged the taunt. “Did your lady of choice wear Night Court black or Siphon Blue tonight?”
Azriel stiffened. It was too dark to know for sure, but Lilja swore he blushed, too. When he didn’t answer, she tsked, and set to braiding back her sleek black hair. “Just what I thought.”
“What did you think?” His voice was low and dangerous.
“That you’re still whoring around every night.” She held her silk tie between her teeth, still braiding, when Azriel grabbed her by the arms.
“Watch your language.”
In almost any other situation, she would have had a more clever response about using those words, but all that came out was, “why not?”
“It's disrespectful. I trained you.”
She couldn’t stop her black eyes from rolling in her skull. “So what, I should be eternally grateful now? Oh wise master Azriel, thank you infinitely for deigning to grace my presence with-“
In one smooth move, he kicked her legs out from under her. Lilja hit the ground with an oof as the ground connected with her rear. Surprise was all that showed on her face- until Azriel laughed.
The sound was soft and light. And fuck did it piss her off. This wasn’t supposed to be a game, a match of simpering banter that would lead to them kissing again, and him walking away.
Lilja was tall for a female, even a fae, but she was agile. With a rush of speed, she leapt to her feet and aimed for his chest.
Her empty fist collided with Azriel’s hand. “Careful, you don’t want to start this.”
“Why? Because I’ll finish it too?” Azriel grabbed her wrist aiming to pin it behind her back, and she let him. It was the perfect angle for her to bend lower and have him just off balance enough to sweep his ankle out from under him.
Azriel took the fall with a smooth roll, wings wrapping around him like a shell. He was back on his feet, and angry, in seconds. “What are you doing?”
“If you think I’m in your debt for some training, you’re wrong. I’m better than you, no help needed.” She stalked for the weapons rack, retrieving two wooden swords.
“Lilja, what? I don’t know what you’re talking about-“
He cut himself off at the sound of the second sword hitting the dirt in front of him.
“Pick it up.”
“No, we’re not doing this.”
“Pick it up,” she insisted more firmly, rushing him.
He hoisted the pommel only to meet her swing, a loud wooden groan echoing across the ring. Splinters flew and Azriel looked at her like she was crazy. “What is wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with you?” Lilja retorted, swinging again and again with no rest to her offense.
Azriel’s parries were so clean it made her see red. “This is about Rita’s?”
He had to be dense. “What do you think?” She swung harder, forcing him to leap backward.
“I really don’t want to talk about this-“
“Then forfeit.” She pressed her advantage.
“Lilja…”
“Do it.” She pushed the flat of her sword against his, right until the wooden edge of his own grazed the skin of his neck.
“You did ask for it…”
Lilja had only a moment to wonder what he meant until she was flat on her back, laying in the dirt. Her vision swam from the sudden fall but she went to right herself again.
Azriel had no plans of letting her. His warm, broad body covered her own, pinning her to the training ring’s floor. “Get off me!”
“No.”
“You’re a coward, we finish this like real men.”
“You’re not a man,” he said with a little smile.
“I fight like one,” Lilja said through stubbornly gritted teeth.
Azriel relented only a smidge. “You do… but I don’t think this is the time or place.”
“The training ring is the best possible place for this.” She gestured to the huge rack of illyrian proof weaponry.
“You know what I mean.” Azriel kept a firm hold on her with his hands, and with his eyes as well. He wouldn’t let her look away. “Lay it on me.”
“I thought you were too busy running, that you ‘didn’t want to talk about this,” she mocked, groveling her voice into a deep, broody pitch.
She had hoped to irritate him, but it only served to amuse him, it seemed. Yet, all he said was, “I didn’t go to Rita’s”
“Yes you did, I heard you and Cassian talking just yesterd-“ her words came out muffled as Azriel’s hand cupped her face, covering her mouth.
“What you heard was a lie. I was trying to get Cassian off my back.”
Lilja tried to speak, but the sound was lost behind Azriel’s long fingers. She licked his hand spitefully and he yanked it back with disgust. “Gross, don’t do that-“
“Where were you if you weren’t at Rita’s?” Lilja was determined to complete this interrogation, and determined to forget the sudden heat in Azriel’s eyes.
The heat guttered as soon as it came. “I was visiting my mother.”
She stopped her squirming beneath him. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Well I didn’t know that,” her voice dripped with defense.
“I know you didn’t.”
“So why did you, you know…”
Azriel shrugged. “It seemed like you were determined to have that brawl out. So I let you.”
“That still doesn’t change anything.” I’m still mad at you, I’m still hurt. Of course, her words were never that clean.
Azriel, for the weirdo he was, somehow knew what she meant. His fingers brushed her cheek ever so gently. “Why?”
The gesture was supposed to be soothing. It was everything she had ever wanted. But pride and anger reared up in her gut, stampeding over any butterflies in her stomach. “This is why, you idiot! This happens every time! We get closer, we touch, we kiss… and then you run.”
Pain filled his eyes. Pain and heat once again. Lilja yelled that accusation at the top of her lungs and yet she hadn’t kicked him off of her yet. She let him stay where he was, above her, pinning her.
Azriel huffed a breath. “It’s not that simple.”
“It’s not? You just like to play games.”
“Does that sound like me?”
No, it didn’t. But Lilja was too proud to admit that. She opted for simmering silence. “It’s not easy for me to be close to you.”
“You think I’ll hurt you?”
“No,” he smiled bitterly. “The opposite. I’ll hurt you. Or someone else will- and I won’t be able to stop it.”
His hand, which had trailed a long journey down her cheek, her neck, and her shoulder, settled against her wing.
They were peregrine wings, downy with soft, gray feathers, but Lilja knew Azriel’s fears. Clipping was a shared culture after all. “You haven’t been through what I have,” he settled on.
Lilja fought the urge to shiver as the tips of his fingers traced her feathers, dipping to touch the thin skin below. “Azriel-“The sound came out breathy, and she kicked herself.
But he didn’t laugh. His eyes did not sparkle this time. They were low and dark, with pupils so wide they blocked out the flecks of amber she so loved. Still, though, sadness remained.
“I’m fine.” It was all she could think to say as his hands settled on her cheeks. She gripped his wrists with her own, holding him like that.
“You are now. I never wanted to fall for someone like you-“
Her eyes widened, her heart tightening in her chest. Azriel shook his head quickly. “No, not like that. I never wanted to fall in love with someone who led the same life as me. Someone who I could lose faster than anyone else loses me. It’s selfish, I know, but grief is a heavy weight to carry.”
“What did you want, then?” Lilja whispered.
“I wanted someone who I could protect from afar. Who I could love when I wanted, who would love me well after I was gone.” Shame colored his cheeks for a moment. “What I need is someone like you. Someone who reminds me how precious life is, someone who makes everything I do feel worth it.”
The killing. The fighting. The sleepless nights spent wondering if he had done what was needed and what was right. Lilja nodded, understanding it all. It was the same blood that stained her own hands.
Poetics were beyond her. Long, heartfelt speeches of her feelings were beyond her, and always had been. “Well, I want you. Need you.”
Heat sparked in Azriel’s eyes again, and despite herself, she laughed. “I didn’t mean it like that, but, that too.”
He smiled his confirmation. “I understand.”
Silence ticked for a few beats until Lilja couldn’t take it anymore. “What do we do now?”
“What do you want to do?” Azriel would let her call the shots. She hated and loved it.
“A lot of things. Again and again. Do you want that, too?” Challenge lay in her eyes. This would not be like their last- first kiss, hesitant and fleeting. Regretted by them both. This would be all or nothing.
“I do.” Azriel pressed his lips to hers, the pressure soft and explorative. He bothered to savor the taste of her lips this time, just as Lilja savored his own.
She paid him back for his earlier touches, her own fingers grazing the leathery bat wings encasing them in pure darkness. Beneath them, she couldn’t even see the stars. Her only senses left were sound and taste and touch. She dragged the slight tips of her nails across the boning, tracing each solid line. He shuddered. Moaned.
“Azriel,” she breathed.
He covered her mouth with his own again, hands cupping her head and angling her how he liked. His knees cocked her legs back, drawn out to his waist. She would move however he wanted, lay however he wanted. He realized this, and grinned, but didn’t say anything.
No more room for taunting, for speaking at all as he swallowed every breath down until she was pulling away with a gasp.
“May I?”
Lilja didn’t know what he was asking for permission to do, but she nodded her approval anyway. Yes to everything.
His question had been about stripping off her clothes, she realized as he tore off the tight bra she wore for training.
Azriel’s wings flared out a bit, allowing some starlight to creep through as he exposed her breasts. His head dipped down to follow, kissing the soft swells with fervor. “Beautiful.”
“Don’t you wish I was wearing some sort of ‘siphon blue’ lingerie?” Lilja smirked at her taunt, but her words were lined with hesitant truth, too. Is that what he wanted?
“No,” Azriel nearly growled, his face between her breasts. “I’ve always liked the way you look in leathers, the smell of you after wearing them.” He breathed her in and she blushed. Leather was protective, but not very breathable, and she was certainly sweaty after that match.
It didn’t bother him. He kissed his way down her body. His lips grazed the toned muscles of her stomach, the lines of her hips, straight down to the hem of her pants.
Even though she had given him his answer already, his eyes flicked up in question. Lilja swallowed hard. “Please.”
The button of her pants was unhooked before she could blink. Azriel slid them down her legs in one fell swoop before he was back on top of her, gathering her back into his arms.
His lips finished their path down until he was perched between her thighs, lips at her swollen sex. Lilja arched her hips up, but Azriel gently swatted her thigh, rearranging her legs to drape over his broad shoulders. He did not waste any more time with teasing.
His lips found her clit, offering one gentle kiss before his tongue was circling the bud. Lilja’s hands threaded into the shaggy curls of his black hair to pull. It drove him wild, so wild she was gasping her pleasure as he wrung it out of her. “Azriel!”
He’d make her cum here. Naked in the training ring, fucking in the packed dirt like animals. Her core tightened like a wound spring. Azriel’s wonderful gift to read her meant he knew this, knew the delightful blush of her embarrassment, and continued anyway.
Lilja shuddered and yanked harder on his hair. She needed something to ground her, anything, as stars sparkled at the edges of her vision. Azriel brought a hand back to her mouth, doing her the favor of covering it as she cried out.
Not once did he let up on her pleasure. He licked her through it, switching between fast pressured strokes and gentle caresses that had her thighs trembling with the stimulation.
He did not stop even as she groaned and whined, all the way until she planted her foot on his shoulder and shoved him off. Azriel only laughed. “Too much?”
“Too much,” she agreed, breathless.
“Did I sate you then, or do you have room for more?”
Her eyes fell to the front of Azriel’s pants, to the obvious arousal he was now unafraid to flaunt. “I think I could be persuaded, but only if there’s a real bed involved.” She was filthy and her muscles sore.
“How about a shower?” He offered instead, his lips still curved in a content smile.
I'm going to go on a little soapbox with this upload of my version of Cresseida of the Summer Court from ACOTAR. These feelings are what inspired me to make my ACOTAR series of fanart.
These books purposely have some great diversity in them, but too often the art I was looking up to be able to see the characters made every single one of them white people with just different skin colors. No varied features, textured hair.... They all looked white. It's sad, you know? Because representation in fantasy is SO NEEDED!! It's been dominated by a particular look for so long, so I understand that people just automatically erase those things to go with what has been the norm for so long. But it's just not right, in my opinion. It's not fair to take that away. We need it!!
I love love seeing more POC written fantasy, and fantasy featuring main characters that do not fit the "racial norm" in the fantasy genre. The feedback I've gotten from my images that show that diversity has been food for my soul, with one person in particular being incredibly moved by me making Illyrians Indian-coded. It made me cry to see them so happy! We need that! Pls don't erase the diversity that authors put into books!
Does my art of non-white characters always get less traction? Yeah, and it bums me out. It's a bigger issue.
I get not everyone will agree with me making Illyrians Indian-coded, and that's okay. Some see them as Mediterranean, some as Arab, and I don't have a problem with their interpretation of something more nebulous like Illyrians. I took context clues and interpreted them my way, and that's okay too.
Some will say "they are fae, not human, so ethnicities don't matter here" and that's... not an argument I agree with. These stories are written by humans who base their writings on the real world so we have context and are influenced by the fact that they live with other humans in a human dominated world. I don't feel that is a good faith argument to make. But that's my opinion.
But the Summer Court? Helion? Clearly Black-coded! Celebrate diversity in fantasy! We need more of it!! I'm not here to attack other artists who I feel have done this, not at all. It is a symptom of a bigger issue here-and that bigger issue is what I have issue with.
Okay, off my soapbox, lol.
On my wagon learning about the Illyrian Peoples. Though I still need to do more research, I swear to absolute fuck, if the fact that women in ancient Illyrian tribes were held in high regard as warriors and rulers is correct (as far as we can validate from limited sources), I'm gonna knock on Ms Maas' door myself and slap her. Because what the fuck was her thought process? All ancient tribes are automatically anti-women?
Beneath the Ashes Part I - Azriel x Illyrian!Reader
Summary: Azriel finally finds the girl he’s been looking for all these years—his mate. But unfortunately for him, his mate happens to be an Illyrian who, upset over the fact that he’s turned his back on his own people, wants nothing to do with him. (Enemies to lovers vibes, angst)
a/n: based on this REQUEST. This is going to be a two part story because I kind of went a little too hard writing this haha. Thank you for your request and the inspiration! (Also I know a lot of you asked to be on a taglist for this story but since it’s only 2 parts I’m not gonna make one)
warnings: misogyny, sexism
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Part I of II
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Azriel was not happy, to say the least. Not as he landed on the cold, hard ground of one of the Illyrian war camps in the northern region of the mountains. He internally cursed at Cassian for still being on his mating honeymoon with Nesta because now he was being forced to do things Cass would normally be in charge of—primarily dealing with the Illyrians.
It wasn't a secret that Azriel hated Illyria and all its people. Hated that he came from such a barbaric, backwards culture. He knew Cass was trying to do all he could to break the traditions Illyrians held, but Azriel had always told him they were a lost cause. If he could never see these damn mountains again, he'd consider it a blessing.
But, evidently, that was not a blessing he'd be allowed—at least, not until Cassian returned. For now, he was the one who was being sent out on these missions by his High Lord.
Rhys had gotten word that some commotion was happening in the camp that had its people up in arms about something. He had asked Azriel to go check it out and who was he to turn down a request from his brother? So here he was. He was just hoping to get this over with soon.
He had tried sending his shadows ahead of time to collect intel, but they had been acting weird ever since they returned to him. They had swarmed him with their cryptic messages.
Beautiful.
Our master must see.
Permission to kill, master?
Needless to say, Azriel had no fucking idea what any of that meant. He had given them no such permission to kill, at least, not until he could see for himself what was transpiring here.
He was passing by the training rings, ignoring the stares of the brutes who were working out and sparring within them, when he heard several sets of loud voices. He quickened his pace, following the voices into the residential section of the camp until he finally beheld what was causing the commotion.
Three males were on the porch of one of the cabins, restraining a female Illyrian, who was thrashing around like a wildcat, screaming, "Let me go, you assholes!"
Another male Azriel recognized as the War Lord of the camp was standing on the steps leading up to the small cabin, arms crossed and a sneer on his face. A male next to him was holding a blubbering Illyrian toddler, whose arms were outstretched towards the female with tears pouring down her chubby cheeks.
None of them had noticed him yet which Azriel used to his advantage. His shadows were already wailing when he let them loose. They spiraled towards the group, swirling around the males holding the female and yanking them away from her. All of their heads snapped in Azriel's direction except for the female. She tumbled to the ground but quickly scrambled to get up and rushed towards the male next to the War Lord, not even sparing a glance at what had caused the males to unleash her.
She went to grab the little girl from the male holding her but was quickly held back by the War Lord with a growl. The War Lord twisted her arms behind her back, holding her in place, but his glare was firmly set on Azriel.
Azriel's face displayed no emotions as he stalked forward, his hand ghosting over Truth-Teller.
"Shadowsinger," the War Lord bit out in greeting. The other males quickly got to their feet and stood at attention.
"Silas," Azriel said, not bothering to address him properly which made the male bristle, "Care to explain what is happening here?"
"None of your business, Shadowsinger," Silas hissed. "I have it under control."
"Doesn't seem like it," Azriel replied, coolly.
The female was still trying to break out of Silas's grip, cursing under her breath. He tightened his hold on her, causing her to hiss in pain as he twisted her wrists in his hands. Azriel's shadows seemed to hiss in response, poised to attack as soon as Azriel gave them permission.
Azriel's gaze fell on the female, noting the frustrated tears in her eyes. It seemed like there had been a scuffle. Her hair was half falling out of her braid, she had scrape marks on one of her cheeks, and a bruise was beginning to form on her jaw. One of her wings was flared out proudly while the other drooped to the floor at a weird angle. His fists clenched at the sight and when she finally looked up at him, her eyes meeting his, the breath was completely knocked out of his lungs.
Despite her tattered appearance, she was single-handedly the most beautiful female he had ever laid eyes on. He stood frozen for a moment, taken aback before he shook himself out of the spell she seemed to cast on him, realizing how inappropriate of a time it was to be ogling her.
"Let her go, Silas," Azriel commanded in a dark voice.
"I don't take orders from you," Silas spat out. "Besides, this female has been breaking the law for months now. We're taking her into custody."
"Fuck you," the female barked out, stomping on Silas's foot. The male cursed and went to strike her on the back of her head but Azriel's shadow caught his wrist in their grasp before he could.
"I said," Azriel growled, lowly, causing the males to shift in place, "Let her go."
"Fine," Silas sneered, though a tiny bit of fear flashed in his dark eyes. He pushed her to the ground in front of him. She was quick to spring back to her feet and rush towards the toddler who was still screeching. The male could hardly keep hold of the little girl.
"Let the babe go, too," Azriel snapped. The male scoffed but set the little girl down. She immediately ran to the female who bent down with her arms wide open, catching the little girl and standing with her firmly on her hip. The little girl's cries quieted down and she buried her small face in the female's neck.
"Would anyone like to tell me what the hell is going on here?" Azriel snarled, taking another step closer. Half the males mirrored his step back and he fought the urge to chuckle.
"Like I said," Silas snapped, "This female has been breaking the law—”
“What law?” Azriel asked, firmly.
“Females are not permitted to live alone nor own houses,” Silas barked out. “She has ignored our warnings—”
“My father left the cabin to me in his will!” The female shouted, causing the small toddler in her arms to whimper. She stroked the girl's hair, shushing her. “It belongs to me.”
“I don’t care what your father promised you,” Silas growled. “It is against the law for you to be living here alone. You must surrender the cabin and go live in the barracks with the other unwed females of marrying age. Your sister will be placed under the care of the matron.”
“Like hell I’m leaving her under the care of that female! You’re just going to have her wings clipped and force her to do grueling chores all day! She stays with me!”
“You are out of line! I knew your father wasn’t raising the two of you right. Ever since your mother passed away—”
“Don’t you dare say another word about my parents!”
The War Lord lunged towards the female with a growl but Azriel shadowed between them, unsheathing Truth-Teller and pressing it against the male’s throat.
“Lay a hand on her and I’ll gut you right here in front of all of your brutes,” Azriel snarled.
Silas stepped back with a scoff. “You want to stick your nose in our business? Fine, then she’s your problem. I expect her out of this house by the end of today, Shadowsinger, or there will be worse consequences.”
He stormed away, his entourage trailing behind him while sending glares to the female. Azriel waited until they were out of view before he turned to look at the female but she was gone from next to him, already walking up the steps to the cabin with the babe—her sister—on her hip.
Azriel went to follow her but she stormed into the cabin and slammed the door in his face before he could so much as utter a single word. He let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before he knocked on the door. When Rhys had mentioned a problem happening in this camp, he hadn't expected to deal with something like this. It would’ve been much easier if it had been a problem he could solve with his fists.
When she didn't answer, he knocked harder—nearly causing the door to shutter.
It flung open a second later, a seething female behind it. "I already told those assholes I'm not leaving. If you're here to tell me to pack up and move, you can kiss my ass."
Azriel had to stop his lips from twitching into an amused smirk at her words. He wasn't used to dealing with female Illyrians that had attitudes. Most of them kept their heads down and stayed quiet. His mother had been like that....
"I'm not here to tell you that," Azriel answered. "May I come inside?"
She leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms and staring him down. He found himself even more amused at how she was trying to intimidate him. Most fae avoided him and his gaze. But a female, whose head barely reached his shoulders, seemed to be completely unfazed by him.
"No, you may not," she snapped. "Anything you need to say to me can be said perfectly fine from where you're standing."
“Can I at least bring a healer to come check out your injuries?” He eyed the scrapes on her face, the bruise and her drooping wing. Azriel’s chest ached at the sight and anger pulsed under his skin. He wanted to turn around and go rip those males apart limb by limb for laying a hand on her.
“I don’t need your help, shadowsinger,” she spat out.
"Fine," Azriel sighed. "I was sent by the High Lord because there's been reports of someone here causing disarray. I'm going to assume that someone is you."
She shrugged, nonchalantly, her eyes flickering between his own and the shadows swirling around him that wouldn't shut up about how beautiful she was, how brave....They were singing her praise. It confused him. His shadows had never acted like this before.
When she failed to answer, Azriel cleared his throat, uncomfortably. “Will you answer my question?”
“Aren’t you the spymaster?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Shouldn’t you be able to gather intel yourself and not rely on a lowly Illyrian female?”
“A lowly Illyrian female?” Azriel raised an eyebrow at her crass words towards herself.
“Isn’t that how you and all the High Lord’s dogs view us?” Her tone was biting, her eyes filled with hate.
Azriel shifted, at a loss for words. He was used to being met with hostility by the Illyrians, but never usually from the females themselves. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”
It was a lousy response, but he truly had no idea what to say. She scoffed, rolling her eyes at him and moved from the doorway, grasping the door.
“Even if I could help you, I wouldn’t care enough to do so,” she snapped. “Now, if that is all, you can kindly escort yourself off my property, shadowsinger. Thank you.”
The door slammed in his face a second later.
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Azriel returned a few hours later with a letter from the High Lord in his hands. He stormed through the camp, once again ignoring all the glares sent his way. He pushed his way inside the main war tent where Silas was sitting at his desk, twirling a dagger in his hands. His dark eyes looked up at him as he walked in, narrowing.
“You’re back,” Silas said, voice dripping with disdain. “I noticed that the female has still not been relocated from the cabin.”
Azriel strode forward and slammed the letter down on his desk. Silas’s eyes dipped down to it, quickly reading the short message before he looked back up at Azriel with a sneer. “What is this?”
“A notice from the High Lord and Lady,” Azriel answered, face unreadable. “Any laws that forbid a female from living alone or owning property are hereby revoked. This repeal shall be set in motion immediately.”
"I can read just fine, Shadowsinger," Silas snapped. "I meant what the fuck is this? Does Rhysand think he can just snap his fingers and remove laws that have been around for centuries? I refuse to allow this."
"You'll address the High Lord properly or I'll cut your tongue out for your disrespect," Azriel growled. "The High Lord and High Lady can do whatever they want. You will abide by these new laws or your title of War Lord in this camp will be revoked."
Silas looked like he wanted to say more, a vein in his forehead pulsing, but he only tightened his hands into fists and let out a long breath. "Very well then, Shadowsinger. I assume you've already informed Y/n of this?"
"Y/n?"
Silas smirked. "You ran to tattle on us to the High Lord and didn't even know the name of the bitch you—"
Before anything else could come out of the War Lord's mouth, Azriel stalked forward and kicked his desk over, causing both Silas and all his paperwork and trinkets to smash on the floor. The War Lord let out a pathetic gasp in fear, scrambling to his feet and pressing himself against the back of the tent.
"Talk about her like that again," Azriel snarled. "And I'll rip out your throat."
Silas quickly tried to school his composure but Azriel could still see the lingering terror in his eyes. Silas straightened out his leathers before glaring at him. "It's nice to see the Illyrian is still in you after all this time, Shadowsinger. Once a brute, always a brute—isn't that what you like to say?"
Azriel felt his pulse spike at Silas's words. He hated being reminded that he was Illyrian, even more so being compared to the worst of them. He wasn’t even sure why such rage had sparked in him in the first place. Silas's lips twitched into a smirk as he saw the way his words striked through him. But Azriel didn't wait around to hear what else the asshole had to say, letting his raging shadows swoop him into their darkness.
He stepped out of the shadows and onto the porch of the cabin he had been at earlier. He took several breaths, trying to calm himself before gently knocking on the door. After no one answered for a moment, he lifted his fist to knock again but the door was pulled open, leaving his hand to hover in the air. He dropped it to his side, narrowing his eyebrows as he was met with no one.
"Hewwo."
Azriel nearly jumped in fright before his gaze dropped to the toddler that stood in the doorway. It was the little girl from earlier, Y/n's sister. He swallowed harshly, eyes darting around the foyer of the cabin in hopes that her sister would pop out any second but no one came. He wasn't good with children, and wasn't used to being around them. Nyx was the only child he had ever really been around and he was still a baby.
Azriel sighed and crouched down on his haunches, making him more eye level for the little girl. Her shoulder length hair was the same color as her sister’s, her eyes too. The resemblance between the two of them was undeniable.
"Hello there," Azriel said as gently as he could. "Is your sister home by any chance?"
“Mhm,” the little girl hummed, busy watching the swirling shadows all around him.
"Do you think you can go get her for me?"
She shook her head no, her hair bobbing with the motion.
"Why not?" Azriel asked, keeping his voice light.
"Cause I'll get in trouble," she said with a little lisp. "Mm not 'pposed to open the door."
Azriel smiled at her, trying to appear friendly. He was surprised that she didn't seem scared of him or his shadows, as most kids were. "Don't worry, I won't tell her you opened the door for me. It can be our little secret."
She looked to be contemplating his promise, her little nose scrunched up. One of his shadows whisked forward and started swirling around her tiny frame. To Azriel's surprise, the little girl giggled, swiping her hand around to try and catch it.
"Suri, what are you—Get away from her!"
Y/n came thundering down the hall, yanking her sister away from the doorframe. Azriel stood to his full height, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as she glared at him before turning to look down at her sister.
"Suri, go to your room."
"No," Suri pouted, crossing her little arms. "I wanna play with the shadows."
Azriel's lips twitched. This was quite possibly the first time a child had ever seemed anything but scared of his shadows. It was oddly endearing.
"Go to your room," Y/n commanded in a stronger voice. "Now."
Suri stomped her foot but did as she was told, disappearing from his view.
"What are you doing back here?" She hissed, once her sister was gone.
Azriel pulled out the other parchment paper he had brought with him, the same notice he had given Silas. He held it out for her. "I came to deliver this."
She took the paper from him, glancing at him suspiciously. Azriel watched as her pretty doe eyes scanned the parchment, reading Rhysand's elegant script. To his surprise, she started to chuckle to herself. She handed it back to him, her face twisted into a mocking smirk.
"Do you honestly think this is going to stop them from trying to kick me out of this house?" She asked him, sarcastically. His eyebrows furrowed. "I'm guessing you're going to patrol this camp for a week or two to make sure they're adhering to the notice and then you'll wipe your hands clean of this all, pretending the High Lord solved everything. But you know the day you stop showing up here, Silas will be at my doorstep."
"I can assure you that we'll do everything we can to make sure all the WarLords follow these new laws," Azriel said, his face unreadable and his voice detached. She shook her head with a smile that lacked any warmth. “I promise you that.”
"Right," she drawled out, "Well, thank you so much for your help, shadowsinger."
She went to shut the door but Azriel stuck his hand out, catching it before she could. His gaze fell to her drooping wing, still bent at an awkward angle. "Please, let me bring a healer to attend to your wing."
Her wing could heal on her own. It would probably only take a day or two, but just seeing it made Azriel's chest ache. He knew the pain she must be in.
Her eyes narrowed. "Don't pretend like you care about my wings."
"I've broken a wing before, too," he explained. "I know how much it hurts. Please, let me help you."
She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Do you want to know the difference between my wings and your's, shadowsinger? Your wings healed. You get to fly. Mine will never heal."
Azriel's gaze dropped back to her wings, now noticing the two scars—clipped. Her wings had been clipped. His heart dropped into his stomach, rage bubbling to the surface instead.
"Who?" he growled, his voice ice cold.
"Like I said," she bit out, "Don't pretend like you care."
"I do care," Azriel replied, fists clenching. And it was true, he did. Wing clipping was a heinous crime, one that had been outlawed since Rhys was sworn in as the High Lord of the Night Court. Of course, sometimes the practice of wing clipping still took place in remote camps that slipped through the cracks. "Wing clipping has been forbidden since—"
"I am well aware that wing clipping is forbidden," she snapped. "But like your stupid little notice, no one cares. And the High lord and all of his cronies, you included, Shadowsinger, have made it very clear that you don't either."
"We do care," Azriel argued. "We do. But we cannot keep watch of all the camps at all times. We rely on people reporting it—"
"Oh, spare me from hearing your excuses," she cut him off with a growl. "Do you want to know who did this to me? Here's a clue—go look in the High Lord's desk for a letter addressed from me. I've been sending one every single day for the past six years so there's bound to be at least one still around."
"Six...six years?" Azriel questioned, quietly. "You've been sending a letter every day for six years and not one of them was ever answered?"
Sure, Rhysand had been gone for fifty years, of course and the rest of them had been unable to leave Velaris thanks to him. Then, they had been busy with the war and didn’t have time to deal with inner court problems. But it had been two years since then and she was still sending letters. Letters looking for justice for what happened to her. Letters gone unanswered.
"Not a single one," she huffed.
"Y/n...I am so sorry—"
"Save it," she barked out. "Now, if we're done here, I'd like you to leave."
"Please, let me help you—"
Azriel choked in surprise as something within snapped. He couldn’t breath, taking a single step back as a golden thread weaved its way through the space between him and the female standing before him.
Before his brain could even process what just happened, the door was slammed in his face. But Azriel stood frozen on her porch. Frozen in shock because he had finally found his mate. After all these years, he had finally found the person he had been searching for.
And she absolutely hated him.
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Your wing had healed enough by the next morning that you could lift it off the ground, though it was rather painful to do so. Your pride made you suck it up, not wanting to go to the healer and have anyone touch your wings. No one had laid a hand on your wings since the day they were clipped and you wanted to keep it that way.
You got ready for the day, putting on one of your mother's old white, chemise dresses. It fell to the top of your boots, swishing around your ankles. You layered a dark blue skirt over it before putting on a front lace-up corset. You grimaced as you did up the buttons under your injured wings before you tightened the corset until it fit snuggly. Lastly, you threw on a cloak. It was snowing outside today and the last thing you needed was to freeze to death.
You stepped in the hallway, the cabin quiet. You went to wake up Suri to get her ready for the day. Normally she was still asleep, so you were surprised when you heard her voice the closer you got to the door to her bedroom.
"Bad doggy," she babbled, her voice muffled through the door. "You can't go in there."
Your eyes widened, realizing she was talking to someone or something. You quickly slammed her door open, eyes darting around in concern. Suri jumped as her door banged open, spinning around on her bed to look at you. A small shadow wisped behind her, like it was hiding.
"Suri?" You questioned. "Who were you talking to?"
"Issy!" Suri sang out, jumping off her bed in her little pajamas. She still called you issy, unable to pronounce your name easily or the word sister. "The doggy came back!"
Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "The what?"
The shadow darted out from behind Suri, swirling around her and causing the little girl to giggle, "Doggy!"
Your eyes narrowed. One of Azriel's shadows had not only lingered behind, but had been staying with your baby sister. You felt your pulse spike with anger. As if it could sense your emotions, the shadow stopped swirling around and instead pressed itself on the floor like it was bashful and guilty.
You scoffed, "Go back to your master! We don't want you here."
The shadow wisped upwards, disappearing through the ceiling. A realization had you clenching your fists. Suri pouted. "Issy, you scared the doggy away!"
"That was not a dog—" you cut yourself off with a sigh. "Suri, go brush your teeth and your hair while I get breakfast ready, okay?"
"No," Suri grumbled, her tiny nose twitching. "Not unless you get doggy back!"
"If you do as I say, I'll make you strawberry pancakes for breakfast."
"Strawb'rry pancakies!" Suri squealed, the shadow momentarily forgotten. Satisfied with your deal, your sister rushed off to get ready. You left her to it, stalking outside through the backdoor. You walked a few paces away from the cabin, staring up at the roof, using a hand to block the rising sun from your eyes.
"I know you're up there!" you shouted. "Don't bother trying to hide!"
Footsteps were heard and then there was Azriel, peering down at you from his perch on your roof. His annoyingly beautiful face was near unreadable, his hair in a bit of disarray like he'd ran his hand through it one too many times. Dark circles were underneath his hazel eyes and those familiar shadows were whirling around him.
"Why are you on my roof?" You snapped, crossing your arms over your chest.
"Good morning, Y/n," Azriel said, his voice low and husky from disuse through the night. "I've been keeping watch. I wanted to make sure none of those males would bother you again."
"I already told you I don't need or want your help, Shadowsinger! Now get the fuck off my roof," you snarled at him. You didn't want him here. You didn't want his stupid shadows near you or Suri either. Besides, since when did he care what happened to you or any other Illyrian females? He had turned his back on his own people the day he ran off to the High Lord's perfect little city, pretending like he wasn't one of you, wasn't Illyrian.
Easy for him. He was a male that could get siphons to use his powers correctly, a male who hadn't been forced down and clipped. He could fly wherever he wanted, go wherever he wanted. He had money and resources you wouldn't even bother dreaming for. Azriel could wipe his hands clean and pretend like he hadn't been born in these mountains and hadn't left anyone behind to suffer when he left.
It was one thing to escape this brutalizing, barbaric way of living. It was another to gain power and influence within the court and not bother to help your own people. Azriel was a traitor and he could go to hell for all you cared.
You hated him for it. Hated him and all of his friends. Hated the High Lord and Lady who did little to help anyone here. Hated the General for leading your father to his death in the war. You hated them all.
Azriel let out a quiet sigh. "I know you don't need my help, but I... I can't just leave knowing those males might come back and hurt you again. I made you a promise and I intend to keep it."
"I don't care about your stupid promises," you bit back. "Get off my roof and go home, Azriel. You're not wanted here."
"I know you hate me and I know we've all let you down," Azriel replied, guilt shimmering in his eyes. "I'm going to do everything I can to make it up to you, Y/n. I promise."
"Again with the promises! Your words mean nothing to me," you grumbled, tossing your hands in the air. "I don't have time for this. You know what? You want to spend all of eternity sitting on my roof, you go ahead! But I would really appreciate it if you would just fuck off!"
You didn't bother waiting for his response, storming back into your house and slamming the door shut behind you.
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A week went by and Azriel kept watch over you the entire time. Every day you would walk outside and peer up at the roof to see him perched there, oftentimes twirling his dagger in his hand lazily. He'd give you a small smile that looked more like a grimace and you'd roll your eyes and go back inside.
You hated that some part of you did feel better knowing he was there. You knew his reputation and you knew none of the males in this camp would bother you as long as he was there. But it still infuriated you to see his face every morning. To see him shake the snow off his wings. To see him glare down at everyone in your camp like you were all beneath him.
You especially hated how much Suri had come to love his shadows, always chasing them down the hallways of the cabin. You just wanted him gone.
And it seemed like you got your wish two weeks later.
It was nighttime, the house quiet now that you'd coaxed Suri into going to bed. You were getting ready for bed yourself, dressed in a nightgown and putting out the fire when a series of soft knocks caught your attention. You frowned, pausing to look at the door. Who would be coming by at this time? Certainly no one good.
You were debating on ignoring it when a dark shadow whisked its way underneath the door.
"Y/n," Azriel called out. "It's just me."
You rolled your eyes and opened your door, knowing he wouldn't leave until you did so.
"What?" You eyed him, taking in his disheveled appearance. You wondered how he survived spending the night in the snow. Just the small draft that came in from opening the door had you shivering. You hugged yourself, your hair blowing gently in the ice cold breeze.
Azriel seemed at a loss for words for a second, his eyes roaming down your body before he met your gaze. His cheeks turned a bit pink as you raised an eyebrow at him. He swallowed, his throat bobbing with the motion.
"I need to leave for a few days," Azriel finally said. "The High Lord is sending me on a small mission. I...I would feel a lot better if you'd let me take you and your sister somewhere else while I'm gone. I can set the two of you up in a nice inn or tavern in Velaris. Or you could stay at my personal residence. Just for a few days."
You stared at him utterly perplexed. "You're...you're joking, right?"
He shook his head looking dead serious. "No, Y/n, I'm not. I worry what will happen if I'm not here to watch over you. Please, just...just let me help. It might be nice for Suri to take her to Velaris and let her see the city."
"You're out of your mind," you hissed. "I'm not leaving my house and certainly not with you. I already told you I don't need your help."
You went to shut the door but Azriel reached out and grabbed it before you could.
"Please, I just want to help—"
“Azriel, I have survived here on my own for the past two years since my father died in the war,” you growled. “You can't sit on my roof forever. If you truly wanted to fix things, you would've done so centuries ago. So just leave, Azriel. And don't bother coming back."
“I do care,” Azriel pleaded. “Please—”
"I am not leaving," you snapped. "I am not letting those stupid males run me from my own home. I don't know why you even care! And stop with the whole 'I promised you' thing. You don’t even know me!”
He opened his mouth to say something else but you slammed the door shut in his face. You locked the deadbolt before letting out a sigh.
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Azriel was worried. Worried and scared and angry. Worried that Silas and his goons would bother his mate while he was gone. Scared that they’d hurt her. And angry at just the thought of that. His chest ached as he thought about his mate and her clear hatred towards him. He couldn’t blame her for it. She was right. He had abandoned Illyria a long time ago.
But that needed to change. He needed that to change. Not just for his mate’s sake but for her sister, for Nyx, for all the females and children whose lives were awful because of the males in charge of all their camps.
She had been the wake up call he needed. He had the privilege of being a male in Illyria. He got to keep his wings. Got to work at having a different life then the one he was born into. His mate hadn’t had those opportunities. She was flightless, stuck to the ground and stuck in her miserable camp.
Azriel wanted nothing more than to just grab her and her sister and get them far away from Illyria. To bring them to his apartment in Velaris where he could take care of them, could keep them safe.
But his mate didn’t trust him.
He would do anything to prove himself to her. Prove that he did care for her and all the other Illyrian females. No matter how much hate he was met with, he’d keep crawling back until he earned her forgiveness and a chance to give her a better life.
She deserved that more than anything. Not just because she was his mate but because she had been so strong all these years, standing up to males twice her size and keeping her sister’s wings from being mutilated like hers had been. She didn’t choose to be Illyrian anymore than he did.
And Gods, he wanted her to stop hating him. He wanted her to give him a chance. Just one chance to show her what she truly deserved. He had learned so much about her by just watching her this week and he knew that no other female would come close to capturing his heart and attention the way she had in just that short span of time he’d known her.
Azriel knew he didn’t deserve her or her forgiveness. He knew she was too good for him. Too beautiful, too pure of heart. He could see that just by the way she took care of her sister and the other females in her village, despite the torment it brought her from the males.
He let out a sigh, his eyes still locked on the camp of Autumn Soldiers. He was doing a reconnaissance mission. Beron was up to something again and these soldiers had been spotted on the coast.
It had been two days since he left his mate and so far, nothing had been unknowingly sent down the bond except for her normal moods she fluctuated with during the day.
He just needed to finish this mission and rush back to Velaris to drop off his report to Rhysand before he could get back to her. He normally liked to take his time on his missions but this was quite possibly the first time he ever had a want to get back faster. He was hoping to sneak into the River House and set his report on Rhys's desk without seeing anyone. He'd been ignoring and skipping family dinners for the past week and knew they'd have a lot to say about it.
Azriel faltered as a wave of fear crashed through him. No, not fear. Terror. Unbridled terror and then pain. He sucked in a breath, nearly falling from the tree he was perched in. He was frozen for a second before he realized what was happening---his mate was in danger.
It took him less than a second to decide to abandon the mission and shadow all the way back to the Illyrian mountains. Azriel let out a curse when he stepped out of the shadows in front of his mate's cabin to see it covered in flames. Someone had set it on fire and it was quickly crumbling under the flames. His heart was beating in his chest as he strained his ears to make sure no one was inside.
But then the most heart-stopping, chill inducing sound was heard ringing through the camp.
His mate's screams.
He sprinted towards the sound, his boots pounding against the cold hard ground. It led him to the town center where a crowd had formed, males hollering and shouting encouragement at whatever was happening.
Azriel pushed his way through the crowd, shoving aside male after male until he reached the front. His heart dropped in his stomach as he beheld what was happening before him.
His mate on her knees, holding up the tatters of her shirt to maintain her dignity. Silas standing behind with a whip in hand, raising it in the air again. Blood all over the white snow around his mate, staining it red. Tear streaks running down his mate's face, her beautiful face pale and twisted in pain. One of Silas's commanders holding a crying and screaming Suri, her tiny fists pounding on his chest.
Azriel wished he knew what happened next. Wished he had this memory to look back on whenever he remembered the rage he felt. But one second he was standing there staring at his mate in horror and the next second, he was surrounded by dead bodies with Truth-teller in his hand dripping with blood. The camp had fallen silent and his ears were ringing, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths.
Suri had been dropped in the chaos and had rushed towards her sister, throwing her small arms around her neck as she sobbed.
And his mate.
His beautiful mate was staring right at him, eyes wide from witnessing the carnage he had just unleashed in this camp. Silas laid dead behind her, his shadows still ravaging his body. Slit throats, broken necks on all the other males that laid dead at his feet. But his mate was looking at him.
Azriel took a step towards her, watching her carefully as she weakly wrapped an arm around her sister's body while her eyes never left his. And he knew the mating bond had just snapped for her, could see the realization in her eyes.
"N-no," she stammered out, her voice cracking. "No. Not you. Not...Not you! Anyone but you!"
Azriel could feel her dread pouring down the bond amidst the pain and terror she felt. He felt his heart crack in his chest, heard his shadows wailing as they too felt her pain and sorrow.
But his broken heart at finding his mate and hearing that she didn't want him was not important in this moment. Not as his mate's eyes rolled to the back of her head and she slumped to the ground.
Azriel rushed forward, scooping both his unconscious mate in his arms and her crying sister before disappearing in a whirl of screaming shadows.
they deserve to overthrow their useless leader and his council
night court is the poorest court by a mile
there are only 3 places to live in nc and all are terrible. hewn city and illyria is surviving on thin pieces of threads and city of starlight is suffering too
mind u, nesta was living in bad conditions
velaris is better than rest for sure but not by much when u really think about it
none of the citizens of night court are free or can roam around the court as they please. in fact they are trapped in those places they live in
their own high lord and members of his council hate their own citizens
their high lord, who is meant to look after his people doesn’t do it nor cares to
their high lord lets them get tormented and murdered by amarantha for 50 years and once he returns he does nothing, no asking of how many died and offers no apologies for his lack of protection. there is no acknowledgment
their high lord doesn’t inspire his people but rather uses his powers and authority to make them fear him
their high lord doesn’t unite his people and make them stronger as a whole but rather takes a part in keeping them separate and discriminate against each other
their high lord made his mate his high lady and has 2 more women in his court but does not lift a finger to do anything for the women of his court that are suffering under patriarchy
their high lord uses them as fodders in his wars and gives them nothing in return
their high lord offers no education or better living conditions
their high lady, a woman who once died for people of prythian, tells them “they have everything they need” when the women of the court have nothing, no autonomy, no choice, no childhood, no dreams. only suffering
their high lady, a woman who once lived in poverty does not help her people who live in the same situation. she rather build another mansion and throw another lavish party
their third in command, a woman who too suffered under patriarchy and broke free from it and her marriage she did not want- does nothing. she looks down on her own people and thinks all are the same
their general, a bastard who grew up in terrible place and lost his mother does not do anything, he does not sympathise with his own people’s suffering. he does nothing to help women like his mother
can go on and on, the list is long
i wonder how do night court defectors feel? do they mourn for their people, for their court? for what it could have been if their high lord was kinder and used his power and authority for good?
how do they feel when they see how other high lords rule and work for their people and realise the endless failures of theirs?
high lord of spring, a leader who grew up in army and understands the hard work of his soldiers, worked opened his courts to everyone, invited them to celebrate festivals, does not enforce ranks, does not discriminate and works to make his court better for all
high lord of summer, a young leader but not weak, opened his court to refugees made by high lady of night court, does not discriminate and works to make his court better for all
high lord of winter, left his court in hands of viviane, who for 50 years worked hard to not only protect the court and the people but also get their high lord back
high lord of dawn, who treats the winged race of his court equally and mourned for them when they were killed by amarantha
is it too far fetched to say rhysand and ic are president snow, velaris is the capitol and the people of night court are the districts of the hunger games?
these so called “court of dreamers” are their people’s nightmare
It’s wild the Acotar Wiki says the Illyrians have a ‘rich culture’ cause genuinely, outside of the Blood Rite, tattoos, living in tents for the most part, being warriors, and abusing women (if you deign to call that culture).
What to we ACTUALLY know about their culture beyond the most bare bones things. Cause I’m drawing blanks. 😭
SUMMARY: You’ve known Azriel was your mate for a long time, but you never enlightened him to the fact. When you find him kissing someone else you decide to take a trip to the Illyrian war camps to take your mind off of the shadowsinger. But the thing about shadows – they always follow.
WARNINGS: Angst. Swearing, mentions of blood and injuries, reader doesn’t know how to deal with her emotions properly. Illyrian males are sexist and pieces of shit (not our batboys tho<3). Azriel is a mean but it’s kinda justified if you think about…
WORDS: 5.4K
I’m thinking of writing a part two where everything is sorted out. Let me know if that’s something you guys would like :))
“He’s supposed to be my mate,” you whispered, voice cracking, echoing that of your heart.
“I know,” Mor murmured, one hand stroking through your hair, the other rubbing your back comfortingly, careful to avoid your wings. There was nothing else to be said.
A choked cry left your throat. You had thought that maybe, maybe Azriel had known. Maybe he looked at you and felt the connection – felt the bond that tied your souls together. You had thought that those long looks and small smirks he sent your way meant something more than friendship.
But when you’d walked in on him kissing Elain… it was like the world had stopped. They hadn’t even noticed you. Granted, you’d been in the room for a second and then rushed out as soon as your brain actually registered what you were seeing… But he had chosen someone else. You had waited too long to tell him, and now… now you had lost him.
“I have to go,” you hiccupped, rising out of Mor’s embrace. “I’ll, um… I’ll see you later.”
“Are you sure?” Mor asked, worry and concern visible on her face as she stood up as well. “You can stay here, if you’d like.”
You looked around at Mor’s apartment in Velaris, the one she stayed at when she needed time to herself. Everyone had their own home in the city, because while everyone loved the inner court dearly, sometimes everyone could get on each others’ nerves.
You shook your head at Mor’s offer. “No, thanks,” you mumbled. “I just… I just want to be alone right now.”
Mor pursed her lips but did not argue. She gave you a tight hug before you left, making you promise not to do anything stupid, and to get home safe.
As you walked through Velaris, you could have sworn that the stars didn’t shine as bright, that the music wasn’t as loud, that the laughter was less frequent. It was as if your city knew the way your heart ached and ached, and was trying to reflect that. You hated the way it felt, the way your soul cried and wept, screaming at the Mother for giving you a mate that would not love you back.
You should have told him when you first realised. When he grabbed your hand to help him up after he’d bested you in training (a rare occurrence, as you were both pretty evenly matched and most duels ended in a draw), and when it snapped into place for you. You’d looked into his hazel eyes and felt like you were home, felt like all of your problems could melt away if you just got lost in them. You’d felt like a fool not realising, like the bond was always there, but now a veil had been lifted and you could see it clearly. Azriel hadn’t noticed anything, and so you pretended that you hadn’t, either. Because Elain had already arrived, and you could tell that there was already something between them. And having the mating bond rejected – well, that wasn’t something you thought you’d survive.
You had only told Mor. The thought of telling anyone felt wrong if it wasn’t Azriel, but Mor was your dearest friend, and she had trusted you with her deepest secret, so you could trust her with yours. You insisted every day that you should tell him, always nagging and never relenting, but you couldn’t. Not when he got closer to Elain and you could see the way his eyes lit up whenever she entered the room, the way his shadows would fade away when she came near.
You needed to get away. You’d have to see either one of them tomorrow, one way or another. If you stayed at the River House then you were bound to see Elain, and if you stayed at the House of Wind, then you’d definitely see Azriel. You both lived there, after all, and he was in every hallway you turned down, every room you walked into. You couldn’t bear seeing either one of them, not for a while. You had to leave.
You flew straight to the River House with a plan forming in your mind and entered without knocking, stalking straight to Rhys’s office. He was sitting at his desk, a pen in his hand, and his head raised as you entered.
“You know, most people would knock–” he started, but you interrupted.
“Send me on a mission.”
Rhys looked taken aback. “What?”
“Send me on a mission,” you repeated. Rhys looked at you questioningly, and talons delicately scraped down your mental shields in a silent request. Always a request, never a demand from him, but you shook your head and made sure your mental defences were as strong as possible. “Stop prying.”
It wasn’t a nice thing to say – Rhys only wanted to help you. You’d known him for over five hundred years, and you knew that while, yes, he and the other two Illyrians were huge busybodies, if you had something going on, he wouldn’t ‘pry’. He’d try to help in any way possible.
Rhys could clearly sense your bad mood. You weren’t exactly hiding it. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”
“If I wanted to talk about it, then I would have come in here and started talking about it,” you retorted.
Rhys’s lips pursed. “Is this about Azriel?”
You scowled and snapped, “That’s none of your business.”
“You know, I’m sure if you just spoke to him–”
“It doesn’t matter,” you spat. “Either you send me on a mission, or I’m taking my vacation leave.”
Rhys sighed, and you could see the wheels turning in his mind. Sending you away would only fuel your unhealthy coping mechanisms, but forcing you to stay… well, he didn’t want to hurt you like that.
“Fine,” he relented. “There’s an Illyrian War camp that needs… overseeing. They say they’re training the females, but every time I receive information from… other… sources, they say otherwise.”
You wondered if this ‘other’ source was the shadowsinger that you were currently trying not to think about.
“So you want me to get them to train the females properly?” you asked, and Rhys nodded.
That would get you maybe two or three days away from Velaris, possibly four or five if you played your cards right. Maybe by then you would have calmed down and been able to come up with a plan as to where to go from there. How to survive the crushing of your heart; of your soul.
“I’ll leave tonight,” you decided, but Rhys levelled you with a hard stare.
“Y/n, it’s already late,” he scolded. “Just wait until morning. You need rest.”
You were tempted to retort, tempted to tell him that you weren’t a baby and could take care of yourself… but he was right. You needed your strength for the Illyrian camps. The males tended not to take nicely to female warriors, and seeing as you had escaped the clippings in your childhood, they’d more than likely strike if you were tired.
“Fine,” you muttered, relenting only because it was logical.
Rhys studied you, his eyes watching you closely. Even though he generally relied on being able to look into someone’s mind to discern their thoughts, Rhys was pretty good at reading people and their body language. It was part of being a soldier, being a leader.
“You know, anything said here will stay between us,” he murmured.
For some reason, you had a feeling that he knew. Maybe you hadn’t been careful enough at hiding it in your mind, burying it beneath thoughts of your duties and upcoming birthdays and celebrations and whatever else you could come up with to hide it all.
But you didn’t want to talk about it. That was why you were here, after all – you were running from… everything.
“Thanks,” you uttered before leaving.
You could have sworn you heard Rhys sigh as you closed his office door.
With the luck of the Mother or Fate, Azriel wasn’t at the House of Wind when you arrived that night, nor was he present when you left the next morning at dawn.
The flight to the Illyrian mountains was a long one. You could have easily winnowed to the Illyrian camps, but you wanted to drag this trip out as long as possible. Besides, flying meant planning time, and planning meant that you’d be able to tackle this situation at the war camp more efficiently.
You arrived at the camp just before sundown, touching on the ground in front of the camp warlord and eight of his shoulders. Rhys had told them beforehand that you were coming, but they were obviously infuriated that a girl was going to tell them what to do.
“Devlon,” you greeted.
The warlord had his arms crossed and a frown on his face, causing a small grin to tug at your mouth. Whenever you came to one of the war camps, usually one of the bat-boys would accompany you to make sure they didn’t miss out on you burning it to the ground if you decided to. But now that they were training the females, you’d felt less inclined to do so, even if only slightly.
“So, the High Lord decided to send you to make sure we’re completing our duties,” he sneered.
You raised your chin slightly, the smug grin on your face growing a little bit. “Indeed he did.”
You looked around at the fighting rings, seeing (as you had been expecting) only men fighting and training. The wind pushed against them and they pushed back just as hard, swords clashing against each other, steel shining in the light of the setting sun, dimmed only by the clouds passing overhead.
“We do not need you to oversee us,” one of his men said, stepping forward and flashing his teeth at you.
It was a threat, the way he stood and the way he spoke to you. You could tell he was itching for a fight, and, luckily for him, you were, too.
“You clearly do,” you chided. “I don’t see any females in the rings.”
“Why don’t you get in there, then?” he snapped, rage practically wafting off of him. “Why don’t we see if you’ve really got what it takes, huh?”
You smirked to yourself, pleased with the way this was going. You’d been training and fighting for over five centuries with the best warriors Prythian and the lands beyond had ever seen. This male here was either unaware or too arrogant to realise he would not leave the ring a winner.
“Alright,” you agreed. “Weapons, or fists?”
“Fists,” the male growled.
You walked with him to the ring, eyeing the males who stopped what they were doing to watch. You peered over the edge and down into the valley below, the sheer drop making you want to snap your wings out just in case.
“If, and when, I win this fight,” you began, “you will begin to train the females following the schedule that your High Lord gave to you.”
The male before you grunted, his eyes full of rage. “And when I win, I will send you back to the High Lord in pieces,” he spat.
You simply rolled your eyes, enraging the male even more. Devlon stood outside the ring, his arms crossed and eyes watching you. Was it childish, this behaviour? Accepting a challenge from an Illyrian brute? Absolutely, it was. But you didn’t care. You had to do something to take the edge off, to make you forget the way Elain’s hand rested on your mate’s chest as she kissed him, the way your mate’s hand settled on her waist.
“You know the rules,” Devlon commanded. “No weapons, just your bodies and your wits.”
You grinned at the male, and before you knew it, the fight began. The two of you circled each other slowly, carefully, trying to gauge the other’s weakness. This one, he favoured his left side, which would be useful for you to know for when you were ready to end this. But for now? You just wanted a fight.
The male lunged at you while your back was at the ledge, just as you’d expected him to. He was hoping for a clean win, shoving you into the valley below, but you knew when he was going to strike. The slight shift in his weight as he leaned back told you that he was about to pounce and you side stepped easily, watching as the warrior turned back around in an instant.
This Illyrian was big, as most were, but you’d been fighting against a bunch of big idiots (namely Cassian, Rhysand, and the other one you didn’t want to think about), so you knew how to use your speed, and how to use their own strength against them.
He lunged again, and this time you came to meet him. You blocked his attack and threw a punch, but he dodged it and grabbed your arm, flipping you onto your back. After a quick manoeuvre you had his legs trapped within yours and you pushed, dragging him to the floor. All of this happened within the span of seconds, and then the two of you were back in defensive positions, circling each other once again. As the sun sank beyond the horizon, fires were lit. You could see the flames’ light washing over your opponent, painting him orange and gold.
This time, you took the offence, throwing punches and kicks his way, fierce and unrelenting. He blocked all of your attacks before you feinted left and struck right. You hit his side as hard as you could, before punching him square in the nose.
You felt no little amount of glee as you heard and felt his nose crunch under the force of your hit. Blood gushed down his face and onto his training leathers and you danced back, prompting him to try to land a hit on you. His eyes were filled with a fiery wrath at being bested, and by a female at that. That was why he had challenged you in the first place – he didn’t believe that a female could beat him, let alone hold her own against him. And here you were, proving him wrong.
You could end it. Right now, you could end this fight, have this male’s face in the mud and the girls training. But you wanted to prolong this, wanted to feel every hit he struck, feel everything before you tired him out.
So you continued the fight, and you even allowed him to get a few good hits in. He got your jaw at one point and you felt your lip split – and yet you continued. You were going to be covered in bruises tomorrow, but it wouldn’t matter. No one in this camp would challenge you again, and you’d be able to lose yourself in the battle.
As the fight wore on, you began to notice the shadows flickering in the darkness. You tried to convince yourself that it was just the fire, the wind and flames messing with your mind, but… you felt him. You felt Azriel in those shadows, watching and waiting.
Unfortunately, while you were concentrating on those shadows, your attacks became sloppy. You struck at the male with your fist and had to hold back a wince as he hit your wrist and got you in the stomach, partially knocking the air out of you.
Voices arose after the blow, and the male turned his head to the crowd which contained males and females alike. But what captured everyone’s attention was the shadowsinger standing at the edge of the ring, fists and jaw clenched and looking like he was planning all the ways he could rip this male’s skin from his body. Shadows curled around him, whispering in his ear and sliding over his wings and body.
Azriel’s hazel eyes slid to yours and you looked away, and back to the male. You should end this. Your lip was still bleeding, as well as a cut on your eyebrow. Your wrist was most definitely sprained, and you were sure you had at least a few bruised, if not broken ribs.
But you wanted to continue. You weren’t done yet, especially not with him here, knowing that you flew all the way out here just to get into a boxing match. It wasn’t fair that he was here, that he was ruining this. It wasn’t fair that he distracted you with his shadows, it wasn’t fair that he distracted you with his mere presence. It wasn’t fair that he kissed Elain even though he was your mate, even though you’d loved him in secret for at least twenty of her lifetimes. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fucking fair.
But… you knew you had to end it. If it went on any longer, you’d only tire yourself out and give the male more of a chance at winning. So you sighed deeply before pelting him with attacks, not giving him a moment to recover. You secured your hands on his shoulders before hoisting your body up and around, wrapping your thighs around his neck and pulling him to the ground. You squeezed your legs tightly, cutting off the airflow to his lungs. He flailed about a bit, trying to escape, and a few seconds before he lost consciousness, he tapped your leg three times, encouraging you to let go and stand up.
“Well, that was fun,” you exhaled. “Let’s not do it again anytime soon.” You turned your gaze to Devlon, his eyes shining with hatred. “The girls start their proper training tomorrow. I’ll be overseeing it, watching what you teach them and how you teach them. Understood?”
Devlon just grunted and left, his gang of males following him. You turned to the house that used to be Rhys’s mother’s and stalked towards it, sensing Azriel follow behind. You were furious that he was here – you’d come to the Illyrian war camps to escape him, and yet he’d followed you here. Had Rhys told him that you’d be here? Had Rhys sent him after you to make sure you didn’t fail? Or had your high lord sent him because he knew that Azriel was the source of your whirlwind of emotions?
The thoughts swirled around your mind as you opened the door. You were tempted to shut it in Azriel’s face, to force him to find somewhere else to sleep, but… he hated these war camps as much as you did. This house, it was a sort of refuge here, somewhere the two of you could feel safe out in Illyria. It was the essence of Rhys’s mother that gave you comfort, you knew. The woman who was more of a mother to you than your own was, the woman who protected your wings and made sure her son and his friends trained you in self defence. The woman who took you, Cass, an Az in, who gave them a home.
So you left the door open for him to follow, and he entered the home. It was just as you had left it the last time you were here; the hallway to the bedrooms that no longer smelled like Rhys’s mother; the small table next to the even smaller kitchen; the dishes that were clean thanks to the shadowsinger behind you, because the rest of you hated cleaning up.
You opened some of the cupboards, looking for the first aid kit. You found it shoved behind a mace and grabbed it, placing it on the table and opening it. You looked inside for the mirror but found it missing, and you sighed through your nose. Cleaning up your lip and eyebrow was going to be difficult now, but you’d figure it out.
You sat on one of the wooden chairs and assessed your injuries. Split lip and eyebrow – those would need cleaning and bandaids. You assumed you wouldn’t need stitches as it didn’t feel deep, nor did it sting in the way it would if you did require stitches. Your knuckles were split, and your wrist was sprained. Those would require bandages, which you luckily had lots of. There wasn’t much you could do about the ribs – maybe you could get Madja to do a look over once you returned to Velaris.
“Why are you here?”
Azriel’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts. You’d almost forgotten he was here – almost, only because you could feel the string that tied you together. In a crowded street you’d be able to find him, you knew it. If you tugged on it (which you’d never done) you knew he’d be able to find you, too.
“Rhys sent me on a mission,” you replied nonchalantly.
While you had come here to escape him, it didn’t mean you had to be rude and ignore him, but you could speak as little as necessary. Azriel stayed silent and watched as you struggled to clean your wounds. He sighed and walked over, kneeling between your legs and taking the cloth from your hand, dabbing at your eyebrow. You tensed under his touch and he raised an eyebrow, pausing his actions. He’d done this too many times to count – patching you up after a fight. You all helped each other after a battle with whatever was needed, but this time, it felt… different.
“Why did you follow me?” you asked.
“Why did you start a fight?” he responded.
You glowered at him and a small smile lifted the corner of his lips. He continued to wipe the blood away, and you two sat in silence as he worked. He pulled a bandaid out of the kit and with featherlight fingers, pressed it to the cut on your head. He smoothed it out gently, and the sting was barely noticeable.
“Are you going to answer my question?” he asked, grabbing the cloth again and rinsing it before moving it to your lip.
“Are you going to answer mine?” you retorted.
Azriel chuckled lightly and placed the cloth against your mouth. You hissed as it stung, and the shadowsinger pulled back with a murmured apology. He returned to his task, dabbing lightly and carefully wiping away blood. With his hands practically on your mouth, you could barely think. All you could feel was the cloth on your bottom lip, your mouth separated from the pads of his fingers only by the material.
“You weren’t in the house,” Azriel finally answered as he moved away from your lip and rummaged around the kit for a bandage. “You didn’t tell me you were leaving, so I asked Rhys where you were.”
So Rhys did sell you out. You frowned at the thought, disgruntled by the fact that he sent Azriel after you. Noticing the look on your face, Azriel added, “It took a while for him to tell me, you know. He didn’t tell me what camp you were going to, so I found you myself.”
You scowled at him. “I can take care of myself, Azriel.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?” he questioned, ignoring your statement and reaching for your hand to start the bandaging.
Your scowl deepened, and you pulled your arm away from his grasp. “You’re not my keeper, Azriel. I don’t need to tell you anything.”
Azriel eyed you for a moment, clearly seeing that something was bothering you, and trying to figure out what it was. You didn’t normally talk to him like this. Of course, he and the other two Illyrians could be overprotective mother-hens, and you would remind them that you were a warrior, just like them, but your words never had as much venom behind them as they did tonight.
“If this is about my confidence in you,” Azriel began, “I do believe you can carry out this mission on your own. I just…” He sighed and rubbed a hand down his face as if he was considering his next words. “I just wanted to be here.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “You hate it here.”
“So do you,” he retorted. “And yet you asked Rhys to send you here.”
“I asked Rhys to send me on a mission, not here specifically,” you countered.
At the glint in Azriel’s eyes, you realised you’d been trapped.
“Why did you ask him to send you on a mission?” he queried.
You scoffed, “None of your business.”
You snatched the bandages from his beautiful, scarred hands and stood up. The shadowsinger rose to his feet as well, towering over you. You took a step to brush past him, intending on wrapping your wrist and hands in one of the bedrooms, when his wing snapped out, blocking your way. You glared at the male, and his eyes held concern.
“Are you avoiding me?” he questioned.
“No,” you lied, trying to push past him again, only for his arm to stop you this time.
You took a deep breath in through your nose, staring daggers at Azriel. Azriel, who was supposed to be your mate, your other half. Azriel, who was looking down at you with pain in his eyes. Azriel, whose dreams you sometimes saw through the bond, the dreams of his past which pained you whenever you thought of it. Azriel, whose pain you could feel now, running down the bond as you tried to leave him behind.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Azriel reminded you. You opened your mouth, but he continued, “I answered yours, so you answer mine.”
You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms, suppressing a wince as your wrist moved wrong. It was starting to swell, and if you didn’t bandage it soon, the others would never let you hear the end of it. It would be, “you need to take care of your injuries, Y/n” and, “you know better than to leave a wound unattended.” You’d be driven mad, because they would never let it go.
“Why did you start a fight?’ Azriel asked again, quietly and gently.
You let out a breath. “Beating that male would assert my dominance, something that you males are always doing.”
Azriel frowned slightly, and you wanted nothing more than to smooth the wrinkles in his forehead away and assure him that everything was fine.
“You could have ended the fight the second you entered the ring,” he stated. “Why didn’t you?”
You shrugged, not meeting his eyes. You couldn’t tell him. He wanted Elain; sweet, beautiful Elain who could be the perfect wife. Elain, who was soft and gentle, Elain who liked to bake and garden. Elain, whose skin was porcelain and unmarred, whose hands were calloused by tending to her garden. Elain, the woman who spoke eloquently and politely, who was able to get him to smile so easily with simply her presence. Elain, the one who made his shadows disappear entirely.
Not you, the Illyrian female whose hands were calloused by weapons and centuries of training. Not you, the female whose physical scars reflected those of her inner scars. Not you, the female who was rough and sharp, with jagged and brittle edges, the female who had been shaped by battles and wars, the female who had witnessed and brought death to many. Not you, the female who his shadows danced around, as if they could sense the darkness within.
You didn’t answer, instead deciding to refuse to meet his gaze and looking around the house, which you now realised felt too small with the two of you in it. A hand rested underneath your chin and forced you to look up and into his hazel eyes.
“Please, tell me what I did,” he begged. “I hate… I hate this. I hate you not talking to me.”
Your breathing hitched as he stared at you, his eyes conveying the hurt that you could feel pulsing down the bond, even if he was unaware of it.
“You kissed Elain,” came out of your mouth before you could stop it.
Azriel froze, and you wished you could have just kept your stupid mouth shut. “That’s it? That’s why you’re upset with me?”
It sounded so silly. You knew it sounded worse to him, because he didn’t know. He didn’t know that he was your mate, that you’d been in love with him ever since you’d learned his name. You didn’t own him, anyway – he had his own free will, and he could kiss whoever he wanted to. But it didn’t stop the ache in your heart whenever you thought of him with someone else.
When you didn’t respond, Azriel took a step back, his hand leaving your chin. You looked down in shame, feeling Azriel pull away.
“I can kiss who I want, Y/n,” Azriel said.
“I know that,” you insisted, looking up, “but–”
“There is no ‘but’, Y/n,” he argued. “You can’t get upset if I’m with someone else. Why do you even care?”
He spat the last word and you felt anger bubbling up at him and his tone. You could care if he was seeing someone. You had the right to give a fuck about his love life.
“You don’t know how much it fucking kills me, Az!” you snapped loudly. “You don’t know what it’s like, being in love with you for practically my whole life and thinking that maybe, maybe you felt the same, and then having the bond snap in place, and feeling like it was always supposed to be like that, like the Mother or the Cauldron or Fate or whatever thought that I was enough for you…”
You trailed off, breathing heavily and feeling guilt and embarrassment spread through you. You weren’t supposed to tell him like that – you weren’t supposed to lose your cool and yell at him that you loved him and… and reveal that he was your mate.
“The… the bond?” he repeated slowly, the only time you’d ever actually heard him stumble over his words. “Y/n, what do you mean, ‘the bond’?”
You sighed and rubbed your arm, once again looking away. “The mating bond. You’re my mate, Azriel.”
He was silent, and you made no attempt to change that. This was it, the moment where he accepted or rejected the bond, the moment where he either made your heart and soul feel whole, or he ripped your heart out of your chest and crushed it.
“And you didn’t think to tell me?”
Your head snapped up at his words, at the icy rage dripping from them. Azriel’s eyes were hard and dark, staring into you and your soul. You saw him searching through every feeling, every connection to you that he could find.
And then you felt it. The tug on the string that tied your souls together, pulling you towards him. His eyes widened slightly, and his lip curled up into a snarl. “You lied to me.”
“Omitting the truth isn’t lying,” you retorted.
“I had a right to know,” he hissed, and you took a step back.
He shook his head, scoffing at you and your choices, making you feel small and inferior. You hated how easily he could do that, how easily he could make you feel irrelevant and insignificant. It reminded you of how the other Illyrian males tried to do so, not that they ever could. But Azriel had your heart and soul, and everything he said or did affected you in some way or another.
“Well, enjoy the rest of your mission,” he fumed, the cold fury still clouding his eyes.
Before you could say anything he disappeared into his shadows, leaving you alone in the house as if he had never been there in the first place. For the second time in two days you felt a crushing feeling in your chest, a physical pain that made it hard to breathe. You felt empty, like a part of your soul was missing.
And it was. Azriel, the other half to your soul, he was gone. And you knew you’d always be able to feel that emptiness, that hole that was so Azriel-shaped it hurt. You were going to feel it forever, no matter how far you went or how long you didn’t see him. It wouldn’t matter if you crossed oceans and lands and skies – you would always feel like you wanted to rip your heart out, if only to ease the pain.
Rhysand literally grew up in Illyria (don't know how much of his childhood was spent in Velaris before he became HL) and you're telling me he only made two Illyrian friends? One of which he and Cassian beat the shit out of after being brutally maimed by family, trapped in the dark and unable to fly due to lack of practice, may I add, because "haha, brothers. Aren't they funny?" Yet losing your mind over sisterly spats that never became physical and all gave it equally.
Sure, the other Illyrian’s around may have been looking at him sideways originally - perceive him as not fully 'like them' and pampered in comparison, but even after some time, a reconsideration of initial perceptions never flickered? Not once?
I wonder why? No... generally, why?
He loves to spew the "change takes time" bullshit, but the subtle changes should have been happening during childhood and onwards, especially when it was obvious he would be the next expected HL and he claims to hate how the current system is. He could have built a relationship or found like-minded Illyrians to break down barriers, yet he chose not to. Heck, he could have even trained to even become an aspiring general (because no one knows when the current HL will die) and understand them better. Build comradery. See them and let them see him beyond being a nepo baby that only elevates his friends/family/those with power to add to his arsenal in order to just maintain the fucked up status quo.
The change should have already been implemented long before, and I refuse to believe that all illyrians are bad. It was so easy to find the two in acosf, and they weren't even hiding. Now imagine how many others are there just simply trying to survive and having to do and participate in acts they wish they didn't, but have no other choice? Fighters and non-fighters alike.
The world building could have been so rich. Ideologies could have been explained to expand the thought processes. The dynamic could have been complicated, but on the way to making something better in the end whilst even showcasing the challenges as things changed. But instead, as I've been reminded in a recent post highlighting direct quotes which shows that the IC sees recent windows and those who are airing out their grievances after losing families as spreading "poison." Want to use the Rite to kill those who would oppose them. For Rhysand to show up, not because he wants to be involved and change his court, but to intimidate just like he intimidates in the CoN for shits and giggles.
Things are written to be so black and white, you'd think the comprehension level was originally targeted to middle grade readers, but I won't even disrespect the great middle grade stories like that. Because the truth is, it's just lazy writing targeted to a consumer base who have been conditioned to think less and dismiss questionable actions. Those who states they're faves are morally grey, but sees their every action as correct (seem to be missing the point of the term). You're not meant to agree with an act that's actively wrong, even if context can be added to explain the reason. 'Morally grey' has lost all meaning at this point, especially when others do far less questionable things and are torn apart because...what, they don't lick the MC's cooter and fall before their feet on their every decision?
Yeah, bye.
SJM might have implied heavily through characters we're 'meant' to think that Rhysand is a good HL, but he's honestly incompetent. Overly powered and for what? 2/3 of his court despises him (never explained or truly delved into to broaden the perspective and reasons why), and the 1/3=Velaris of his court was long established before him. So what has he actually done that makes him better than others?
Of course, change takes time when all you're doing is 'dreaming' and not being proactive whilst literally being the government and having the power to change anything he wants in HIS court. He was quick to kill all those Illyrian’s that sided with Amarantha (just as he did) with no issue, so the talking point of "he can't just kill everyone he wants" falls a little flat.
I'm lowkey mad because Rhysand could have been such a great, interesting character. I was even more intrigued with him and his actions as a ruthless fae in Acotar than I was with Tamlin, but the rest of the story ruined him because he doesn't actually expand much as a character. He just gets excuses due to author and MC favouritism whilst treating common sense reactions as mindless, controlling, or undserving because you don't fuck with a certain character and it's annoying. All it displays to me is the lack of ability to consider others' perspectives beyond your own, even in a story format. In a space that's meant to be "morally grey" and in a fantasy setting, at that.
Rhysand could have been so good and complex. SJM isn't a novice. But everyone, even in text, that calls him out are viewed by the narrative, thus the fans, as unworthy of an opinion and it just removes so much nuance. I'm mad that we were stripped of the absolute cunt of a character he could have been. One you love to hate and love and hate again, stuck on repeat because he's just so interesting and charming and wicked.
Give me Klaus Mikaelson. Give me Cersei Lannister.
But, no. He's just underwhelming, and it sometimes makes me sad, lol.
