Velvet @velvettshadowss - Tumblr Blog

Of petals and shadows

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Pairing: Azriel x Tamlin's sister! reader

Summary: You loved Azriel long before you knew what betrayal felt like. Centuries later, with Feyre Archeron at your side and the Spring Court crumbling around you, you begin to realize that love and freedom rarely bloom together.

Or: A series of moments inside the life of Tamlin's sister, and the love story between you and Azriel, told in fragments.

Warmings: Yearning. Like, so much. Tamlin (he’s a warning in himself). One-sided love (but not really). Loneliness. Complicated family dynamics. War. Death. Slow burn. Angst. Eventual fluff. Eventual hurt-comfort. One-sided love (or is it?). Slight canon divergence.

Please let me know if I missed anything!

a/n: SO! first story in tmblr and first story I had ever written. I have to confess that at first I was only gonna focus on Azriel x reader, but then I started writing, and before I noticed it, I had rewritten all the books from the sisters' perspective. This part doesn’t have much Azriel, but I promise he becomes much more present in the next chapter. This is a very slow-burn story, and I hope you enjoy the ride!

Words: 12K (I got excited)

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Part 1

1.

The first time you met Azriel, it was shortly after your 150th birthday.

At that age, you used to follow your brother wherever he went, desperate to taste even a sliver of freedom, and pestering him and Rhysand whenever the young lord visited the Spring Court. When they walked through the gardens, leaves crunching beneath their feet, and flowers swaying at the rhythm of the wind, you followed behind them like a small shadow. And when they trained, you stayed at the side, rocking on your heels and admiring the strength they both exuded without even trying.

You always begged your brother to train, to be instructed in the art of self-defence. And the answer would always be the same:

"No." The word always cut you deeper than any knife could.

And then, as if remembering who he was talking to, he would soften his gaze and apologetically lower his tone. "You know, Father will kill us if he finds out. "

You found that argument ridiculous--wasn't he always angry anyway?

You would puff and stomp your feet. And they continued to ignore you, as if you were just a child and Tamlin's nagging little sister. Due to their lack of acknowledgment, strong vines would grow on your arms and hands, as if they were protesting on your behalf.

Your powers always expressed your feelings better than you ever could.

Rhysand, already far too observant and charming for his own good, would look at you with a gleam in his purple eyes.

"Come on, Tam. Look at her, she's fiercer than even me on my worst days. Some training won't hurt anybody."

Rhys knew about the iron grip that your father had over you. Even now, looking back and replaying those years, you were sure that's what brought the princes so close in the first place, both connecting over long conversations and shared stories whispered on the outskirts of your garden.

And Tamlin would consider it, even when you all knew what the outcome would be.

"And he doesn't have to know." You would add, hopeful and already seeing the doubt in his face.

"Fine. But, you have to listen to us in everything we say."

You would nod eagerly, half listening to his words and already gathering your hair into a ponytail.

"I'm serious, Y/N."

"Yeah, yeah. And don't tell anything to father, blah, blah, blah. Where's my sword?"

And Rhysand would let out a full-bellied laugh, with his white teeth glinting in the sun. "For the Mother, she's restless."

And Cauldron, you loved training. Your technique was dreadful, and you swallowed more grass than anything. However, the thrill of breaking the rules always brought a smile to your face that lasted for days, even when your father inevitably found out from a servant and grounded you by making you re-read that horrible book about decorum and social conduct for noble women. But none of that compared to the feeling you had the first time you saw him.

You weren't sure if it was because of the countless romance novels you devoured by moonlight, or because your mind tended to idealize every little detail that your daily life lacked, but from the moment Azriel set foot in your court, you were pretty sure that feeling in your stomach was love.

He was so beautiful, the kind of beauty that was almost painful to admire, like the marble statues that decorated the hallways of your house. His sharp features and almost dark aura drew you in like a ship drawn to a lighthouse, and the small, endearing shadows that always hovered around him were as hypnotic as they were charming.

He never spoke much, not to anyone, and certainly not to you. Most days, you got a half-smile from him, and you were pretty sure he found you annoying every time you started talking and didn't stop. But it didn't matter, because you could carry the conversation for both of you, as long as it allowed you to be closer to him, even if it was for only a second.

"Am I boring you?" You asked him one day, after you'd been passionately talking for almost an hour about the incredibly tedious classes you'd had the previous week. The shadowsinger hadn't uttered a word during your ridiculously long speech, though his gaze remained fixed on you. Always on you. He quickly shook his head. "No. No. I'm just listening." And then, as if sensing the doubt in your eyes, he added quietly, "Your stories always entertain me. Please, continue" The compliment had affected you far more than it should have. Something you tried to hide with even more words and your endless chatter.

And who were you to refuse him? On other rare occasions, he was the one who shared stories with you. Small fragments of his life, like his awful family or the origin of the wounds on his hands, which only made you love him more, something you had deemed impossible. He spoke timidly, as if simply speaking about himself were taking up too much space. And whenever he did, you remained silent, listening to him as attentively as he seemed to listen to you.

Being with him felt like free-falling, and it always left a sweet taste in your mouth.

The seasons kept passing, the trees kept growing, and you counted the days until Rhysand would return with him by his side. It was somewhat embarrassing, the way his presence had such a strong hold over you, the obvious way you looked at him as if the answers to all your troubles lay in his arms.

You were convinced he knew it, that everyone did, because without realizing it, you found yourself mesmerized, staring at him even when all he did was stand there motionless.

Cassian, funny, shameless Cassian, said one day, without an ounce of hesitation:

"Tamlin, can you tell your sister to stop drooling over my brother?"

He and Rhys laughed, and your brother rolled his eyes at their antics.

Flowers bloomed across your body as if trying to hide you from the humiliating moment. But even then, your gaze didn't leave him. The shadowsinger didn't react, but you thought you saw a soft blush on his ears.

For the Mother, he was perfect.

Whenever you trained, and he was present, you made sure to push yourself harder, trying to impress him even though your form was, at best, mediocre. And when you fell harder than usual and struggled to get up, he was always there, extending his scarred hand.

"Let me." His words were clipped, lacking any outward affection.

He always seemed surprised when you touched his bare hands as if it were nothing.

And so you continued like that for a century, watching and hoping for a moment that you didn't know if it would ever come.

But then the world you knew tilted, and everything changed. From one day to the next, and without knowing why, because no one in that house ever told you anything, they stopped coming so suddenly it almost felt like a dream. A cruel and devastating dream. The death of your mother, the only one who, along with Tamlin, gave you space in the family and didn't treat you as if it were a duty. The arrival of Rhysand's father, the blood, the wound in your side that threatened to take your life, and that robbed you of the normality you had known until then. Your father's funeral, which stirred as many conflicting feelings within you as the man had stirred in life. When you were finally able to get up again after months in bed because of the wound, you had tears in your eyes and a feeling of emptiness that almost made you fall apart completely.

Tamlin never spoke to you clearly about what had happened. He didn't explain the true sequence of events and became even more secretive than before. So you drew your own conclusions and decided the Night Court must be responsible. Your brother never corrected you. And you understood, then, the phrase you had always read and heard throughout your life: that there's only a thin line between love and hate. Because where there had once been an entire garden, every time you thought of those hazel eyes and that impossibly black hair, there was only a barren field filled with ashes. Had he laughed at you and your humiliating crush? Every time you spoke about your life, your difficult relationship with the court, your monotonous classes just to be another ornament of the court, was he thinking about how to betray you? Had he enjoyed watching your family fall from grace? You didn't know, and you wouldn't know for many more years. Until the curse arrived and the mask adhered to your face.

2.

If you thought living with your father meant living in shackles, you had no idea how much worse it would get once the curse descended upon the court.

Where before you barely left the court, only on those occasions when the entire family had to attend some diplomatic dinner, now you never left your home. It was almost as though your whole world—your reality— had been reduced to those stone walls, covered in vines and the constant scent of lilies. The beauty of nature had never felt so suffocating as it did then. Not even books or Lucien's stories could console you anymore. That incessant flame you'd had since childhood, the one that had made you fight for your right to move wherever you wanted, dimmed a little more each time you argued with your brother. "I want you safe." He would say with some kind of finality after every argument. Safe. What an insulting, insignificant word. No matter how much you shouted at him, you could never convince him. Because Rhysand was no longer there to soften him, because, even though Lucien agreed with you, he never spoke in your favor, as if getting angry with your brother was far more terrifying than the reality you were all living now.

And because Tamlin had learned that the world was dangerous, and losing each other was a risk neither of you was willing to take. So you kept quiet. You stopped fighting with your brother. You forced yourself to keep the peace with him, even though you knew he wasn't telling you the whole truth about the curse, and even though it meant giving up a fundamental part of yourself that would always yearn for freedom. You were convinced that you would spend the rest of your days in this cursed court. Until Feyre Archeron arrived, and that flame of hope not only ignited, but swept away all conformity within you.

At first, Tamlin prohibited you from seeing her, arguing that she was dangerous and that "don't worry, Lucien and I have it handled." You found it funny, in a way: how bad Tamlin was at lying, and how, apparently, a mere human posed such a threat to him, even though they had always been considered weaker beings compared to your kind.

And Cauldron, the Mother would surely damn you if she ever heard your thoughts. Because what a horrible person you must be if the death of a fae, the brute your brother considered a friend and one of your most loyal guards, didn't bring you any sorrow, but, instead, an excuse to entertain your days with a new mystery.

The first time you saw her, you were behind a column, hidden from prying eyes and most of all, from your brother's. She had been beside Lucien, shackled and with her head bowed down as if her fate had already been written. She was a fragile thing, you noticed, so thin and deprived of basic food that you feared that the winds would blow her away. But in her blue eyes shone some determination that you had rarely seen in the last decades.

You didn't speak to her until a week later.

After confirming that both Lucien and Tamlin were asleep, you went out at night with the stubbornness of a woman on a mission. The light beneath her room shone in the darkness of the hallway. In your hands was a bowl full of dinner stew, leftovers you'd found in the kitchen and knew she hadn't eaten after overhearing your brother mention it.

When you knocked on the door, the little noise that could be heard behind it ceased instantly, and you knew almost immediately she was pretending to be asleep. But it didn't deter you in the least, and you knocked again, louder, until soft footsteps approached.

Your hands were slightly shaking with the forgotten excitement and giddiness that came with breaking rules.

The door opened only a crack, and the human— Feyre— you corrected yourself in your mind, studied you with suspicion written all over her face.

Admittedly, you hadn't planned so far ahead and, for a moment, you didn't know what to say.

However, you quickly gathered yourself and squared your shoulders.

"Hi!" Your voice came out more high-pitched than you wanted. Squeaky, even.

Feyre only arched her eyebrows.

You passed your weight from one foot to another, gripping the plate tightly, and cleared your throat.

You told her your name, and she blinked as if it didn't mean anything to her.

"Tamlin's sister. The…the princess of the court. " The last phrase came out more like a question.

A moment passed, and after a second, Feyre opened the door more. You could now see she was wearing a thin sleeping gown, and you felt a tinge of embarrassment at the clear intrusion that you were committing.

"He hasn't spoken about you. At all."

You let out a strained laugh, hiding the hurt that her words wrung.

"Yeah, I feared as much."

Silence fell again, somehow more awkward than the last. You looked at the plate, a thin veil of smoke coming from it, and then at her.

"I know it's late, and you must be exhausted after this horrible week. But I wanted to present myself since my dear brother refuses to do so. And," you extended your hands, putting the plate in front of her almost aggressively. "I thought you must be hungry, considering you haven't eaten at all. It tastes better than it looks, I promise."

It seemed as though you had forgotten every lesson of diplomacy and social skills that you had. But you couldn't find it in yourself to care because you were so desperate to connect with someone new.

"So…may I enter?"

She didn't answer. Again. You were sure she was going to close the door in your face. But then, almost reluctantly, she opened the door completely and stepped aside to let you pass with a barely perceptible nod.

You glanced down the hallway, making sure no one was around, and stepped inside before she could think twice.

You placed your plate on one of the cabinets and looked around as she closed the door again.

"You are lucky. This is one of the most beautiful rooms in the entire castle."

She chuckled, but the sound lacked any warmth.

"I don't know if 'lucky' is the word I'd use right now, princess."

Your whole back tensed.

"No. Yeah. Of course. I just meant..." You chuckled slightly. "I don't really know what I meant. Sorry."

Feyre pressed herself against the door and stared at it as if she regretted letting you in. You did the only thing you could think of to break the tension that had settled between you: keep chatting.

"So!...you are human."

You couldn't tell if it was your tone or the way you said it, but Feyre crossed her arms.

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

Cauldron, this was going terribly wrong. You really had forgotten how to interact with another living person, hadn't you?

"It's just that I've never seen one of your kind before, and I'm just...I don't know, excited." You scratched the back of your neck. "You come from the human lands, right? All this must seem very strange to you. New, even."

That seemed to relax her, though only a little.

She just nodded.

"And what are they like? The human lands, I mean. Are they as boring as they're murmured around here?"

That seemed to elicit a reaction from her, because Feyre uncrossed her arms and studied you with a kind of challenge in her eyes.

"And what do they say about it?"

And so you talked. You told her that here, in Prythia, the human lands were considered a boring place, devoid of any magic. That it was nothing but poverty and death. And she corrected you, as if insulted, and told you about her village. Her small house and the incredible forests that surrounded it. About the strange culture of her people, and how, even though life might be short and less magical than yours, they still found ways to celebrate it as if it were the greatest gift they had ever received.

You listened to her almost hypnotically, your eyes wide with wonder.

Then she told you about her sisters, her deceased mother, her absent father, and the complicated relationship she had with all of them. About the cold, the hunger, how she had killed a wolf that turned out to be a fae. And you realized, almost with shame, that there were far more horrible fates than being locked in your gilded cage.

Apparently, loneliness had been a familiar feeling throughout her life, just as it had been for you, and you found a warm calm in finding someone who understood you. An understanding that you had only been able to achieve before with a single person who was already in the past.

You told her about the Court, how much you loved Tamlin, and how lately he felt more like a stranger than a brother. How you longed to shed this mask that never left you, and how you wanted to see the whole world that unfolded behind these walls. How, more often than not, you felt the title of princess was too big for what you did, and how you often thought you were an imposter.

You talked so much and for so long that, without even noticing, the sun had risen through the windowpane and your throats were dry. Feyre had even eaten the stew you had brought her without you having to say a word.

And that's how you became friends with that strange human who would soon become the infamous curse-breaker of Prythia.

3.

Feyre slipped into your routine almost imperceptibly, as if she had always been a part of your lives.

You didn't know if it was because of your conversation that night, or because you suspected your brother was more smitten with her than he cared to admit, but shortly after the first week, Feyre started having dinner with you, began trusting your fractured family more, and suddenly laughter and smiles had become a part of your days.

"If you think he has long hair now, Feyre, it's because you didn't see him when he was younger. He was obsessed with it. I'm sure he owned more hair products than my mother and me combined. And once, he didn't speak to me for an entire day—an entire day, Feyre!—because I broke one of his ridiculous tonics." You exclaimed, gesturing widely, one night after dinner.

The empty plates, still stained and covered in crumbs, were scattered across the table. Lucien, Feyre, Tamlin, and you found yourselves on your third glass (or was it the fourth?) of wine, but even though it was getting late, none of you seemed inclined to leave the table anytime soon.

Feyre snickered behind her hand, and Tamlin glared at you from his seat. But it lacked any real bite, not with the small grin pulling at his mouth.

"You're embarrassing me in front of our guest, sister."

You arched your eyebrows, relaxing into your chair. You felt full, but not only from the indecent amounts of food you had consumed, but because of a quiet sense of warmth in your chest.

"Oh? Am I lying? I just think Feyre should know what she's getting into before it's too late."

Feyre looked down. A soft blush crept across her cheeks.

"She's not wrong, Tam," added Lucien, who was watching the scene unfold with a gleam in his eyes. "I always thought you'd be capable of selling us out for your hair."

Tamlin groaned, putting his face in his hands. "Not you too."

"I mean..." mused Feyre. "He does have great hair."

Both she and Tamlin shared a quiet smile from their respective seats. And the sight was so intimate that you felt you were intruding on a moment that didn't belong to you. Lucien gave you a funny look, as if he were thinking the same thing.

"You want to play this game? Fine," said Tamlin with mock offense.

You whipped your head toward him, so fast that you felt a slight pain in your neck. "Don't you dare..."

But your brother ignored the threat and pointed a finger at you.

"This girl right here? With her powers and her flowers?" he asked, looking at Feyre, and she nodded, moving a little closer to the table. "Well, when she was little, she was scary. Once, she got so angry with our father that her whole room was covered in thorny vines. She couldn't sleep in it for a week."

You gasped. "You promised you wouldn't tell anyone!"

Lucien chuckled. "Oh, I remember! Since then, we've always been very careful not to make her angry. You never know what monstrous plant she's going to conjure up."

"No, no. You're being unfair!" You looked at Feyre, who was trying, in vain, not to curve her lips at your embarrassment. "Don't mind them, it wasn't that bad. I was just little and could barely control them, okay?"

And then your brother threw back his head, letting out a laugh so full of joy and carefree abandon that any trace of annoyance you might have felt vanished in an instant.

Because it had been so long—decades, hundreds of years—since you had seen him like this, that you hesitated to do anything to break the spell. You caught a glimpse of the sweet, energetic boy he once was. That boy who read to you at night and hugged you when your parents' arguments became unbearable. That young man who let you follow him like a shadow because he understood how alone you were and how suffocated the court made you feel.

There was still pain, of course, a pain that only comes after centuries of betrayals and losses. But he hadn't disappeared yet, and you were immensely grateful to Feyre for bringing him back.

Perhaps not all was lost.

Witnessing them fall in love was both gross and beautiful.

They fell into each other naturally, amidst longing glances and shy smiles, surrounded by red roses and dense gardens. The romantic and idealistic side of you appreciated the ray of light that had descended upon your court, and watching how each day, with each touch of their hands, your brother's tense shoulders relaxed, and how his smile appeared more easily than anger.

Perhaps you were all recovering fragmented pieces you had left behind.

Feyre told you all about it during your walks through the garden. Whenever she did, there was a sparkle in her eyes and a special glow to her skin. She was no longer as thin as when she had arrived, and despite her human constitution, her lack of noble blood, she seemed far more like a princess than you could ever have been.

"And then he kissed me and..."

"Now, hold on." You stopped her with a hand in the air. "Please, Fey. Spare me the details. Even though I'm incredibly happy for both of you, hearing how my brother gets it is disgusting."

Feyre laughed faintly. "I'm sorry. It's just... I'm just so happy. I never thought I'd feel this way in my life. Much less with a fae."

At that, your gaze softened.

"I know. Just…don't tell me everything. Please."

That day, the sun was brighter than usual. Or perhaps it was you, more sensitive to the small gifts of everyday life. You were both lying on the grass, a damp, natural scent enveloping the air, and a gentle breeze caressing your bare arms.

"But enough about me! I feel as though I'm monopolizing the conversation," Feyre concluded, sitting up and looking at you. "What about you? Any hidden lover I should know of?"

She made a funny thing with her eyebrows that you couldn't help but chuckle at.

"No. No. I'm afraid I'm as alone as the first day I was born."

You couldn't meet her gaze, your eyes much more interested in the white petals that you were conjuring with your fingers.

"Oh, come on! There must have been someone! You are perfect, and what are you? Four hundred years old? I don't believe you for a second."

You ignored the heat that rose in your neck at her compliment and glared at her.

"I'm just three hundred, mind you," You corrected. "But no, there's no one. My life is as boring as it could get."

"Not even in the past?"

The white flowers in your hand withered in an instant and vanished in a small cloud of magic dust. For a moment, you didn't answer, hesitating to open that little drawer you kept hidden in your mind, the one you refused to bring to the surface.

But it was Feyre you were talking to. Your first true friend. And she had been brave and vulnerable with you. Shouldn't you do the same? Wasn't that what friendship was all about?

"Well, there was someone," you finally said, your voice more subdued than before.

Feyre looked at you expectantly, her eyes wide, and you sat up with her.

"It was nothing, really. Nothing happened between us, and I think it was more in my head than anything else." You let out a chuckle full of regret and shame. "Just a stupid crush."

Feyre tilted her face to the side, seemingly noticing what a sore subject it was to you.

"And what was he like?"

At her question, a flood of memories you thought had vanished surged through your mind. The most elegant hands you'd ever seen, scared and marred by hurt, helping you to your feet. Hazel eyes listening intently as if what you were saying were precious. Hair as black as night, swaying in the morning breeze.

You hated how you could still remember it all, as if you were still that innocent young woman desperate for the gaze of someone who clearly didn't feel the same way. But you hated even more how his face, his features, continued to awaken in you that uncomfortable, exhilarating tingle, almost like a pull that would never go away.

Stupid, foolish girl, you were.

"It's not important. Like I said, just a stupid crush."

Feyre seemed to want to add something else; however, before she could speak, you stood up, brushing off imaginary dirt from the hem of your dress.

"I think we should go. My brother will have a fit if we're late for lunch again."

Feyre didn't ask again.

But during all that time, everything was simple, even easy. Walking through the gardens was no longer as overwhelming as it once had been. And grief no longer stained all the colors of your life black and white; instead, it had expanded, making room for a much more positive range of emotions for all of you.

However, life doesn't always offer respites, and perhaps you should have been wiser. Should have asked more about that curse your brother refused to tell you about. Because the final hour arrived, Feyre disappeared without you noticing, and that wide range of colors vanished again, leaving a black even darker than before.

4.

You learned that Feyre had returned to the human world the night before Amarantha arrived at your court and wreaked havoc.

Your brother didn't want to tell you. In fact, you were sure that if it had been up to him, you would have remained as oblivious as before.

But you were angry. No, furious and tired of people making decisions around you without even consulting you. Fed up with your brother still treating you like a little girl.

You thought everything was changing, that you had finally reached an understanding with him without having to talk about it directly. But it seemed some habits refused to die.

For The Mother, he hadn't even let you say goodbye to her.

So you marched to his office, where he was having a heated conversation with Lucien, which you didn't hesitate to interrupt, and shouted until he had no choice but to listen to you.

And confessed, much against his will and with a scowl on his face. He recounted everything about the curse, the prophecy that could save you, and the necessity of a human girl falling in love with him. That Feyre hadn't confessed her love, and that the little time you had left had run out. That Amarantha, that name that generated panic wherever it was mentioned, would arrive tomorrow to destroy all of Prythia.

By the time he finished, Tamlin was breathing heavily, as if saying it had damaged a part of him inside.

But oh, you were fuming, thick tendrils climbing up your arm without you even realizing it.

"And you didn't think, for a second, that Feyre should have known what she was getting herself into? That I should have known?"

Even Lucien had half a mind to keep his mouth shut, watching the scene unfold with furrowed brows.

"She had to fall in love with me freely! I wanted her to choose us because she wanted to, not because she felt obligated to!"

"No one can make decisions freely without having all the information, Tamlin."

His fists, which he had kept clenched, opened, and his tense demeanor relaxed in an instant.

No one knew what to say for a few minutes.

With an exhale, Tamlin slumped in his chair, clutching the strands of his hair tightly.

"I just wanted to keep you all safe. To keep her from harm."

The words were barely a murmur.

You said nothing. Because, as always, you understood him. And you hated him even more for it, but it did nothing to soothe the rumbling thunder within you. Those words had stopped being a good excuse long ago.

"So what now?" you asked. "We just let Amarantha come and wipe us all out. Is that your plan?"

"It seems so, yeah," Lucien said, crossing his arms.

Tamlin raised his face and glared at him before looking at you.

"Well, that's what we were trying to talk about before you came here and started yelling at me."

You ignored the quip and raised your chin.

"Well. I want to help."

Before you'd even finished talking, your brother was already shaking his head.

"Not a chance. I'm not going to..."

"No." You interrupted, your voice cold and sharp. "Don't you dare finish that phrase. Don't you dare imply that I sit here waiting for your return. This is my court as much as it's yours, and I'm going to fight for it just like you. It's my decision, my choice."

"I would prefer to know that you are safe."

"Oh, stop with that nonsense, Tamlin!"

Lucien let out a low whistle.

You were being mean, you knew. But anger had always been a much stronger guide for you than guilt ever was.

You walked towards the table and leaned on it, putting both hands on the surface.

"I'm going to help you whether you let me or not. So what are you going to do? Do you want me to do it behind your back, or do you want me to do it together, where you can watch me closely? It's your pick, brother."

Tamlin groaned, looking back towards the window and thinking hard. You were about to talk, to insist more, before he turned again.

"Fine." He agreed. "But you have to listen to us."

His words brought back memories of secret training sessions and lost innocence.

You hid the happiness that surged beneath you.

"Always."

That night, back in your room, you were so nervous you couldn't sleep. The silk sheets felt uncomfortable, and the moonlight, filtering through the window, was more bothersome than usual. But exhaustion seemed to win the battle, because without realizing it, you drifted into a soft, fragile slumber.

You woke up to steel clashing and shouts of agony behind your closed doors.

Your body was flooded with so much adrenaline, so many thoughts overlapping one another, that you didn't have time to wonder why no one had come to warn you sooner.

You dressed quickly and clumsily, trying to recall the carefully laid plan you had been discussing with Lucien and Tamlin the night before. But when you went to open your bedroom door, your hands already trembling with the prospect of a fight, it was closed.

"What...?" you breathed out.

But no matter how hard you pulled on the doorknob, it didn't budge, as if someone had shut it from the outside.

And that's when you felt it. The magic of your brother that filled the air, the sound barrier that blocked you from the outside world. Like a bubble impossible to burst.

"No," you said, your voice rising as more seconds passed. "No, no, no, no..."

He had never planned to let you go with them, you realized. He had never truly considered your words.

He had done what he always did.

"Open the door!" You screamed, fighting with the handle until the joints on your fingers started to burn. Banging on the door and pushing it till your shoulder hurt from the impacts.

Vaguely, you felt the dampness of tears trickle down your cheeks.

"Tamlin, Lucien, please!"

But your pleadings fell on deaf ears. It took you a few minutes to realize that there was no one behind the door, that the cries and shouts had ceased, and that you had been left alone. The silence that followed was deafening.

5.

What followed the aftermath of Under the Mountain was ugly and filled with words left unsaid. Broken pieces of a reality that wouldn't come together again.

No one talked about what happened, even when you asked. No one celebrated the win; instead, they mourned at their own pace and in their own chambers.

You had never felt more useless than you did in those horrible months.

You watched with a tightening heart how Feyre withered away each passing day. How she ate less and less until what was left of her was barely a shell of the bright girl she once was.

You tried to be there, to make her talk, cry on your shoulder—anything that might help her forget even a fragment of what she had endured. You clenched your teeth whenever you heard the fights she had with Tamlin, and listened as he dismissed her thoughts and feelings just as he had once done with you.

In all that time, you hadn't talked with your brother properly. Whenever you did, you could barely look him in the eye, and the space between you only grew wider.

He hadn't even tried to apologize, although you caught glimpses of regret in his face every time he looked at you when he thought you wouldn't notice.

And you hadn't tried to talk to him either. Maybe it was because the wound of his betrayal was still open and festering with each passing day. Or maybe it was because you could no longer recognize your brother, and you were afraid the ugly truth would slip out: that he was starting to become the person he hated most in the world.

Your father.

So the Spring Court remained cold. You helped Feyre plan the wedding because, apparently, your brother couldn't even do that. You brought her food and stayed with her until she at least managed a bite. You held her hair back every time she vomited, as if her body could no longer bear anything but pain. You stood by her side even though you knew it was not enough because you'd be damned if you let these walls suffocate anyone else.

When the wedding arrived, no one celebrated. That day you and Feyre had talked and daydreamed about for hours on end, had become just another cage of glamour and white.

As you helped her finish brushing her hair, and as she turned away from her own reflection in the mirror, you were on the verge of telling her to leave: to run away from your brother and seek the happiness she so richly deserved.

But, cowardly, you didn't. Because, even though your brother was no longer your brother, or anyone you recognized, he was still family. And going behind his back like that left a sour taste in your mouth that you could not get rid of.

And, even more selfishly, because if she left, you would lose the only true friendship you had.

So you finished brushing Feyre's hair in silence. You tried to smile at her even when she wasn't looking at you.

"Everything's gonna be okay, Fey." You murmured, brushing a stray tear that fell from her cheek.

Both of you knew it was a lie.

When you saw her stop in her steps at the altar, her gaze fixed on those damned red flowers she had so desperately begged to be removed, you felt that in an attempt not to betray your brother, you were abandoning her.

Perhaps that's why, when Rhysand, much older than you remembered, appeared in a puff of shadows in the middle of the celebration and took Feyre with him, you did nothing. Maybe a silent part of you had already begun to suspect the truth before you even knew it.

And despite your concern for her, despite her leaving with a man you had until that moment considered a villain, you kept quiet. You endured your brother's fury, the almost self-destructive way he had of destroying everything he had ever loved. Because she was free, and because at least she wouldn't have to live that life devoid of freedom.

That life that you were condemned to live for the rest of your existence.

6.

Feyre had arrived in the same way she had the first time: like an unstoppable wave heralding change itself.

But instead of arriving as a weak, jumpy, and stubborn human, she came as though she had been a fae her entire life. There was something about her you couldn't quite grasp, that you didn't recognize.

It felt as though you were watching a house of cards collapse in slow motion, powerless to stop it.

And that included the Spring Court.

That beautiful, terrible house that had driven you to despair your entire life, and yet had also shaped everything you were today. Because, despite all the bad things, despite spending more time daydreaming about escaping the gardens than staying, watching it being destroyed in slow motion had felt as if they were incinerating a vital part of your identity.

Everyone had begun to distrust Tamlin and look at him as if he had truly lost his mind. Even Lucien, one of the most loyal people you had ever known, could barely hold a complete conversation with him without it turning into a shouting match.

And while all this was happening, Feyre watched everything unfold with a gaze so cold it froze you to your core.

It was clear she hadn't come for you, nor for your brother, nor for the well-being of the Spring Court. Her mind was elsewhere, her loyalties already belonging to another court, and you could do nothing but accept it with your familiar resignation.

So, you remained watching from the sidelines.

You watched your brother transform into that hideous beast, and instead of using it to protect, all he left in his wake was death, the metallic scent of blood and torn flesh. Even with the passage of time, with the distance only years could provide, you still thought you could hear his razor-sharp claws slicing through the air.

His heavy form trampled the camp as if his own soldiers were nothing more than ants to him. You had tried to reason with him. You had screamed with all your might until your voice turned hoarse and your vocal cords hurt from exertion. And for one second, Tamlin, or the beast, had looked at you. Your hands were raised in front of you, trembling so violently that you could barely grip the dagger between your fingers. "Tamlin, please." And, if only for a moment, the beast hadn't moved. Instead, it tilted its face to the side and watched you with distant eyes. And you had thought, foolishly, that you had done it, that you had finally reached the breach to recover your brother. But then, without warning, the beast raised a paw, and it was only because of Lucien's quick reflexes that you weren't crushed beneath its claws. And that's when you had understood with crushing clarity everything, an epiphany of sorts. That a part of you had never truly left that garden. Never truly grown beyond the frightened girl who clung to love as though it could save her from herself. The one who followed Tamlin and Rhysand with wide eyes. The one who had accepted her father's rules, even if they sounded absurd.

The young woman who had loved with all her heart a quiet, beautiful boy, and that came out more fractured than ever before.

The realization hurt more than the complete distrust everyone had towards your family since the arrival of Feyre.

But had it really been like this since her arrival, or had you been so preoccupied with your own self-made worries that you hadn't been able to perceive the needs of your own people?

It was always much easier to shift the blame than to accept it as your own.

After all the chaos and fighting, the crowd began shouting and booing Tamlin. They accused him of being a traitor and of allowing the Hybern attack. And yes, your brother might not have been acting right, but the accusations were so far removed from the image you had of him in your head that you didn't hesitate for a second before stepping in front of him and trying to calm the masses. "That's not true! He would never do anything to endanger any of you." But your voice had never been strong or resolute like Feyre's. Your role as a princess had been nothing more than an ornament, and so the people didn't listen. The idea had already formed in their minds.

You'd be lying if you said that a part of you wasn't beginning to doubt, just like them.

But the final nail in the coffin was when you found Lucien and Feyre sneaking behind the camp with bags in hand.

"You are really going to leave without saying goodbye?" Your voice came lower than a whisper, but it was still enough to halt both figures in their tracks.

Slowly, almost afraid, they turned and watched as you stood on trembling legs.

"Y/N" It was Feyre who had spoken. In her gaze, there was no longer the hard, calculating look that she had during all those weeks, but instead the warmth that you had always known her for.

You didn't give her a chance to explain herself.

"You don't love him, right? I would even wager you hate him." There was no need to clarify who you were talking about. You both knew. "And you certainly didn't come back to help us. You planned all of this to happen." She said your name again, but you interrupted her again. "Am I wrong?" Her whole body deflated, and both arms felt limp at her sides. "No." You already suspected as much, of course, but hearing her admit it was far more painful than you had expected. The dread that had been pulling at your heart since that damned day when your brother had locked you in the room began to expand until it left nothing in its wake but an emptiness impossible to ignore. " I never wanted to hurt you." The words were meant to comfort you, but they only made things worse. Weren't those the same words, the same excuses, that the people around you had been using your whole life? Right before they hurt you? You didn't know what to say. You didn't even know if you could. Lucien took a step forward. "He's been lying to us all this time." And then, almost ashamed, he added, "You know he's dangerous. That he's not the same person we knew anymore." You shook your head. "No, no, don't..." You raised a hand, but it was shaking. "Don't do that. Don't talk about him like that. We both know you already had one foot out the door long before Feyre arrived. So please, just...shut up. Because you were both going to keep leaving without saying a word to me." The silence that fell was awkward, and although you were only five steps apart, the distance between all of you seemed immeasurable. "Come with us," Feyre said after a bit. You recoiled back, as if slapped. "What did you just say?" "Come with us," she repeated, this time much more confident and convinced. "You've always told me how much you want to get out of here. How suffocated you feel within these walls. If you come with us, you can be free, Y/N. Like you've always wanted."

"And what? Leave everyone behind? Leave him alone so that he can finally destroy himself?"You looked to the side, trying to keep your tears at bay. The night air felt like thousands of needles on your skin.

"Do any of you realize what you are asking from me? Who are you asking me to betray?"

Lucien looked to the ground, something akin to guilt, to conflict, dancing on his face.

Feyre took a step closer, and you immediately recoiled back, shaking your head. You saw her gulp before continuing.

"I know this is difficult, that I'm asking the impossible from you, but," Feyre took a sharp breath, clenching her fist. "You know he has turned into a monster, Y/N. You watched the horrible man he became; we all did, and, honestly, I doubt he will ever change. I doubt there's anything left to save here."

A tear fell from your face at her choice of words and splashed on the collar of your shirt.

"For you." You whispered.

"What?"

"There's nothing to save for you." Your voice was harsher than ever before.

Feyre must have realized she'd messed up, because she glanced at Lucien with a furrowed brow. But he was only looking at you, as if he wanted to embrace you and carry you away with everything. If you weren't so angry, so utterly exhausted, you might have found it almost funny how the roles had reversed between you. The memory of how you, so clumsily, had called Feyre human, almost as an insult, tasted like ashes in your mouth now. It was kind of ironic, really, how everything, even the most precious memories and relationships, could be redefined in a single moment.

"I bet it must be easy, Feyre, to come here and make decisions for everyone as if it were that simple," you continued. "But where you see nothing to save, I see an entire population exhausted by all the violence they've endured. And where you see Tamlin as a monster," your voice hitched, and you had to shake your head to clear the lump in your throat. "Where you see Tamlin as a monster, I only see my brother, lost, yes, making terrible decisions for everyone, but my brother."

She was speechless, both of them were, and you used the silence to continue. Because you had so much to say, because the anger was giving you the courage you rarely possessed, and because you needed to get it all out at once.

"This is my home. My life. And I'm truly glad you've found your place, even if it's not with me." You looked at Lucien. "And I'm glad you're going to find yours, too. But no, Feyre, I can't leave him. Because leaving this court would mean leaving everything that I stand for behind. And I can't. Not like that."

It was the first time you had referred to the Spring Court as your home.

Feyre kept silent, and you swore you heard her sniffing.

Perhaps in that moment, you were both mourning the life you could have had if the circumstances were different.

Lucien was the one who took a step forward. "The offer still stands," he said, sending you a fragile smile. "If anything happens, if you change your mind, come find me. Us."

He said, pointing at both of them, and Feyre was quick to nod, wiping her eyes.

Neither of them hugged you before leaving. Perhaps because they knew you would reject it. Instead, they stared at you as if you were already something that belonged to their past.

They turned away, but after two steps, Feyre looked at you one last time.

"I really hope you're right and that you get your brother back. You deserve to be happy, too."

You didn't know what to say to that.

You watched them until their figures barely became more than black dots in the distance.

7.

Spring Court didn't take long to empty itself.

Little by little, like a dropper, people silently left until only you and your brother remained in the castle.

The halls, once filled with laughter and the bustling footsteps of sentries and inhabitants, were now plunged into a permanent state of silence. Due to the lack of workers, the rooms were deteriorating more and more, until you both began coughing from the accumulated dust, and until the absence of light in the halls became the norm. Tamlin wasn't well. Neither were you, but you supposed you'd always been better at pretending than he ever was. For the first few days after Feyre and Lucien left, he only seemed angry. Not at you, but at the objects and walls you heard him banging on through the closed door of his room. And when the last worker left, all that remained in his eyes was sadness. He didn't eat, he didn't go out, and, just as you had done with Feyre, you had tried to stay by his side for fear he would fade away too. And just as it had happened with Feyre, you felt your help wasn't enough. So you stayed moving; you forced yourself into action. You had attempted to restore diplomatic ties with the few nobles you knew, to mediate with the sentinels who no longer trusted your family. But you had never been given, nor properly instructed in, the art of diplomacy, so your attempts were in vain. And there you remained, the two siblings, trapped in the abandoned house, surrounded by withered and dead flowers, until you both resembled ghosts haunting the stone walls more than the nobles you once were. One night, as you were eating a bland potato stew (the only food you could afford), Tamlin seemed more animated than usual. He spoke a lot, almost as if he had taken some kind of stimulant, and in his eyes there was a quiet conviction difficult to dismiss. "I'm going to solve this. You'll see, sister." You kept staring at him, cutting the potatoes you never really ate, and raising your eyebrows in doubt. He was talking about Hybern and the war they were waging against the Night Court. For some reason, he was convinced he could help them. "And what's this grand plan you have?" Your tone was dry, bordering on cruel; you knew it, but your patience had run thin long ago. He didn't seem bothered. He kept chewing until he leaned across the table and rested his elbows on the surface. "I'm not sure yet. I still have to talk to more people, but... I think this is it." And as always, he didn't tell you anything. You sighed. "You'll tell me, right? Before doing anything rash." The question caught him off guard. "Of course."

You hesitated before uttering the next words, afraid he would retreat into silence again.

"Tamlin... You know she's with Rhysand now, right? That they're mates. And even if this mysterious plan goes well, it doesn't mean she'll forgive you."

The silverware Tamlin held clattered against his plate.

"I know. I'm not doing this because of her."

You shook your head with a wry smile, cutting the already mashed potatoes into smaller pieces.

"I'm serious. I just want to make things right. With her, with our people." He lowered his head to meet your gaze. "With you."

You shrugged.

"If you're so sure."

"I am." He replied.

You didn't speak for a while.

Your mind was elsewhere, debating whether or not it was a good idea to ask him the question that had been haunting you since the last time you saw the now-future High Lady of the Night Court. But it was the first time you'd seen your brother with such enthusiasm, with anything but emptiness in his expression, and if you knew that if you didn't do it now, you might never build the courage for it.

With butterflies fluttering in your stomach, you carefully, almost delicately, placed your silverware beside your plate and looked at him again. His eyes were bloodshot, surely from lack of sleep, and his movements were clumsy and exaggerated.

"Tamlin... Can I ask you something?"

He nodded, stopping eating as well.

Suddenly, the loose threads on your sleeve were very interesting.

"It's about Father. About his death, really."

Tamlin stiffened. You weren't sure if it was the question or the mention of your father that had made him freeze.

You forced yourself to keep talking even as your voice began to tremble.

"There was something... Something Feyre said that has been on my mind."

He snorted, running a hand through his dirty hair. "Of course she did."

You snapped your eyes to him, lowering your hands. "No. No. It's not just because of her. You've never talked much about it, and... and I know that after the attack I wasn't very well, but...there's always been something that doesn't add up about everything that happened."

He just kept looking at you, his gaze turning somber by the second.

"I've never understood why Rhysand and his family would suddenly attack us like that. I mean, we spent our whole youth together."

"What are you implying?"

You let out a shaky breath, speaking the next words slowly.

"What happened that made them betray us in that way?"

He clenched his jaw and fists as if the mere mention of the High Lord was unbearable for him.

"You know what happened."

That made you snap.

You threw your napkin down on the table and jumped up. The chair scraped uncomfortably on the parquet floor.

"No, I don't! That's what I'm asking, Tamlin!"

He let out something like a grunt and stood up as well.

"That happened a long time ago, Y/N. It's best not to think too much about the past."

Your eyes widened as you watched him stride toward the door, deciding for you to end the conversation.

Oh no. You were having none of that.

You ran to him, grabbing his arm and forcing him to look at you. "Don't you dare walk away! Tell me! Tell me now!"

He jerked your arm away.

"There's nothing to tell."

You moved even closer to him, raising your chin. "If there's not much to tell, then you surely won't have any problem telling me."

He let out a sharp breath and turned around, shaking his head with closed eyes.

"Tamlin!"

"Stop it. Just...stop, please." He was breathing deeply, as if trying in vain to calm himself down.

"I have every right to know. He was my family, too. They were--"

He turned sharply towards you, his voice booming in the empty hallways. "Father killed Rhysand's family, okay?! That's why they came after us."

For a moment, all you could do was gape at him like a fish out of the water.

"Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you happy now?"

But you didn't answer his taunts. His voice sounded distorted, as if you were underwater, and you could almost feel the ground beneath your feet cracking and you beginning to fall and fall... into a dark, bottomless void with no signs of stopping.

You placed a hand on your chest as though you could somehow ward off the pain that had settled in your insides.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Your whisper broke mid-sentence.

The rage that had ignited in him died like a flame deprived of oxygen.

"I... I thought you knew."

"No! Of course I didn't!" You screamed. "I would never...I would've never..."

Your breaths had begun to come out rapidly, and the pain in your chest increased from the lack of air.

"Oh no..." You whimpered.

Tamlin tried to comfort you, to turn you around so that you would look at him.

"Sister--"

"Don't touch me!" Now it was you who pulled your arm away from his grasp, and you walked unsteadily to the other side of the room. When you reached the wall, you turned again, pointing a trembling finger at your brother.

"You lied to me! You--"

He shook his head emphatically, approaching you as if he were talking to a wounded animal.

"No, no. I never lied. I never told you that they--"

"But you didn't correct me!" You screamed and let out a manic laugh.

Tamlin looked at you, scared. As if he were now realizing what the absence of truth could cause.

"For the mother, you--you let me blame them. You let me think they were the villains when--" You let out a wimper, full of anguish and hurt. "When it turns out we were the horrible ones all alone."

"No, don't think like that. You didn't--we didn't do anything. It was father, he was the one--"

"That's the same!"

For the first time in your entire life, you saw how your brother didn't know what to say.

He called your name in a thin voice, trying to fix everything, just like he always did. But it wasn't enough anymore. Something fundamental had broken inside you, and there were no words that could repair it.

"Stop. I need—I."

And without finishing speaking, you stumbled out of the room.

You ignored your brother's pleas for you to come back. You ignored the shortness of breath that barely allowed you to move properly.

Because he had allowed you to hate them. To blame them for something that hadn't been their decision in the first place. He had allowed you to think that that relationship, that incredible boy with a heart of gold, who listened to you like no one ever had and who had made you feel like you had found your place in the world, had been the worst betrayal of your life.

He had allowed you to hate the only completely pure and beautiful thing you had ever had in your life.

You had defended him from everyone: from Feyre, from Lucien, from all the citizens of Spring Court, and you had lost the only chance you had to pursue what you truly wanted.

And all because of a lie.

Because Tamlin wasn't becoming your father, as you had feared for some time now.

He already was.

8.

You weren't surprised when it was revealed that your brother had made a pact with Hybern.

The war had been devastating. The whole Inner Circle was badly wounded, each bearing a thick layer of scars as if they were mere decoration.

It was strange to be back among those who had once been your friends. You were in two completely different parts of the room, on opposing sides, and you had the eerie feeling of reliving the past. They had all cursed your brother, hurled insults when the King of Hybern revealed that "ingenious" plan he hadn't told you about, the one he'd been so certain would work.

But none of them said a word to you. They didn't even seem angry.

You didn't know what to do with that reaction.

So you avoided their gazes, even though your chest felt a thread pulling you hard to look at one person in particular. Your heart sank at Feyre's desperate cries, at the way Rhysand tried to hold her back from falling into danger. And you noticed that, even in his desperation, his grip was infinitely soft compared to your brother's.

You tried to help when you saw Feyre's human sisters being dragged to the edge of the cauldron. The ones you'd heard so much about and now had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting, albeit in these horrific circumstances. But your fighting technique had never been good, your powers were nearly depleted from the long day, and not even Tamlin's fury seemed able to stop fate.

You watched as the blonde sister--Elain--you thought her name was, was grabbed and thrown into the cauldron as if she were nothing more than a sack of meat.

A scream of her name echoed through the room.

Your head turned almost instinctively, and there you saw Azriel, beautiful and unreal even with the wounds on his back, reaching a hand toward the cauldron as if he had witnessed the worst thing that could ever have been done to him.

A part of you died inside at the sight, irrational and unwelcome.

And then, as if he could feel the weight of your gaze upon him, Azriel turned, and your eyes met. Those eyes you feared you would never see again in your life.

Impossibly, and without any explanation, the world seemed to stop. The screams died away, the people vanished, and there it was, just you and him, looking at each other amidst all the chaos as if you were the only people left in the world.

And something snapped.

You staggered back, clutching your chest. The rope wrapped around your heart tightened even further, if that was possible, and you felt as though you couldn't breathe.

But what you were sure of was that he didn't seem as affected as you were. Because his perfect features were carefully neutral. The only indication that he had noticed you was his mouth opening in a small exhalation, and his shadows, his constant companions, moving slightly toward you before being pulled back into his body.

However, before you could stop to reflect on what on earth had happened, Feyre's second sister was thrown into the cauldron, and a light so bright it momentarily blinded you was emitted from it.

Your body was flung to one side of the room. Your back hit the wall painfully, and for a moment, you couldn't breathe. When your ears stopped that annoying ringing, and when the fog in your eyes lifted, everything returned with tremendous intensity. The screams, the cries, every silhouette of the people in the room, and you were unable to move, overwhelmed.

A hand closed on your shoulder, trying to get your attention, before it pulled you to your feet.

"Hey, look at me." It was Tamlin. His clothes were covered in dirt, and his eyes tried to find your own in panic. "Are you okay?"

You nodded, not fully understanding what he was saying.

"Good. Good." He looked back at something behind him. "We have to go."

And without waiting for your reply, he began to drag you through the smoke and rubble.

Outside, the situation was no better. People were running aimlessly, searching for their friends, family, comrades, without success. Tamlin guided you through them all, relentless. And in the distance, you could see Lucien, his gaze fixed on both of you, waiting.

Finally, your mind managed to catch up with everything.

"Tamlin, wait," you said. But he didn't hear you, not over the chaos around you.

You planted your feet firmly on the ground and pulled back to stop him.

"Wait--stop."

Tamlin sent you a confused look.

"What are you doing? We have to go. Now."

He tried to drag you again, but you planted your feet even harder, shaking your head.

"No."

Your brother snapped his head towards you, hand still encircling your wrist in the soft hold.

"What do you mean, no? We can't stay here! They are going to—"

"I mean that I'm not going back with you, Tamlin."

He stopped talking, opening his mouth one too many times until he closed it again. The hand on your wrist fell to the side.

"What…what are you implying?" His voice sounded small, almost like a lost child in a big, empty world.

You took a deep breath, because this was it, wasn't it? The moment that had been brewing for so long, without either of you being fully aware of it. You were terrified, and you were pretty sure that a part of you would always doubt whether you were doing the right thing, but even beneath all that, there was certainty.

So you forced yourself to keep talking, even knowing that this would finally break your brother.

"I can't go back with you. Not to Spring Court. Not again."

He looked at you with big, wide eyes. You still felt sore from your fall after the explosion, and around you, the world was plunged into absolute chaos. People were running past you, bumping your shoulders in their hurried exits and making you momentarily lose your balance. But neither of you seemed to care. Not now.

"Is it because of what happened here?" He gestured widely, and you took advantage of that moment to really look at him. His blond hair was tangled and disheveled. The dark circles that now permanently covered his eyes. The weariness that never seemed to leave his bones. Looking at him tasted like goodbye, and it was a strange feeling to miss someone even though they were still right in front of you.

"Because I didn't want any of this to happen. I...I just wanted to help. I never meant to--"

"To hurt me. I know." You finished for him. "I know you never want to hurt anyone, Tamlin, but you did. You hurt me."

A sound, like a wounded animal that you'd never heard from your brother before, echoed in your ears. He lowered his head as if you were the one who had inflicted all those wounds on his body, and the little resolve you had managed to build crumbled in an instant.

You ran to him, and with your hands full of cuts and scratches, you took his head, forcing him to look at you.

"I'm horrible," he muttered, still resisting your gaze.

And you quickly shook your head. "Hey, no, no, Tam. You...You are not horrible, okay? You are not--Please, Tam, look at me."

And he did. His eyes were covered in mist, and you had to gather all your resolve not to backtrack on your decision.

"You are not horrible. I don't hate you, I don't even blame you. I just-- "

"But you wanna leave too," he interrupted.

You shook your head again, ignoring the pain in your skull. "No. No. I would never leave you, you hear me? Never. You will always be my brother, and nothing is going to change that. Ever."

He let out a shaky breath.

"Then why?"

You looked down and let your hands fall to his shoulders. Now it was you who couldn't bear to look at him.

"Because I'm not happy, Tam, and I think I haven't been in a long time." You finally said, and the words loosened the knot you'd felt inside you for so long. "It's not just because of you, it's not even about anything specific, but-"

Your breath hitched, and thick tears fell from your waterline. Cauldron, you had promised yourself you wouldn't cry, but it seemed this conversation was never going to be easy.

"I need to get some space. From everything. To—To clear my head and think for a bit. And I'm sorry I chose this exact moment to tell you, but I really can't take it anymore. You understand, right? Please, tell me you understand."

For a long moment, all you could hear were the cries of pain from the people around you. Smell the metallic scent of blood that lingered in the air.

You were convinced he wasn't going to say anything else. That he was angry with you and that your relationship was beyond repair, until a huge hand encircled yours and lifted it almost gently, like when you were children.

"You really need this? To get away from me? From the court?" he asked.

You just stared at him.

"To be happy, I mean," he clarified. There was no judgment in his tone, no fury. Just softness and the echoes of the boy he once was.

You nodded, smiling faintly. "Yes, Tam. I really do."

He looked at your joined hands for a second, as if he, too, were saying goodbye.

And then a thought crossed his mind.

"But I can't leave you here. You are hurt and--"

"Tam," you interrupted, fondness in your tone. "I'll be okay. Really."

"Right. Fine."

And he hugged you. He held you so tightly you couldn't breathe, but his hold no longer felt suffocating. Even amidst all the grime that enveloped you both, you could still detect the scent of lilies and forest in the background.

The smell of home.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. And I will get better, I promise."

Your laughter was muffled by his chest.

"I know. I know you will. And I'm sorry too."

Goodbyes were never silent, but noisy and chaotic, and it seemed yours always ended in apologies.

When he let go, he left quickly, as if he stayed even for one more second, he would undo his decision. And when his figure--that familiar figure that had been by your side during all your life--disappeared into the sea of people, you let out a sob and fell to your knees.

And you cried. Cauldron, you cried so much, so harshly, that you could barely take a breath of fresh air. You cried because, for the first time, your brother had let you choose completely, even though it devastated him. And you cried because he had done it now, of all moments.

You mourned him, but above all, you mourned yourself. Because you were leaving behind everything you once hated, but also loved. Because, for the first time, you were being selfish, and it felt as painful as it was liberating.

You didn't even notice when the bond, the one you had momentarily forgotten, and that was constantly pushing against your chest, began to cry out at Azriel's proximity. You didn't hear his calls, and you barely felt the touch of his hands closing around your cheeks. You didn't notice the trembling of his fingers, nor did you stop to wonder how he had found you so quickly amidst all the chaos, or how he had been able to move toward you with his terrible injuries.

"Y/N, hey, what--" He looked at you, over your body, trying to search for any fatal injury. "For the love of-- you are hurt."

You weren't able to explain to him that you weren't crying from battle wounds, but from very different ones.

"Hey, hey. It's okay. I'm here." When you didn't calm down, he tightened his grip on your cheek. "Wheres hyour brother? Did he leave you alone? Did he...?--"

"I left," you said. The words were barely intelligible, and they came out between hiccups and tears. But he understood you, just as he had all those years before.

Time moved strangely after that.

He seemed to make a decision, because suddenly he was scooping you up in his arms, ignoring his own hurt, and moving with difficulty and grunts, through the chaos until he found the rest of your family. No one seemed too surprised at the sight of you.

And without you even realizing it, in the blink of an eye, you were all being transported through black smoke to what you would later know to be the Night Court.

You never imagined that the freedom you had longed for so much would feel so bittersweet.

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