Romance, Requests, And Redirection

#12

The awnings, at least, offered some reprieve from the sweltering heat of the city and the ruthless, unrelenting sun that beat down on them day after day. 

masterlist

Inner Battles

AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: This is mostly how my depression feels to me, or how I feel on my worst days. It’s not going to be an accurate description of depression in general, and you may not relate to some things. Please be considerate when commenting/giving feedback.

Includes Azriel being a dick. Little bit of angst? Comfort at the end.

Summary: OC Valea is battling depression when training with Azriel. She is one of Azriel’s new spy recruits but is recovering from serious depression. She normally doesn't like being pushed too hard and Azriel knows that but he still does one day in training. She runs away, absolutely exhausted because she’s already been having a bad week. She considers quitting and invites Adira, who is working in Autumn. He comes to visit Valea and finds Adira, and they have an argument until Azriel apologizes. 

Word Count: 3372

Sweat ran down her brow, and she felt absolutely exhausted. The bright sun beat down on her, unrelenting and ruthless, and she felt dizzy, as if she’d start swaying any minute now. Her vision was beginning to cloud at the edges, and her punches had been getting lousier and lousier each passing minute. She paused, panting, and hunched over with her hands on her knees. “Please,” she panted. “I need a break.”

Valea hardly ever asked for breaks and usually pushed through. The determined one, they called her. 

“No.” Azriel, was stubborn. He wouldn’t let her off the hook unless she’d completed fifty repetitions, of which she’d barely managed to do twenty without her body giving out. “Thirty more, and besides, you still have your core exercises to do.”

Either he was oblivious to the pain she was feeling right now, or he simply didn’t want to understand how bad it was. “Come on, you’ve been like this all week. You have to keep pushing through the pain if you want to get better, you know.”

She nodded, her head swimming with the movement, and momentarily shut her eyes, trying to block out the light and the clanking sounds of the other priestesses sparring with swords and daggers.

How he hadn’t seen the dark bags under her eyes yet was a miracle, seeing as they covered quite literally half her face. The signs of exhaustion were all there, had always been there, but that was how it was with Azriel. He never noticed, no matter what she did to try to get him to. It was ironic, seeing as he was the Court’s Spymaster.

“I need a break,” she repeated for what seemed like the hundredth time during the day’s training session. “And I said no,” Azriel retorted. “Not until you get through all your drills.”

“I can’t,” she snarled in desperation and promptly stormed out. Or at least tried to. 

Swift as an asp, Azriel winnowed in front of her, blocking the only entrance into the House of Wind. And there he stood, as immovable as a brick wall, with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Why won’t you train?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to-” she tried defending herself.

“It sure as hell seems like that to me,” he cut in. 

“I swear, I’m not trying to skip-”

“Really? Is that why you’ve been missing training these past couple of weeks, on and off? You know you’re getting weaker? Training, if you could even call it that at this point,” he scoffed, “is absolutely useless unless you’re willing to put the effort in. Which you’re not,” he observed, wrinkling his nose in obvious distaste. “I have no use for apprentices who don’t want to be the absolute best.”

But she was done. She was tired, and bone-dead exhausted, right up to the point where even standing up straight and holding a conversation was too taxing. Not bothering to give him an explanation, she left, slowly making her way down to her chambers.

She didn’t care how pathetic she looked, but if she was in that training ring for another minute, she’d have collapsed. And Azriel wasn’t listening to her.

✦ ✦ ✦

Finally, she made it to her room, barely even managing to lock the door, and collapsed on the bed. She hadn’t even bothered to change out of her leathers.

When she awoke, she felt better, though only slightly. The exhaustion had ebbed away to some degree, but her mind still felt like it had been trampled by a horde of horses. Slowly making her way out of bed, she managed to get a glass of water to drink, and took her medicine, downing two pills in one go. She’d been told not to take more than one at once, but right now, she needed all the help she could get.

Before she went back to bed, she decided to write a note.

Adira, I need you.

She winnowed it away with half a thought, awaiting her friend’s response. 

An hour or so later, Adira appeared, winnowing right outside her door, and knocked. Their signature knock. Valea waved a hand, mustering what little power she could, and the door swung open of its own accord. Immediately, Adira was rushing for her, amber eyes examining her for any fatal injuries. “I’m fine,” she tried telling the healer, but when Adira was finally satisfied and found nothing amiss, at least physically, she looked at her face. “What’s wrong?” she asked softly, and knelt down so they’d be at eye level.

“Bad day,” she managed to mumble, and Adira nodded consolingly, though not pitifully. She knew Valea had received enough pity to last her a lifetime, and didn’t need any more. She supposed that was what she liked about Adira; the fact that she treated her like a person rather than some sort of wounded freak or helpless animal that couldn’t do anything on its own. 

“Do you want me to stay here?”

“Yes please,” Valea answered softly.

“And what about your medicine? Have you taken your pills or do you want me to go bring you a new bottle if you’re out?”

She felt so immensely thankful, even her in sleepy and exhausted state, to have someone like Adira she could rely on. 

“I’ve taken them, so I should be feeling better soon.”

“That’s good to know,” Adira replied. 

As Valea fell silent again, Adira asked quietly, “Did something trigger it?” Valea could only manage to nod, not wanting to say what had happened out loud. Adira must have sensed that though, because she asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

She shook her head no again, and so Adira asked, “Do you want to talk about something else?”

“Yes. Tell me what’s been going on with you,” she prompted.

And so her friend obliged her. They spent the next hour or so simply talking, Adira having winnowed in her knitting from whatever pocket realm she kept everything in. They talked about everything and nothing: how the latest autumn equinox had gone and how the markets were faring, who had gotten the most drunk last weekend, all while Adira knitted another one of her obnoxious scarves that Valea was too polite to tell her looked downright hideous.

Without realizing it, Valea started feeling much better. As Adira was making to leave, her hand on the doorknob, Valea called out, “Wait.” Half-turning, she turned to look back at her friend. “I think…I think I want to tell you what happened.” She merely nodded and made her way back to the bed where Valea was propped up with pillows.

And so it all came rushing out. How Azriel had pushed her to the point of exhaustion, both mentally and physically, even when he knew what was going on, the battles she fought every day. Not with another person, but with herself. Her mind. Those battles that no one but her saw, no one but her endured, day by day, as she fought tooth and nail to recover from the gaping pit she’d been cast into.

Adira sat through it all, never balking, never faltering. She only looked at her with a grim understanding. After all, she had gone through something similar as well, and who better to talk to than someone who knew her inner turmoil?

Just as they were finishing up, they heard a knock on the door. Knock-knock. A sharp one, as though the person knocking seemed to be in a sour mood, if the clipped and short nature of those knocks was any indication.

They looked at each other, and Adira merely said, “Your choice,” before Valea nodded. Adira got up out of the covers, making to open the door, and froze.

“What is it?” Valea called. Adira merely stepped aside to reveal Azriel in the doorway, his wings tucked in tight. He was holding a bouquet of flowers in his hands, as though that would fix anything.

They all stared at each other for a moment, not quite sure what to do, until Valea realized they were waiting for her permission. “Come in,” she managed to get out, her voice quieter and more subdued than normal.

Adira stepped aside, giving Azriel a look that promised nothing short of death as he entered her room. 

Whatever apology Azriel had been thinking of giving her, however, seemed to be cut short when he truly glimpsed who was with her. The bouquet was half-crushed in his hands, knuckles tightening. Not taking his eyes off her for one moment, he asked Valea, “What’s she doing here.” Then again, it seemed to be more of a clipped demand than a question, but Valea wasn’t in the mood to argue with anyone right now, least of all Azriel.

“I’m here to help her.” A non-answer that Adira gave, sparing Valea from actually using her brain to formulate some sort of coherent answer.

“Clearly,” he bit out.

“What, exactly, is your problem with me being here?” Adira inquired, raising a brow. Though she was a good five inches shorter than him, Adira still radiated with power. 

“My problem is that she’s fine, and you’re coddling her. She just needs to get back in the training ring and she’ll be okay.”

“I think we’ll leave Valea to decide what’s best for her.”

“I thought that would help too, until she started skipping training on purpose. She’s been doing it for the past three weeks. If she’s going to get better, this sort of lazy attitude just won’t slide,” he drawled.

“I dare you,” Adira said, her voice going far lower than it normally did. “I dare you to say that one more time and see what becomes of you, Shadowsinger.” Azriel, however, brushed her threat off like it was nothing. “Honestly, if you think that every little thing she says is true, then you’re far more gullible than I thought.”

“You stupid overgrown bat. You really don’t understand, do you?”

“What is there to understand? She hasn’t been coming to training, and she’s faking being sick. Keeps saying she’s tired. I say it’s a good thing she’s tired, because that means she’s working her body. I honestly don’t know why she keeps complaining. She seems fine to me.”

Valea fought the horror uncoiling in her gut at Azriel’s brash statements. Did he really think she was faking this because she had nothing better to do? Did he think she wanted to be in bed, exhausted and drained on her best days, and unable function on her worst?

“So you keep insisting. But have you actually considered stopping and letting some other thoughts other than the ones fed through your thick skull hundreds of years ago actually enter your mind?” Adira’s voice cut through her thoughts, snapping her back to the present.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he barked out, clearly not in the mood for games. Good. Neither was Adira, from the looks of it and how her eyes glittered with ice-cold malice.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she sneered.

She finally broke her gaze from Azriel to look at Valea. Can I tell him? Valea gave the briefest shake of her head in response. Not yet. Adira merely nodded, blinking, and turned back to Azriel.

“What the hell are those looks you keep giving each other?” Azriel challenged.

“Shouldn’t your darling shadows know?” Ignoring her statement, he repeated, “Why hasn’t she been coming to training lately?”

“I suggest you ask her before you grill me.” He turned on Valea, and suddenly, she couldn’t look at him anymore. How was she to tell him that every passing day had become increasingly difficult to get through? That every day she didn’t do something productive she hated herself even more? That she couldn’t fall asleep at night because she was so damn terrified of her future, her past, and everything in between? 

He noticed her silence, and gave her a once-over. “Ah, you’ve finally run out of excuses, then?” She leaned her head back, and it hit the headboard lightly. She really didn’t have the energy for this anymore. She needed to rest, and be alone. Away from him, from everyone that made her feel worse about herself. 

“Tell me, Azriel,” Adira cut in once more, likely sensing Valea’s aversion to the winged male at the current moment. “What sick pleasure do you get from bothering your apprentices that have taken ill?”

“She’s not sick,” he bit out. “She looks fine to me.”

“Have you ever considered that there might be illnesses other than those that affect someone physically?”

“There are none like that,” he deadpanned.

“And what would you know? Last I checked I was the healer, not you.”

He rolled his eyes, and huffed. “Now I remember why I don’t talk to you anymore. Your bitchy attitude and you constantly pulling rank.” Clearly, Azriel knew exactly what to say to piss Adira off, and her expression turned vile, nearly feral, as she hissed, “Don’t make this about yourself. As much as I know you’re all conceited, arrogant bastards, you do not have the right to make this about me.” “Like hell I don’t,” he retorted. “You disappeared after a minor argument, and Rhys apologized. It’s honestly ridiculous how headstrong and dramatic you can be.”

“He nearly killed me you absolute fucking bastard! He nearly killed me, and pushed me against a wall as I fought to keep conscious.” She heaved a breath, clearly overwhelmed, before she continued in a softer voice, but not any less powerful. “I tried to ask you for help, you know. I kept begging you, even as Rhys was bashing my head in. I begged you and Cassian both as I fought. But you didn’t do anything. And I suppose that was enough for me to realize that you didn’t care about me. Not really. It was my skills you were after. You and your Inner Circle didn’t give a shit about me so long as I helped you with whatever sadistic agenda you had planned. I was supposed to answer every beck and call, every order that Rhys gave without question, because he was our High Lord. I called bullshit. You refused. And so I left.”

Azriel’s hazel eyes were blown wide at Adira’s confessions, and he stood speechless. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way,” Adira continued, turning away from him and dismissing him entirely; as though nothing had happened. “I believe you had something to say to Valea.”

“I’ve got nothing to say to her other than the fact that she’s lazy and needs to come to training or I’ll drag her sorry ass out of here.”

A sharp, cold thread of something like fear sluiced down Valea’s spine. He didn’t actually think to drag her out of her chambers. Did he?

Adira, thankfully, picked up on the subtle shift in her demeanour. “Not if I can help it.” Without waiting for a response, she continued, “Do you want to take this outside?” Her gaze flicked to the door, then to Valea, who nodded in confirmation.

“No.” Azriel’s voice was an ultimatum. “I wasn’t asking,” said Adira, her voice dropping as well. 

They stared each other down for a moment before Adira finally relented, breaking the growing tension that had begun to seep into the room. 

Azriel, to his misfortune, began speaking again, this time facing Valea. “You have the luxury to sit here in bed and claim you’re sick. It was something I certainly never had. I never-”

“I don’t care,” Valea interrupted, her voice soft as she spoke. Soft, but no less powerful. She may as well have shouted across the room. 

Azriel’s expression darkened, and a frown crept up on his already bitter expression. “I don’t care,” she repeated, a little louder this time. “It doesn’t matter that you didn’t have access to all the resources I have at my disposal. It doesn’t matter that you never experienced something like this. What does matter is that you believe me when I tell you that something is wrong, that I need help, or that I can’t do something. I trust that you know my physical abilities, Azriel. What I ask of you is this: trust me to know my own mental capabilities, to know what I can handle and what I can’t.”

Her gaze flicked over to Adira’s, whose eyes glowed with something remarkably similar to pride. “Do you want to know what I feel? What I felt today and how I feel most days?”

Azriel, damn him, only rolled his eyes and gestured for her to continue in a way that made her bristle. Adira, too, from the looks of it, seeing as a muscle quivered in her jaw. Thankfully, she managed to hold back whatever barbed comment she was about to make, and raised an eyebrow at her friend. Should I show him?

Valea nodded, a determination in her eyes. Adira paused for a moment before her eyes went glassy along with Azriel’s. She must be showing him what went through her mind every day. 

Moments passed as Valea grew all the more nervous. Would this be enough?

Finally, after what felt like an eternity but in reality had only been a few minutes, Azriel’s eyes widened in surprise, clear as day. He staggered back a step as he caught his breath. He must have slammed back into his own body after experiencing Valea’s…episodes. 

“What the hell,” he panted, “was that?” His face was deathly pale, lips bloodless and wan. He barely made it to the bed, clutching onto the wooden post as though it were a lifeline before he nearly collapsed onto the mattress.

An odd sort of satisfaction passed over Valea, even though she knew it was wrong to feel that way. 

“What I go through most days,” she said, waving a hand dismissively and pointedly avoiding his gaze. “I didn’t…” he started, then trailed off. Azriel took a deep breath and tried again. “I didn’t think it was this bad.”

Valea felt Adira practically vibrating with the need to say something, though to her credit, she kept quiet.

Instead, Valea merely hummed in acknowledgement. Not an outright approval or sympathetic gesture, but not a coldhearted one either. 

Azriel swallowed, and tucked his hands behind his back as he placed the bouquet on her bedside table. “I’m sorry.” Adira scoffed. “Surely you can do better than that?” He glared at her, but thankfully didn’t say anything as he continued, actually making eye contact with her this time, “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were feeling this way. I’ll do my best to listen to you from now on. If-” A crease furrowed over his brow. “If you’ll still have me as your trainer, that is.”

“Don’t be stupid,” muttered Valea. “Yes, I still want you to train me. On the condition that you’ll let me rest if I need to, and that I can call in a break when I feel like I’m going to be sick.”

Azriel nodded, a solemn agreement. Adira, ever the vigilant guard, seemed to think it wasn’t enough. “Say it.” “What?”

“Say the words,” she confirmed. “I need you to know you’ll actually listen to her and that this won’t be some sort of agreement you’ll make just to appease her. Or me, for that matter.”

Azriel only scoffed in response. “You want me to make a bargain for this?” Adira only raised her brow, as if daring him to challenge her after what he’d seen today. Hazel bore into amber, and he eventually relented. “Yes,” he said. “I accept.”

Valea snapped back her hand immediately from where it lay over the covers as a withering rose the size of her forearm appeared on her left arm. After examining hers thoroughly, she found herself looking at Azriel’s. His seemed to be embedded into his Illyrian tattoos and felt almost…natural, she thought to herself. It would be impossible for someone to know that he’d gotten this tattoo years after getting his Illyrian markings.

Azriel, who’d finished ogling his, only got up, and gave Valea a small smile. “I’ll see you at training tomorrow.” 

A/N: Idk the ending seems kinda bad?

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Letters of Desperation - Neris

Part 1 - Nesta | Part 7 - Eris | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 499

Beloved Nesta,

I could not help but chuckle at your attempt at writing a poem about me. I cannot decide if I should be flattered or offended. Though, seeing as it is my wife who has written about me, perhaps flattered would be the wiser choice. I must say, it was quite an attempt. You truly have managed to capture the essence of Eris Vanserra in your eight lines of poetry, though I’m not sure I agree with the part about your broken heart.

You are not broken, Nesta. Not a single part of you is broken. Some parts might hurt, they might be bruised or painful. But you are not a broken doll in need of mending. You have never been. If the world chooses to paint you as that, it does not matter. We can both be painted as the villains in their stories, while we are the heroes in ours.

On a lighter note, I’d never have pinned you down as a romantic writing poems by firelight, certainly not that day in Dawn at the High Lords’ meeting, when it seemed like you were the one holding Court, despite your being Emissary. I’d never have known your growing, infernal love for literature had you not been living in Autumn. With me. Beside me. My equal, who will never be downtrodden or treated as a breeding mare. 

Whatever my father may say, Nesta, whatever garbage he may spew, it does not matter. I care not if it is treason to speak against my own father like this, my High Lord. But you must realise, he has never been a father to me. Not truly. He has been absent all my life, as I was handed off to midwife after midwife, none willing to care for me should they face the wrath of Beron Vanserra.

He has been like this for as long as I can remember. But the worst part about him is perhaps how he treats the ladies of this Court. You have witnessed it firsthand, Nesta, how they are seen as nothing but the dirt on the bottom of his polished boots; sometimes even less, depending on how foul his mood is that particular day. It is an ever-changing line, that I somehow always manage to toe. 

But enough about that bastard. Even hell does not deserve him, let alone the pages of my notebook. For the sake of brevity, Nesta, I want you to know that no matter what he says, you will always be loved and respected by me and by the people of this Court. I will not tolerate any disrespect against my wife. Anyone who says a word against you will find that I can be every bit as cruel and cunning as my father. I know you do not relish in violence the way I was brought up to. But I simply cannot, and will not, tolerate a word said against my radiant wife. 

Avec l’amour plus le pur,

Eris

Part 8 - Eris

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

#152

A/N: Inspired by this Tumblr post

Even as the wax from a fire I myself have set drips onto me, even as a faraway, more aware version of me, one that is not apathetic nor selfish feels it and cries out in agony, begging the pain to stop, I cannot bring myself to care. I stand there, unmoving and unblinking, frozen in time, a perfect, porcelain replica of myself.

What is this body but a vessel to carry ourselves? So what if it bears scars? Perhaps they will be a memory, a physical manifestation of my sorrow, a way to remember that what I suffered has not been for nothing, that there has been a reason to all the agony I have gone through, that the sleepless nights and burned bridges mean something, that they have lead to something worthwhile. Let not this fire be for naught, for this flame has begun to become my solace, my own way of repenting for my countless sins. If it will offer me temporary reprieve against the storm of emotions constantly enveloping me, swarming around me like bees only I can see, buzzing and irritating and overwhelming, something that threatens to drown me more and more each day, then it is worth it. To feel nothing is far preferable than to feel too much, then to realise with heartbreaking clarity, once the rose-coloured glasses have been pried off, that there is no one that feels as much or as deeply as I do. It is both a blessing and a curse, I have been told, to feel so much and so profoundly, all at once (though lately it has been feeling more like a curse). If there is, or was anyone who experienced anything remotely similar, then they have certainly never shown themselves to me, preferring, perhaps, to hide away as I have (as a coward) and so I must resign myself to thinking that I am alone in my agony, this thing that makes my charred, maimed heart bleed, this thing that reopens old wounds even as new scars form on the broken, dying muscle. I wonder how much more it will survive before it gives up, before the steady thumps of my heartbeat quiet to a murmur, then stop altogether.

I would pity the thing if I did not feel such immense amounts of regret regarding my own poorly made decisions that I cannot breathe every time I think of my wrongdoings, of the mistakes that have cost me lives a hundred times better than the one I am currently living. I cannot stop my mind from conjuring up theories and speculations of the deepest sort, of pondering over what could have been and what I wish, selfishly and despite it all (as if I stil deserve anything good in the world) in the depths of the night, when all is too quiet and I am left to the mercy of my own thoughts, a victim of the darkness and everything evil. It seems that everything unsavoury and unfavourable only seems to take root at night, and yet, ironically, it is the only time when I feel as if there are no expectations on me, save for those iron manacles I have set upon myself that I cannot seem to take off. I am bound by them every night, I put them on willingly, then weep after I cast away the key, wishing, waiting, naively, that all is not lost and that the world is not such a horrible place after all. But people like me are what make this paradise so unpalatable.

And so I set myself on fire every night, a purifying, cleansing gesture in its own morally reprehensible way, a way to rid myself of all the wrong that hangs around me like a shroud, this guillotine, this butcher’s block which I feel will strike down on me as I walk on eggshells. Bloodshed will rain down upon me the minute I misstep or misspeak, I fear, and so I do not act, nor do I speak, for fear of this metaphorical death encases me, it solidifies into a chrysalis the more I refuse to move, covering me in its deceptively sweet scent. The regret of inaction has long since overtaken me but I cannot bring myself to care (like multiple areas of my life). This glass ceiling which I am trapped underneath, which I cannot seem to break despite all my futile attempts; a way to burn those iron manacles off so that the metal can be forged into something useful rather than a vile product of my guilt, something which has been welded from a noble intention rather than the disgusting, eternally blameworthy and forever erring self’s wishes to be forgotten and to turn back time. After all, God hardly listens to his followers. What difference will it make if a sinner kneels and begins to pray in shattered knees, hands coated in blood that is everyone’s but their own? 

These attempts to free myself of this construct grow weaker, day by day, and I am not sure there will be very much left by the end, save for something that bears my name and looks, that resembles me physically. But I do not know this person, I do not know who they are or why they have taken root in my soul, why they cannot leave, why I cannot banish them so that I may have some semblance of control over my life, so that I am not governed by something other, so that I have a fighting chance, no matter how brief or slim, at whatever this life has become, whatever my sins have sculpted it into.

masterlist

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

#98

My descent into madness is ethereal. The spiralling and spinning and whirling disorienting me, and yet as my eyes lock with yours, I am grounded in a love that is all-consuming and overwhelming, and yet not enough. I need more, crave more, even as my heart threatens to stop simply because of the thought of you. 

How it is so, I do not understand. All I know is that you are on my mind no matter what I do. my descent into madness revolves around you. I did not know that going insane could be so sinful and yet full of delight. Filled with joy and yet madness, wildness and grandeur and everything in between, all at once. My mind and emotions are in a turmoil, one so chaotic and tangled that it will not untangle itself even long after my death.

My ruination is ethereal, made even more so by the thought of you.

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Drunken Ecstasy

Part 1 | Part 3 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: I’m sick and I wanted to write something fluffy but I also didn’t wanna start a new fic (also I haven’t read over this at all, apologies for anything that sounds weird. Just pretend the typos don't exist)

Word Count: 2072

The sounds of the kitchen filled Azriel’s heart with delight. The exhaust whirring, the whisk clanking rhythmically against the bowl he now held in his hand. To be able to enjoy a calm, peaceful morning with Gwyn was something he never thought he’d get to experience.

Right now, she was fast asleep in their bed. Azriel, having woken, as usual, at the crack of dawn, had decided to get up and make her breakfast. It was the least she deserved. And besides, cooking was something he’d always enjoyed. He normally didn’t have time for it, but he was more than ready to make time to cook something if it meant that Gwyn got a fresh, warm breakfast served in bed. He couldn’t wait to see the smile light up her face as he brought her a tray of all her favourite foods.

As he poured the eggs on the pan with a satisfying sizzle, he sighed in contentment. The curtains were blown wide open, revealing open, cloudless skies that looked to be the perfect weather for flying, or simply taking a stroll through the city. Indeed, he could already hear the faint murmuring of voices in the Palaces of Velaris down below, the people spread out through the City of Starlight like an ever-shifting mosaic full of light and colour. It made his heart bloom, watching upon his city, his people like this. It was rare Azriel ever got calm mornings like this, but when he did, he made sure to relish them in all their glory. 

With a jolt, he realised he’d left the eggs on the stove. His inner ramblings cut short, he hurried to check on them. Everything had to be perfect. 

✦ ✦ ✦

The soft click of the door roused Gwyn from her slumber. Blearily opening an eye, she glanced up to see Azriel entering her room with a tray loaded full of food. Her sleep-addled brain couldn’t register anything right now. “Az?” she mumbled, her voice slightly husky with disuse throughout the night. “Good morning, love,” came his answer as he set the tray on the table beside her. 

Even as he tried to look away from her ethereal face, he couldn’t. Copper hair tousled with sleep and flowing down her back in waves and her freckles alight, she looked like the sun personified. Day would suit her beautifully. 

Her cheeks were tinged pink from the warmth, and she looked so…happy. It thawed Azriel’s heart to know that was satisfied; content.

Slowly, she rose, stretching her arms above her head like a cat.

“How long have I been out for?” she asked, blinking. Azriel only smiled, a faint, lovely thing of such exquisite beauty it made Gwyn’s heart light up. “Half the day.”

Horror filled her, and she straightened immediately. “What?” He only laughed at that. “Calm down. It’s a Saturday. No training, no chores, no going to the Library. Just a day for you. For us.”

“For us,” she said softly. “I never thought-” she sighed. “I didn’t think I’d get to say that with anyone.”

Leaving his vigil by the tray, he came closer and enveloped Gwyn in a hug that smelled of cedarwood and something that reminded her of a night-chilled mist. She reciprocated immediately, arms going around his waist as he burrowed her head further into his midsection.

They stayed like that for a while, until Gwyn broke the hug, looking up at him, even as her hands were still wound tightly round his waist. “Come sit with me?” she asked quietly, quiet adoration filtering through her words. He only hummed in response, obliging, and let go of Gwyn long enough to climb into bed and sit up against the headboard. Without a word, he enveloped them in the half-warm covers, as his wing came up to settle around Gwyn. As if her body were made for it, she leaned her head on Azriel’s shoulder.

The sun streamed in through the half-open curtains and making his wings glow with an iridescence only the sunlight could bring. Indeed, the room, too, was glowing with the sunlight, as it reflected off a mirror and set small shards and fractals of the morning light scattering around the room.

Nearby, Azriel’s shadows danced lazily, weaving in and out of each other as if they were part of a orchestra only they were privy to. Shimmering in a way that reminded her of a calm, quiet, darkness, she watched them with fascination. Not once had she been scared of them. Awed. Yes, that was what she’d been. Intrigued by the odd beings that seemed to be as much a part of Azriel as he was of them. A kind, loving, male.

A man of actions, Gwyn had realised early on. Making her breakfast, spending the night with her…it was his way of showing love. She’d never had a need for honeyed words and poetry anyways. So long as she had someone by her side, she’d be content. 

“Gwyn,” he said softly, breaking the quiet, tentative silence. “I think we should…” He clared his throat. “You know, about last night.” She’d been dreading this. This conversation, that would make or break whatever odd sort of purgatory they’d been in. She’d lose him at the end of this, she knew it. Whatever drunken confessions they’d both made to each other last night didn’t mean anything now that they were sober. How naive could she be, believing the first drunken, half-hearted confession she’d heard?

“Yes. We should,” came her reply, with a bite to it she had not intended. If Azriel noticed, eh did not let on, but instead ploughed on. “We’re mates,” he said quietly, as if he could not believe it himself. 

Gwyn had suspected as much for a while, but had promptly decided to keep her mouth shut. No matter what, she was not entitled to Azriel, and he had no moral obligation to be with her. “Yes, we are.”

“You have nothing more to say?” She could tell Azriel wasn’t quite sure how to handle this…situation. Well then, that made two of them. 

“I…” I love you. I’ve loved you from a distance ever since that day in Sangravah. Those hazel eyes, that stunning face, and you quick, dry wit…I’ve been in love with you the moment you stepped into my life. I couldn’t get you out of my head for months. I still can’t. You were all I dreamed about, all that played in my head. But I can’t tell you this. Any of it. You’ll realise just how much of a psychopath I am, and then you won’t want me. You probably don’t even want me now. This was a mistake, she thought to herself, chastising and scolding. A great, big, stupid, grand mistake. If you hadn’t let your lust get the better of you for, like, two seconds you wouldn’t be in here right now.

She could see how much her histaton was hurting Azriel, could see the worry in his eyes, clear as day.

“Are you disappointed?” she asked quietly, refusing to make eye contact with him. “That I’m your mate?”

“No. Gwyn, never. I could never be disappointed.” Even without looking at him, she could tell it was a blatant lie. How noble of him, to let her down so gracefully. But she was past that. She was burning as she fell, deeper and deeper into the ever-growing void that were his hazel and caramel eyes. 

“You don’t have to lie, you know,” she murmured. “I can take it.”

“I’m not-” his voice cracked. “I swear I’m not lying to you.”

“Really?” she asked, not believing him at all.

“Yes,” he said simply. “Why would I lie about something like this?”

“It’s not that-,” she said hastily. “It’s just that…well, I didn’t think anyone would be interested in me like that.” With each word, her voice grew softer, and she looked down at her hands, still tucked in the warmth of the blanket. At Azriel’s lack of response, she shuffled away from him, curling up with the blanket over her herself. Before Gwyn could get too deep into her own head, Azriel stopped her with a light hand on her wrist. 

“Gwyn,” he said softly. No reply. “Gwyn,” he tried again. “Please look at me.” 

If it weren’t for his Fae hearing, he would have missed the slight sniffle that Gwyn had tried to conceal. 

Realising she wouldn’t get up now that she was crying, Azriel lay down with her instead, tangling his legs with hers and draping a muscled, tattooed arm around her waist. His wing followed suit, and he tucked her into his side. “Gwyn, love,” he started. “I know that it feels like I don’t want the bond, and I can only imagine the devastation you must be feeling. So let me make one thing very clear: I want you as my mate. I want you, Gwyn. However long it takes for you, I am willing to wait for you. It’s worth it. You are worth the wait, Gwyn, and I’ll go at whatever pace you want me to.”

He felt Gwyn shudder as fresh sobs wracked her body anew. Lightly stroking a hand through her hair, Azriel pressed a kiss to the side of her neck. “I’m here with you. Whatever you want to do, I’m here with you, and I’ll support your decision.”

“Even if it means that we won’t be mated?” came her soft, near indiscernible reply. At her words, Azriel’s heart gave a lurch, but he managed to keep his voice steady, if only for her sake. “Yes.” No matter how much he was hurting, it was Gwyn’s decision in the end. 

“Well, too bad. It looks like you’re going to be stuck with me for the rest of your immortal existence.” It took Azriel a minute for the words to fully sink in, but when they did, he stiffened. “You’re sure?” he whispered, his eyes blown wide with shock and awe. To think that Gwyn, wonderful, radiant, stunning Gwyn wanted to spend her life with him was a dream come true. More than a dream. It felt like paradise, and Azriel nearly pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t actually dreaming. 

“Yes, Azriel. The only reason I hadn’t made any advances was because I didn’t want to put..whatever our relationship was at stake and sacrifice it for some girlish crush I had. I didn’t think you reciprocated my feelings. You were only ever professional in the training ring, and I didn’t want you to get the wrong message. Besides, you’d never shown any real interest in me until last night and, well-” She cut herself off, taking a deep breath. “Well, I didn’t want to come off as desperate.”

Azriel’s mind was reeling. He’d been utterly professional with her because he thought she couldn’t stand another male’s touch after what had transpired in Sangravah. In reality, he’d have taken her in the ring itself if she’d-

“Can you face me, love?” he asked instead. Nodding, she turned, and placed a hand on his heart as she looked up at him. “I love you,” she whispered. Azriel only pulled her in, wrapping his arms even tighter around her as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I love you too, my little Valkyrie.”

You know,” Gwyn started. “If we’ve decided that we want to be mates…maybe we should seal the bond.”

“You’re sure?” She only hummed in response, leaning over Azriel to get a piece of fresh bacon that he’d grilled. “Open,” she murmured, and Azriel had never thought a simple strip of bacon could taste so delicious. Closing his eyes, he chewed, and let the flavours wash over his tongue in a perfect symphony. 

Azriel did the same, instead feeding Gwyn a bite of a sausage. “I think I’m ready,” she said softly. “To, you know, actually be in a relationship.”

“Yeah?” he asked tentatively, a small smile playing on his lips as he looked into her eyes. Such crystalline, perfect eyes, full of depth and curiosity and longing. To know that he’d have her by his side for all eternity was nothing short of bliss. “Yeah,” she echoed, tears lining her own eyes.

At her words, his eyes hazel eyes darkened, glowing with mirth, as he leaned forward to whisper, “Well, then, Priestess, it looks like we’re going for round two.”

Part 4

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

#136 - Kontrapuntal Dikt #5 (Contrapuntal Poem #5)

A/N: This poem is in Swedish for an assignment that I worked on. It includes my analysis of the poem (also in Swedish). It's based on a poem called "Den enda stunden" ("The only moment") by Johan Ludvig Runeberg.

Analys (Analysis)

Att första kolumnen är med “du” och den andra är med “jag” symboliserar att jaget sätter alltid personen hen älskar först istället för sig själv, och hur detta skapar en relation som är toxisk och inte bra för varken person. 

Att ha “en dag förflyter” på “du”:ets sida symboliserar att för den personen har det bara gått en dag, det vill säga inte väldigt mycket tid. Personen är inte ledsen att relationen har tagit slut, medan när det gäller jaget har det gått ett helt år och hen har inte kommit överens att relationen har tagit slut. 

Det skapas också en sorts kontrast mellan de sista två raderna, där jaget säger att “du” et är både välbekant men också som att jaget inte känner hen. Detta symboliserar att jaget har känt personen väl när de hade en bra relation, men nu har den fastnat, när den vet om hur du et var men inte hur den är nu. 

Alliterationen som jag har med “v” ljudet hjälper att skapa en mer flytande känsla eftersom v är en ganska mjuk konsonant. 

“Du obekante” och “du välbekante” har jag väljt att ha med eftersom det är både en del av den originala dikten fast det visar två olika personers åsikter när man skriver en kontrapuntal dikt. 

Första linjen, med att personen ser jaget “ute och handlar” symboliserar att allt i deras relation verkar normalt även om det inte är så, eftersom att gå ut och handlar är en ganska vanlig sak som man brukar göra. Men det kan också symbolisera hur en relation kan ha sina egna traditioner och ritualer som man brukar göra med den andra, och hur traditionerna bryts när man växer isär med någon. 

Nästsista raden när du:et frågar “vem är du” symboliserar att hen har redan glömt bort relationen och att den inte betyder väldigt mycket för hen, medan “jag känner dig inte”, det som jaget säger, betyder att hen vill lära känna du:et även om det inte finns någon relation. 

Att du:et är aningslöst om vad det var som gick fel medan jaget spekulerar att det var hens “fina, vassa klor” kan också signifiera att du:et brydde sig inte så mycket om relationen eller kanske könde inte sin partner såväl att veta vilka handlingar gjorde jaget ledsen. Att jaget spekulerar betyder att hen vill försöka laga relationen även om det dödar jaget.

Användningen av pronomen “jag” gör så att det blir enklare för läsaren att känna sig mer kopplad känslomässigt till dikten, och kanske tänka om sina egna erfarenheter med någon som beter sig så. 

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

#9

How many nameless and faceless people must bleed, and suffer, and die before you realise, Prince, that you too bleed scarlet? How many are you willing to butcher without a second thought?

The time has come, fool, for the nobility to step aside. For if it does not, it shall be crushed under the weight of this world. This new world. A world forged and born and remade by the dreamers, the inventors, the artists, and the peacemakers. A world where we might live in harmony, where we are not killed, maimed, or slaughtered simply for who we are. A world where the law is just and kind, and treats its citizens with fairness and justice.

And you, Prince, you and your filthy, rotting, corrupted court shall fester in the depths of hell, your corpses rotting for all eternity, while we thrive in a lovely, rich, and just world.

You will gaze up at us and beg, as we have begged you now for centuries, to be allowed in, to be allowed to experience an ounce of the luxury we will revel in day after day.

And yet we will refuse. We will laugh, and mock, and ridicule, as we have been subject to our entire lives, and neither you nor your people's souls will get a shred of peace or rest, for we will make sure to torture your souls so thoroughly that our stories will be spoken around fires at night, or told to your grandchildren and kin forevermore as myths, and legends.

They will fear our kin, as we have feared yours.

For it is time our stories were told and heard. Not only by the likes of you, but our own people too.

The time has come, Prince, to change the world.

masterlist

A Court of Shadows & Healing

Part 1 | Part 7 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: Special thanks to thevelvetgoddess on AO3 for all her support (for this story and emotional support, I wouldn’t have been able to get through shit without her). This chapter was also written with her in mind :)

Word Count: 1296

Azriel hadn’t had the guts to go up to Adira’s office and apologise for his shitty behaviour that morning. What would he say anyway? I’m sorry I’ve been acting like an ungrateful Illyrian brat lately and keep throwing temper tantrums like a child. Now that that’s out of the way, do you think you could train me? The words sounded infinitely stupid, even in his hed.

After an evening of sulking and generally feeling quite sorry for himself, he decided to at least come out of his room and explore the house. Adira had promised him a tour, but that was to be unlikely, considering she most likely hated his guts at the moment. She’d never said anything about not exploring the house on his own or avoiding certain rooms, so Azriel took it as an invitation to look around, trying to see if he found anything useful, or at the very least, interesting, on the floor where he resided.

Taking the first left, he found himself in a small library of sorts, with bookshelves lined along one wall and a pale table of a wood he couldn’t name, large enough to seat around twenty people in the centre. This had to be some sort of meeting room, then. Adira must have frequented it too, since the bookshelves and table were immaculately polished; not a speck of dust to be found anywhere.

He spent a good ten minutes there, examining, wandering, prodding and generally trying to find anything that would tell him about what sort of person Adira was. He wasn’t trying to spy on her, he told his conscience, he just wanted to get to know her better. She’d never given any information up about herself, but then again, Azriel had never asked. Deciding this room wasn’t to prove of any more interest to him, he left, lightly shutting the heavy wooden door behind him.

Azriel spent the better part of the morning exploring the different rooms. So far, he’d come across a dining room, pantry, and storage room, all of which did little to pique his curiosity.

At least until he went into the final room in that hallway. As soon as he stepped in, he saw odd contraptions of all kinds stacked up against the wall. Trying to take in as much as he could, one thought sparked in his brain. Was he allowed in here? He’d grown up being shooed away from things he wasn’t supposed to be doing or looking at, and naturally that made him more conscious than it was wise for an eleven-year-old to be.

There was one mechanism though, that seemed to catch his attention almost immediately. Large, sleek, and utterly massive, it looked like something extraordinary, waiting to be explored. 

Against his better judgement, Azriel took a couple of steps further inside. Adira would have placed wards or some sort of protection if it was a room I wasn’t supposed to go into, he grumbled to his mind.

Upon further inspection, Azriel realized, the contraption had a lid. Slowly lifting it with trembling hands, he let it rest at the back of the contraption with a soft thud. Hundreds of alternating black and white keys stood lined up, and he resisted the urge to press one of them. Instead, he satisfied himself with sinking down onto the stool that accompanied the behemoth in front of him and simply observing.

When he couldn’t take it anymore, he gingerly lifted a finger, and pressed softly on a white key. The machine emitted a sudden noise, causing him to jump. He lifted his finger immediately, and it stopped. What was it? It didn’t seem to serve any purpose otherthan to simply exist and make noises whenever a key was pressed. He couldn’t understand why she’d have something like this in her house anyways.

He simply sat, observing, and thinking, until the sun shone through the large windows that lined one wall of the room.

“Sneaking around?” Adira’s voice caught him off-guard, and he jumped, slamming the odd keys with such vigour that the horrible noise echoed all around the chamber. She cringed, and said, “I hope that’s not how you’ve been treating this while you’ve been here.”

“No,” answered Azriel, still recovering from the shock and immediately retracting his hands lest he cause any more damage. “Today is actually the first day I’ve been here. I…didn’t really have the energy to explore the house before today.” She cracked a small smile. “I’m just joking. I do hope you’re enjoying yourself, though.” He didn’t quite know what to say. He had no idea what the strange contraption was, only that it made sounds once certain keys were pressed. “I mean, I don’t really know what it is.” She grinned properly at that, a wide, proper one, full of mischief and eagerness. “Well then, let me introduce you to the wonderful and simply immense world of music.”

Adira took a seat beside him on the stool, her cream sweater and navy pants swishing with the movement. Ever so carefully, she placed a hand on the white keys, and began to play.

✦ ✦ ✦

While Azriel had only managed to make noises from the contraption, Adira crafted melodies out of thin air.

Her hands flew over the instrument like birds, singing, curving, arcing. It was such wondrous music, music he’d never heard before, and yet his soul told him he had. There was a familiarity to be found in it, he supposed, and his heart reveled in it, soaring and flying over the highest peaks. The music managed to evoke emotions in him he didn’t realized he had; feelings he didn’t know the name of.

The sharp, crisp notes melded together with the softer, lighter ones in an aria that seemed to describe everything and nothing, the beginning and the end all at once. Swirling, gliding, and prancing through the room as if it were elegance itself.

He didn’t think a hundred centuries of practice could get him anywhere near to replicating music of this sort.

But none of that mattered: all that was important now was that the music never stopped. He was sure that if it stopped, so would his heart. He didn’t know when the music had taken such an iron grip on his mind, his heart; his very soul, but he didn’t care.

He didn’t know how long he sat there with Adira: simply indulging in the music as it if it was wine and he was parched and drunk, as if he couldn’t get enough of it. He knew then he never would. Music was a sort of drug, he supposed. One so lethal and yet so alluring it was impossible to resist.

All at once, the music halted, and Azriel was wrenched from his daze, his daydream shattered like a mirage on a lake. He looked up at Adira then, and asked hoarsely, his voice overcome with emotion, “Why did you stop?”

“My hand was cramping. I haven’t been practicing as much as I wanted to.” Azriel started. What did she mean she hadn’t practiced? It was the most ethereal music he’d ever heard.

Looking at the shift in Azriel’s expression, she chuckled lightly. “It may not seem that way to you, but to a trained musical ear, it would have been all too easy to point my mistakes out. As many as they were,” she added disapprovingly, as if disappointed in herself.

“I want to learn,” Azriel blurted out. “Teach me. About this instrument. Everything there is to know: how to play it; all of it.” Even he wasn’t quite sure where the words came out of.

Adira simply looked at him for a moment. Considering. Weighing. Until finally, she uttered a singular word.

A/N: I tried to describe a piano and Azriel hearing music for the first time here (emphasis on TRIED, don’t come at me, okay?) but I don’t think it turned out well at all. Please tell me if there’s something you’d like me to fix or if the descriptions don’t make sense!

Part 8

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

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