Fem Oc - Blog Posts

Here I leave some old drawings that I made but the first image is a new one that I made I hope you like the first one

2024

The other drawings

2021,2022,2023,

I was inspired to make this oc with the Gwen Transformation character from Ben 10. I hope you like them.

Drawings when I was bored I hope you like it

Image made by picrew for me to later draw it, I loved the result and you 🌻🪻

Picrew me

My style 🪻

I hope you like this drawing ☕🪻

My PC's relationship with the characters of the Lego Monkie Kid series, only that MK, Mei Red treats them as if they were his children or younger brothers. And pigsy and Tang are like his best friends, plus I love that ship

My oc for lego monkie kid I hope you like it 💙🌱❄️

After doing fist exercise, feisty mom, my oc lazuri ❤️‍🩹🩵

My Neon Genesis Evangelion oc and my story I hope you like them

She just admires the beauty of the stars a lot and imagines being in them when she dies

A Court of Shadows & Healing

Part 1 | Part 11 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: I made sure to make this one a little special, seeing as autumn is here. I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 2610

“How long this time?” he asked and opened his eyes to the cerulean sky overhead, squinting at the sunlight now piercing daggers through his eyes. “Four minutes.” 

Azriel visibly slumped at that, and Adira pocketed the watch she’d been timing him with.

“You’re getting better,” she assured him for what felt like the millionth time today. “I know,” he grumbled. “But it doesn’t seem to be helping, does it?”

“The more you practice the easier it will get. And besides, progress at these kinds of skills is difficult to measure. We won’t know if you’re improving or not until at least a couple of months.”

“It’s already been a couple of months.”

Indeed, Azriel had spent the whole autumn here, and had watched the city shift from a warm, tropical town to one that had begun to exhibit it magnificent autumn foliage, with coloured leaves that glimmered and shone like jewels in the sunlight. That certainly hadn’t stopped the city from being any less lively, though. In fact, it was quite the opposite: the citizens had seemed to be preparing for some sort of festival or celebration, the energy more vibrant and buzzing with life.

The servants had been preparing these last few days, too. Pumpkins of all shapes, sizes, and colours were being hauled away, presumably to be carved, and lights being strung up for the long winter ahead. His Fae eyesight helped him see, even from here, that children gathered hordes of crimson and amber coloured leaves, jumping up and down on large piles they’d managed to gather. It warmed his heart, to know that there were children here who were happy; who could enjoy life and their childhood. Who hadn’t spent years being locked up in their father’s cells simply because of hatred.

Shaking his head, he tried his best to clear his thoughts and made to get up. “I honestly don’t think I can train for any longer.”  She brushed off his complaint with a wave of her hand. “Nonsense. You’re doing wonderfully.”  He very much doubted that, but decided to keep his mouth shut. “We’ve been going at it since eight in the morning. Please.” The clock had struck over half past nine a few moments ago, and he was tired. “Once more and then you can go down.” He groaned at that, and sat back down. “I heard that,” she hummed. “And just for that, you’re getting an extra five minutes.” Azriel made sure to keep his groan strictly internal at that. 

✦ ✦ ✦

Those ghastly mind-stilling exercises were only the beginning of the training Adira made him do. They made him unusually tired, and asking her about it seemed…Azriel didn’t let himself finish that thought. What would it mean for him if he couldn’t do what Adira had asked of him? He didn’t know, mostly because he hadn’t failed at anything, and so he didn’t know if Adira would be mad at him. 

“Focus.” Her sharp voice cut through the haze of his thoughts and he blinked, trying to clear his messy thoughts away. “Sorry,” he mumbled, and glanced back down at his hands placed over the piano, the scars making them seem uglier and more vivid in the mid-morning light. “Saying it doesn’t mean anything. I won’t be convinced until I see at least some improvement.”

Adira had begun to be harsher on him these past couple of weeks, crticizing his piano playing skills more firmly than he would have liked. They’d moved on to the more intermediate skills now, including basic chord progressions. He knew she wasn’t doing it to hurt him, he knew she’d never do something like that willingly. And yet it did. He was trying, after all. He was just…overwhelmed. Yes, that seemed to be a good word for what he was feeling right now.

“Adira,” he started, his voice softer than what was normal, even for him. She merely hummed, encouraging him to continue. “I’ve been feeling slightly overwhelmed lately.” She turned fully to him at that. “Is there any reason why?”

How was he to tell her that it was because she was pushing him too hard?

Adira understood though, even through his silence, and her expression softened immediately. “Cauldron, it’s been me, hasn’t it? Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize-” She took a breath, cutting herself off. “I’ll make some changes to our training plan. We’ll do one thing at a time, if that sounds alright?”

He nodded. He could feel a stress lifting itself off his shoulders even when he hadn’t said anything. It was enough that Adira understood. He felt lighter, and sat up straighter. “I’d like to keep the piano lessons though, no matter what.” 

“Of course. Is there anything you want to keep? Or something you have a moral aversion to?”

“Mind-stilling,” he grumbled. She let out a laugh at that. “Alright. We’ll reduce the times of your mind-stilling. But we’re not getting rid of it.”

He rolled his eyes. Of course she wouldn’t. 

“I would actually like to start with something though. Something new.” 

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, aren’t you the teacher? Shouldn’t you know?” She laughed at that. “Very well, you had me there. We won’t be able to start with something new though. Not right now.”

Azriel couldn’t help that his face fell. Adira noticed, and rushed to console him. “We will start with something new, I promise you, but I mean that something’s come up and I won’t be here for the next couple of days.”

He knew Adira travelled, but she’d never travelled while he was at the house. Anxiety pooled in his gut; sour and constant, the feeling unwelcome. 

“It won’t be for long, just until the celebrations are over.” He decided to change topic just then, and asked instead, “What kind of celebrations?”

Her eyes sparkled with mischief and knowing. “You’ll see.”

✦ ✦ ✦

There was so much merriment and commotion Azriel wished he had about five more pairs of eyes. Bundled up in a warm coat, scarf, and gloves, they walked through the centre of town, though his winter gear still let some of the chill in. He shivered once more, and shoved his gloved hands deeper into his pockets. 

She’d dragged his ass out here right after lunch, after he’d spent the morning practically moping around seeing as Adira wasn’t here. She’d left early nearly a week ago, long before dawn, and he hadn’t had the chance to even talk to her before she’s left for wherever it was she needed to go.

He’d had nothing better to do this past week, and so he’d decided to sit trying to play the piano. It had been harder without her seeing as she wasn’t there to coach him through his warm-ups. It wasn’t his piano playing that was suffering, but rather the state of his hands, even if he didn’t want to admit it out loud. No, he’d rather drink a bottle of acid before his ego would let anyone admit that they tended to become stiff with the cold, and the skin cracked, making his scars all the more painful.

Thankfully though, she was here in this evening, and had insisted that they step out to spend some time together. Not wanting to disappoint her, Azriel had relented, and decided that he was going to keep as close to her as he could. 

He thanked himself for that decision later, as the crowds in the streets were simply ridiculous. He didn’t think this many people lived on the continent, let alone this city. Although Windhaven was relatively large as compared to the villages in Illyria, it was still small, with only a population of a couple of hundred. It drove him mad, to know that there were this many people who could afford to live in this glittering jewel of a city.

“Everyone is allowed here,” she’d explained to him as they walked the length of the now crowded and bustling street. “For one night, no matter who you are, the doors of the city are open to anyone and everyone. Each person, resident or otherwise, is allowed to come here and sell whatever it is they want to sell, or buy as many trinkets as one can possibly carry.” He’d nodded, and then asked her, “By ‘otherwise’, do you mean the people from just outside the city?”

“Oh, Cauldron no,” she’d said. “When we say everyone, we mean everyone. All the folk from the countryside and people from other lands than ours are invited too. When we celebrate, Azriel,” she’d said, a hint of mischief in her caramel eyes, “We really celebrate.”

He supposed the celebrating involved immense amounts of liquor, and he wanted to be home before the drinking and debauchery truly started. He was sure that despite this being the continent, there were still immense amounts of drunkards hulking around the city at night, especially on an occasion like this, and every passing moment caused him more anxiety. He had always assumed that the city was relatively safe, but who knew what it became like after nightfall? He’d always grown up to be wary of his surroundings, and the training that had been drilled into him didn’t suddenly leave his body as he came to the continent.

He tore his eyes away from Adira, instead looking at the mountains in the distance. They loomed in the background, and he saw the snow coating the tip of it too, snow that was there all year round, no matter the weather.

“Adira,” he asked, tugging on her navy coat sleeve when she didn’t respond. She leaned down to hear him, and he asked, “How come the climate here is so different all year round?” He’d only every lived in Illyria, not counting the years in his father’s keep. He didn’t know much about how warm it could really get, seeing as the North of the Night Court was known to be brutally cold and unforgiving, local or no. 

“Since the mountains are to the North but we’re still surrounded by oceans, it makes sense that the weather fluctuates so. I suppose we’ve got the best of both worlds.”

As the meandered through the winding streets decorated with faelights, Azriel couldn’t help but fall in love with the city even more. It was even more stunning up close, and now that he’d truly experienced it he didn’t think he wanted to leave. He had half a mind to ask Adira why she didn’t have a house in the city rather than have to winnow at least a couple of miles to get to centre o the city.

Realizing Adira had halted and he could barely see her, he stopped too. 

“Honestly, it’s absolutely ridiculous,” she was saying to a faerie dressed in all black as he made his way back to her side.

“I know,” he replied, his accent thick in a way he hadn’t heard before. Chalking it up to how those on the continent must talk, he ignored it, and instead moved closer to Adira’s side.

As Adira stood talking to her friend (or acquaintance, he couldn’t tell,) his eyes wandered over to a nearby stall. A stall of weapons. Daggers, swords, maces, bows and arrows and at least a hundred other weapons he didn’t recognize sat on proud display as the man behind the stall sat in a chair and dozed. With a hat pulled over his face and the man sprawled out over his wicker chair, Azriel was seriously contemplating whether or not to go. 

It was almost like he was drawn to the dagger then, the blade newly sharpened and lethal in its own ethereal and charming way. It enticed him, to know there were weapons so carefully crafted and made around the world.

He knew it was far too big for him, and that there was no way he’d be able to properly wield the dagger unless she taught him. But that didn’t stop him from wanting it.

However, Azriel made up his mind, and as he made to approach the male, he seemed to sense him, somehow, and woke immediately, stirring before taking the hat off.

“Buenos,” he mumbled, his voice still slurry, either with the nap he was taking or with the alcohol he’d likely been drinking last night. 

“Hi,” he said, his voice quiet and uncertain, suddenly feeling insecure. Why was he here? He certainly couldn’t afford to buy any of these handcrafted weapons.

“Do you want it?” a soft voice asked from behind him. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly-” he started. “Nonsense.” She waved him off with a hand, and instead faced the man, talking rapidly in a language he didn’t understand. He must have realized Azriel didn’t speak it though, as he looked at him and said in a thick accent, “Three hundred gold.”

His eyes nearly popped out of his skull. He’d never even seen three hundred gold marks in his life, and this man was so casually asking for it.

Adira however, seemed unphased as she said coolly, “One.”

“No madam no, is very…how you say, hard to make. Very good quality, promise.”

“Yes, I know that,” she said stiffly, “But surely it can’t cost three hundred?”

“Expensive metal,” he merely said, and crossed his arms over his chest as he awaited her response.

“You’re not even going to bargain?” she asked. The man merely hummed, looking up in confusion. Adira switched language, and it seemed as if they were arguing as she finally let out a clipped sigh, the air around her puffing like a white cloud, and said, “Fine,” before rolling her eyes.

“How much?” he asked her immediately. “Never you mind,” she said, albeit a with a little more bite than was necessary.

“But I do mind,” he insisted. “If you’re going to buy it for me, which you really don’t need to, then I need to know how much it’s for.”

She turned then, and glanced down at him as she remarked, “I’m covering all your expenses. Food, clothing, shelter. Why would you possibly need to know how much it costs?”

He started at that. “Well if you’ve been paying for everything, then surely I’m expected to pay you back.”

Her expression softened at that, and she looked as if she might pull him into a hug. Instead, she said, “I gave you all of this because your living condition in Illyria wasn’t healthy. To demand that you pay me back when I provided for you at your time of need is simply cruel. I would never.”

It was Azriel that pulled Adira into a bone-crushing hug then, and she crouched down to hug him better. As she stroked a warm hand over his hair and whispered, “Hey,” it only made him sob harder. “Thank you,” he managed to get out before another round of sobs overtook him. No one had ever bought him anything that was solely his. Adira held him through it all, soothing and consoling him, ever a steady presence.

But that didn’t sit right with Azriel as they made the trek up to the house. “What are you thinking about?” Adira asked as she realized he’d fallen behind in his own world of thought. “Nothing,” he mumbled. She smiled at that. “You’re sure?” 

“Yes.”

“Very well then,” she said, a little too coolly, almost as if she knew that he was, in fact, thinking of something. 

He lay awake that night, glancing up at the stars. And as his mind kept drifting to his dagger, he decided on a name for it. His new companion.

Truth-Teller.

A/N: I really wanted to write lore for how Azirel got his favourite dagger. What better way than to get Adira to buy it for him? It just seemed right yk?

Part 12

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

A Court of Shadows & Healing

Part 1 | Part 10 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: Chapter includes descriptions of injury and blood (very little though, it doesn’t get descriptive)

Word Count: 2783

Sweat dripped down Azriel’s body, doing absolutely nothing against the bitter wind of the Illyrian mountains. He had shed his jacket at some point during his training, Rhys following suit not long after. Their shirts had long since been soaked through, and his fingers had turned numb, skin on the verge of cracking from the frost. As they circled each other, Rhys’ eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to decipher his next move. Azriel only grinned, and rolled his neck, trying to loosen his muscles. 

Rhys made the first move. Lunging, he tried to get Azriel with a blow to the side. Merely ducking nimbly out of his way, Azriel retaliated with a hook to his left flank. Rhys blocked it, and Azriel was forced to spin to avoid getting a fist to the stomach.

And so their training continued. Spinning, twisting, dodging, neither seemed to show signs of exhaustion, even as their official lessons neared an end. Azirel’s resolve was beginning to crack, and he was trying his best not to let it show. Just as he was about to call it quits and ask Rhys to call it a draw, pride be damned, Rhys managed to disarm him.

One moment, Rhys was in front of him, and the next, he lunged so abruptly that Azriel did not anticipate it. He was thrown onto the ground so quickly that the air was knocked from his lungs. As Rhysand hovered over him, his body reacted and he jerked violently. He didn’t quite know what happened in that moment, only that something dark struck Rhys in the stomach and he collapsed on the other side of the ring, coughing harshly. 

Azriel himself, however, seemed rather unharmed as he got up, his lungs screeching in protest, and made his why to his brother.

“Rhys-”

“Get my mother,” he rasped. Two large, violent gashes seemed to have appeared on his abdomen and Azriel’s stomach turned at the sight of it, at the sight of his torn shirt and the blood now seeping through it.

“But I can’t leave you-”

“Go.” Azriel sprinted to their cottage, as fast as his legs could carry him, and he could have sworn that he’d never run so fast before in his life. 

Not bothering with formalities, he rushed in, his cheeks flush from the cold and his breath panting. His hazel eyes were blown wide, and Rhys’ mother appeared from the kitchen. “What’s wrong? Why are you scared?” she asked, drying her hands on a rag. He supposed it would make sense she would smell the fear on him after he’d come barging into the house like a feral animal.

He barely managed to get the words out. “It’s Rhys. He’s hurt. I don’t know-”

“Take me.” She grabbed her healing kit, throwing on her threadbare coat and worn-out shoes. Just seeing the woman he had come to love as his mother in such clothes tugged at his heart, but they had bigger problems as of now.

He jogged along with Rhys’ mother until they came to the clearing where Rhys lay sprawled on the ground. Devlon, conveniently, was nowhere to be found. Bastard. There was, however, a crowd of onlookers by his brother, all murmuring and pointing at him as if he was an animal on exhibit. “Move, all of you.” His voice rang out, louder than he’d normally speak, but no one did. Not one person spared him a glance. It was only when one of the older Illyrians whose name he didn’t know called out, “Leave the boy alone. He’s injured.” Finally, people began dispersing, though it was clear most wanted to stick around, if only to see whether the High Lord’s heir would live or die. 

Azriel and Rhys’ mother made their way to Rhys. Crouching down, she began examining him. “Don’t you want to transfer him to a bed or something?” Azriel asked, and remained standing. He’d seen her work on enough patients to know that the first thing she did before even touching the wound was making sure they were in a sterile environment. “It’s too dangerous,” came her reply. Azriel didn’t want to think of what that meant for Rhysand.

✦ ✦ ✦

Curled up in the tattered sheets of his moth-eaten mattress on the floor, Azriel stared out at the night sky. Some dark part of him, deep, deep down, knew that it was his magic, his shadows that had attacked Rhysand. What would he have done if his brother had died today? Would he have been able to live with himself? He didn’t think so.

It was only when the first rays of the sun began creeping in through the cracked window, its buttery light casting a soft glow over the wooden floor, that he made his way down to the kitchen where he knew Rhys’ mother would be making them breakfast. “I’m sick,” he said, trying to make his voice sound extra raspy, and coughed a few times for good measure. He hoped it was believable. Her brow furrowed. “Sick? You were fine yesterday.”

“Yes, but I feel a fever coming on. I don’t know if I’ll be able to train today.”

“Go upstairs and rest then, I’ll make sure to send Cass or Rhys up with a cup of warm tea and porridge.”

“Thank you.” He felt bad, exploiting her kindness like that, but he couldn’t bear to be around Rhys right now. Not after what he’d done.

The afternoon passed by agonizingly slowly. Rhys’ mother kept him company the whole time as lay in bed, pretending to be ‘sick’. His guilt ate away at him, both for hurting his soul brother, and even more for taking time away from the chores that needed to be done. 

At long last, however, she hobbled down to the kitchen, telling him that she had to start preparing for dinner for when Cass and Rhys came home. “Will you be okay on your own until dinnertime?” she’d asked. He merely nodded, and let her go. As soon as she closed the door behind her, he hopped out of bed, and started writing.

Dear Adira,

I’m terribly sorry for running, but I need your help.

Squinting at the words he’d written, he scrawled another word on the slip of parchment before praying that she’d answer. 

Please.

“I feel better today, I think I can train.” 

Rhys’ mother had only narrowed her eyes at him, arms on hips. “You’ve barely just recovered. At least give it another day.” He refused, claiming he felt much better after a day of rest, and that he might have overreacted. Begrudgingly, she served him breakfast at the table with the others, and he did his best to avoid Rhys’ eyes. Cassian, mercifully, seemd to be the only normal one, clearly not picking up on the awkwardness of the situation. Azriel was sure he knew, but it was likely that he’d forgotten about it. As Azriel got up to make his way out, (Rhys was still healing as was sleeping on the bottom floor for his mother to keep a watch on him) he saw a piece of paper appear on the worn-out dining table before him, right where the porridge had been a moment ago. It was an effort to keep his face neutral as he read Adira’s response, and an even bigger effort not to rip the damn thing open.

Meet me by the main training ring at nine. 

∼ A

“Got a lover, brother?” Cassian teased. Azriel only blushed slightly, shaking his head, and pocketed the note. Cassian smirked at that, but decided to keep his mouth shut.

When he arrived at the training rings with Cassian, a couple minutes late because of Adira’s letter, he found her waiting by the main training ring, simply observing everyone. Far too many Illyrians tried to look at her, (or rather, certain parts of her, Azriel realized with no shortage of horror). Looks that Azriel could see, even from here, were far from friendly. Either Adira did not care or did not notice that the males were eyeing her like a piece of meat. 

“See you later.” Cassian clapped him on the shoulder and made his way to training ring five. 

Devlon had insisted that Cassian and Rhys train together, while he trained with the beginners. No matter that he was far from it, but Azriel never had the energy to argue with Devlon. It was enough that him and his brothers knew of his skills when it came to combat.

Merely nodding, Azriel watched Cassian leave, and made a beeline for Adira, nearly tripping over himself in the process. 

He barreled into her, and he could tell she was caught by surprise as she stumbled back a step. She recovered quickly, however, and a lithe hand caressed his head. He relaxed instantly, the adrenaline now wearing off. “Easy,” she whispered. “I’m here.” He let out a small sob at that, and burrowed his face deeper into Adira’s warm embrace.

He didn’t care who saw. They likely all knew that he was training with her anyway.

“You and I put on quite the show back there,” she smirked as they winnowed in to the house. The Lakeside Chateau, it was called, he remembered her telling him during one of their piano lessons. Gods, that felt a lifetime ago. 

“Adira, please. I’m really sorry. I need your help. My magic, it just-”

“I heard,” she cut in, a tad sharply. Sighing, she ran a hand through her hair and said more softly this time, “I heard.” 

“It was so scary. I didn’t know what happened. One minute I was fine and the next…” he trailed off, not quite knowing how to finish. One minute I felt fine and the next I’d thrown Rhys onto his ass with his guts near spilling out.

“I can only imagine how scary that was for you.” He only nodded mutely at that, not quite sure how to respond. “And I have a solution. I promise you, nothing like this is going to happen. At least not if you train your magic.” She fished in her robes, and pulled out a package. It was small, maybe a couple of inches. 

“Here, put these on.” She pulled back the paper from the package, and inside were two stones of the deepest cobalt, as if they’d been crafted from the oceans themselves. Siphons. He’d seen the older Illyrians, the ones who had gone through the Blood Rite, wear them, but for him to be getting them at such a young age… “Aren’t I too young for these?”

“It’s…complicated,” said Adira with a wince. “Normally you wouldn’t even get to touch a siphon until you passed the Blood Rite, but I’m sure you already know that.” He nodded his confirmation, and she continued. “The thing is, your power is growing very quickly. If we don’t find a way to harness it, there will be severe consequences. But before we start actually using them, how much do you know about siphons?”

“Not a lot,” he admitted sheepishly. No one had bothered explaining to a bastard-born Illyrian what siphons were or how they worked, and the little he knew of them was information he picked up from listening in to the older Illyrians’ conversations. Adira nodded, her brows pulling together. “I thought as much.” 

“I know that they’re used to control your power, and the more siphons you have the more powerful you are,” he said. 

“Very good. Think of them as…channels, shall we say, for your power. They help you hone and control it, helping it to flow more easily. Without your siphons you power would be…crude, to say the least,” she explained.

“You know, I’m honestly surprised not one person has tried to give you siphons. As shitty of a person as Devlon is, I thought he cared for his warriors.”

“They hate me,” he said flatly. “And besides, Devlon loves his warriors, not the low-born children like me that he thinks are pests.”

“Low-born you may be, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t Illyrian. If not Devlon then there must surely be one half-decent person willing to help you?”

“None,” he shook his head definitively.

“Well then, I suppose you’re stuck with me,” she joked, winking.

“Try them on,” she coaxed again, and placed holsters on the table in front of them. “Fasten these around your wrists, and place the siphons in them. “And they’ll fit?” he asked, still skeptical. “Yes. I had these siphons made for these specific holsters.” Swallowing back his nervousness, he fastened the holsters on his wrists. He tried not to let it show, how much these basic motor skills were hurting his hands, but if Adira noticed, she made no comment. Finally picking up the siphon, he examined it. It caught the sunlight streaming in through the windows, and made it glow from within, as if the siphons themselves were magic. He supposed they were. 

Placing the stone above the oval shaped crevice in the holster, he pressed. The siphon fit like a glove, fastening with a soft click. He repeated the movement once more for his other hand, until he had polished cobalt siphons gleaming in the light of day. Twisting his arms this way and that, he didn’t quite know what to make of them just yet.

“When do I start training with these?” he asked her, still not looking up from his newly adorned hands. 

“Whenever you want to.”

“Now?” She chuckled at that. “I always forget how eager children are. Yes, you can start now.”

She spirited them away to the training ring at the top of the house, not bothering with stairs, and said, “The first thing you need to remember is that you control your power. Not the other way around. Secondly, when your emotions get high, it’s easier for the power to break through and flow more naturally. To avoid that happening, it’s vital that we start with mindfulness exercises.”

“Mindfulness exercises?” he repeated. He’d never heard of these before. The ways of the continent truly were different from Prythian’s. 

“Yes. They include everything from breathing exercises to observing the thoughts that enter our minds to help us develop razor-sharp focus. This focus, this…concentration, it helps us regulate our emotions and avoid any unwanted outbursts. It’s essential, not only for being a good warrior and a successful athlete, but also to be a calm and rational person.”

“I’ll start off by showing you how to do these exercises, and soon enough you’ll be able to do them quite literally wherever and whenever you wish.” She took a seat on the edge of one of the training rings and crossed her legs. Azriel copied her, although still a tad bit unconvinced. 

“Now close your eyes, and focus on your breathing. Inhale for four counts, hold for four, and exhale for four. Focus only on each breath that goes in, and each breath that comes out. Nothing else.”

Not two seconds in and he could already feel his thoughts drifting. Gods, it was warm up here. And was that the screech of a seagull? He hoped that Adira couldn’t hear his stomach rumbling. This mindfulness exercises felt like eternity.

“I can feel your restlessness from here,” came Adira’s voice, laced with amusement. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled. He really was trying his best to focus, but the sounds around him…

It was as if all of his senses had been heightened considerably now that he had his eyes shut.

“It’s nothing to be sorry about. It’s a skill. And like any skill, you can develop this too. It takes practice, and loads of patience. I know it’s not easy, but you’ll get better.”

“How long, exactly does it take for someone to be able to properly meditate?” 

“It depends. For some who have done similar exercises in the past; weeks. Others; months.”

He started at that, his eyelids flying open, concentration be damned. “Months?” 

She laughed openly at that. “It all depends on how much you practice and how much you’re willing to improve.”

He reined in a sigh, and tried not to look too dejected at the fact that his next few months were to be filled with learning to breathe. 

A/N: I don’t know anything about mindfulness or meditation, I just went off what I know (don’t come at me please). If you have any tips or suggestions though, please comment!

Part 11

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

A Court of Shadows & Healing

Part 1 | Part 9 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 1622

Azriel woke, panting, his hazel eyes blown wide open. Sweat ran down his body, having soaked through his nightclothes and dampening the pristine sheets.

And yet everything seemed to be in order. The hills and fields gleamed as the moon illuminated the lands beyond, the stars an eternal witness to the everlasting beauty of the continent. 

Pulling the covers back, he stood on shaky legs and ran a hand down his face. Adira. He had to find Adira- tell her what had happened. A part of his mind told him he didn’t need Adira, that she wasn’t his mother for Cauldron’s sake. He’d dealt with nightmares like these for a long time. He didn’t need to be coddled. And yet he was sure it was something Adira would want to know about. She’d cared for him until now, and he was certain that involved his mental wellbeing too. After all, how was she to teach a student who woke with such horrifying nightmares that would make any sensible person practically heave their guts up?

Navigating the mansion at night seemed to prove far more challenging than he’d initially expected. All the hallways looked the same, with the same wallpaper, identically carved doors, and perpetually spotless flooring, and it wasn’t long before he realized he’d rounded what looked to be the same corner at least twice. 

He was lost. Truly and utterly lost in this labyrinth of a house, and he had no idea how to get back to his room, much less find Adira. Perhaps wandering the house at godforsaken hours wasn’t the best idea. He could tell her about his nightmare tomorrow during his lesson. 

Just as he made a left that he thought would get him back to where he started, he heard two familiar voices. Pressing his back to the wall to avoid being illuminated by the light overhead, he recognized one of the voices as Adira. The other sounded familiar, though she spoke just as smoothly. 

- “doesn’t know, and I don’t know what to do.” All thoughts of telling Adira about his nightmare eddied from his mind, a newfound focus on the conservation just a few steps away from him. 

“Obviously. Have you considered actually telling him?” This voice was colder, and yet smooth. Polished, as if they’d grown up around nobility, or at least adopted their ways of speech. She. It was a she, he noticed, the way her voice seemed to flow around Adira’s in the otherwise empty room.

“I did. He panicked. He fainted, for Cauldron’s sake. I won’t speak a word of it until I know for certain he’ll be okay with hearing it.”

Him. Who was this person they were speaking about? Did he, whoever he was, know?

“He fainted?” the voice scoffed. “Well then, that just proves he’s-”

“Do not,” warned Adira. “Finish that sentence.”

“Honestly, Adira. You’ve got to stop being so emotional. You’re treating him like your own-”

“Enough,” she bit out.”I’ve heard enough. If you cannot hold your tongue and show a lick of respect when it comes to him, then get out.”  Azriel had never heard her voice sound like that before, and even from outside the lounge he felt goosebumps rack his body at her tone. He felt sorry for whoever was sitting in that room, though he supposed the female must be used to that tone of voice if she sat there, unbothered.

Azriel didn’t want to get in the way of whomever Adira was livid at. He had no intention of being caught in the crossfire should she lash out at him, too. It had happened enough times at Windhaven for him to know that it was better to stay away from whoever was pissed and wait it out. Turning around, he managed to take a few paces, when he heard Adira call out, “I know you’re there, Azriel.”

His eyes widened, and he froze mid-step. Shit. She wasn’t supposed to know that he was listening in. Mentally, he prepared himself for whatever punishment was sure to follow. Adira didn’t seem like the type to whip him raw, and yet she radiated power. She might even get someone else to do it for her, seeing as how she practically bathed in riches. No, Adira wouldn’t want to get her hands dirty on something like this. 

Swallowing his fear, he inched forward into Adira’s lair.

“Perfect timing. Come, sit with us,” she said, waving him over, either not caring or not willing to bring up the fact that he had been eavesdropping on them a moment before. “Caoimhe was just about to leave, though I suppose it’s good she hasn’t.” Caoimhe sat across from Adira with her legs crossed, wearing what looked to be expensively made trousers and a sweater that practically screamed royalty. The jewellery she had chosen to accentuate her High Fae features didn’t go unnoticed by him either, and Azriel thought recognized her from a few days ago, when he’d seen her and another female training. 

Azriel didn’t miss the sharp look Adira gave her apprentice, as he stood there and admired the female who had been insulting him. Caoimhe looked as if she couldn’t care less, simply rolling her eyes. Their hierarchy must be completely different to that of Illyria, if the female could roll her eyes at Adira without having a limb chopped off.

“Now then, darling Caoimhe, do tell Azriel what you were saying before.” He didn’t miss the smile or the edge in her voice, both of which held none of the warmth she had shown him before. No, this facade was pure intimidation, and didn’t reach her eyes one bit.

Caoimhe shrugged, looking directly at his teacher. Without missing a beat, she said, “I was just saying that if the boy can’t handle his own shit, what’s he to do when Adira’s not around?” Not waiting for a response to her rhetorical question, she continued, “I supppose he’ll hide in that little den of his and piss his pants at the prospect of leaving his sanctuary, all coddled and perfect.”

The words found their mark as Azriel fought to hold back tears. He was used to profanities being hurled at him in Windhaven nearly every other day, and yet this one hurt. He’d thought he was in a safe space where he would be respected, and it was in that moment his hopes that had been so carefully crafted out of glass came shattering onto the ground.

Thankfully, Adira decided to cut in at that exact moment. “He’s just over a decade old, Caoimhe, cut him some slack.” Ignoring her completely, Caoimhe turned to Azriel.

“Are you mute? Cauldron, she’d told me you were pathetic, but it turns out you’re just a coward.” Not waiting for a response, she threw back the rest of whatever it was she’d been drinking, and strode out, the sound of her heels a hammer to his heart. 

As soon as she was out of earshot, Adira turned to Azriel, concern limning her eyes. She lay gentle hands on his shoulder, and whispered, “I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve that. What she said-” He pushed her arms away roughly. Thankfully, Adira didn’t try to hug him again, and simply sat there, worry written all over her face. But Azriel couldn’t deal with her now. He couldn’t deal with anyone now. He was going to be sick. 

“Take me home,” he said, his voice cold and foreign, even to himself. “Adira, take me home. Now.”

“Look, I know-” “No, you don’t,” he practically snarled, whipping his head towards her. “You don’t. I thought I’d be safe her, that I wouldn’t have to deal with people like that. You told me this was a safe space, Adira. You promised.” His voice broke on the last word, and the dam inside his heart broke completely. As the tears he’d been trying so desperately to hold back began to flow freely down his cheeks, he hissed, “I don’t ever want to come back here. And if you try to make me, I swear by the Mother I’ll rip you and your entire damned palace apart.”

For the first time, he saw Adira look…sad. He didn’t care though, not in that moment. Not as the trust he’d built up so carefully had come crashing down. All he cared about was going home to his brothers.

She didn’t object further though, as she took his hand, more tenderly than she’d ever done, and whisked him home.

He’d had no desire to go back to the continent since the incident with Caoimhe. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He had, if he was honest to himself those nights when sleep evaded him, but the thought seeing the vile female again made his stomach roil with nausea and anxiety, and all desire was magically quenched.

He missed the beauty of those lands; that much he could admit. The city, the ocean. The piano. His piano. His heart ached, if only for the peace that the citizens of Qardala seemed to take for granted.

It normally hurt too much to even think about the continent now, and he avoided remembering as much as he could lest he burst into tears. He’d been training more than ever, and he could sense Cassian’s and Rhys’ unspoken worry for him growing day by day as he pummeled whichever sorry ass Devlon paired him up with into the dirt. Mother help the idiots that crossed his path. Was it healthy, what he was doing? No. Was he still going to do it? Yes. It was better than allowing his emotions to catch up with him and leaving himself vulnerable in the den of wolves that was Illyria. 

So he continued. The days bled into weeks, until thoughts of Adira and the continent no longer plagued his every waking moment, and breathing became easier. 

She had not tried to contact him. He had not wanted her to.

Part 10

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

A Court of Shadows & Healing

Part 1 | Part 8 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 1833

“This is middle C,” said Adira, placing a neatly manicured thumb on the key. “It’s called that because it’s in the middle of the instrument.  Your right hand’s thumb goes here.” 

She had explained to him earlier this morning that the instrument he’d been losing his mind over was called a piano, and was quite popular on the continent.

“Now you try.” Gingerly, he lifted a finger and put it down on the piano, his movements far less elegant; his posture a mess. 

You’re not going to be amazing at this right now, she’d said. It’s your first time. You shouldn’t expect yourself to be a professional at something you’ve only started twenty minutes ago.

He’d nodded along, still not quite convinced. Back at Windhaven, it was either you were good at something immediately and got rewarded for it, or you were left in the dirt while everyone else around you slaughtered their way to the top.

He’d told her that much, and she’d hummed in response, her lips pursing slightly in distaste.

Shaking his thoughts off, he tried again, the sound clearer this time. “Better,” she said. “But you want to curve your finger more. That’s what will help you move your hand across the piano more smoothly, and make sure that you don’t hurt your fingers while you play.”

Pointing to the key on his right, she said, “Now try placing your index finger on the key beside it. That one’s called D.”

“So all the notes are named after the letters of the alphabet?” That seemed like an odd way to go about things, seeing as there were many more keys than twenty-six. 

“Yes. But they repeat themselves after they get to G, so we don’t run out of names for the keys. That’s something called an octave, but we’ll get to that later.”

“Would the next key be called E?” he couldn’t help but ask. Adira broke into a grin. “You’re a quick study.” He shrugged, and she continued, “Don’t worry about the other keys just yet, we’ll get to them later. For now, I want you to be comfortable playing these three white keys: C, D, and E. We’ll work through the rest when we get to it.”

✦ ✦ ✦

He missed his brothers, he realized as he sat down at his desk. It had been nice, he supposed, being able to spend some time alone without them, but he was starting to feel quite lonely without their boisterous nature. Cassian’s laughter, Rhys’ comments, and the moments they spent together in the evenings or after training made him long for them more than ever.

About half an hour later, he’d managed to write them a letter.

Hi Rhys (and Cassian, obviously),

It’s dreadfully boring here without you. I am learning loads though. The female who came to Windhaven said her name was Adira, and I’ve been training with her recently, working on ways to strengthen my muscles. It’s really different from what we do back at Windhaven. Oh, and you wouldn’t believe how large her house is. It’s practically a mansion, I don’t know how she finds her way around without a map. It’s got so many floors and fancy furniture, it’s absolutely ridiculous. She could probably pay for all of our expenses for a year and not make a single dent in her finances. She’s really kind though, she’s helped me a bunch.

Never mind me, how are you? How’s training? I hope Dove isn’t giving you a hard time. Have you started learning anything new? I’m going to suppose no, since all we’ve been doing since I arrived is hand-to-hand and the occasional spar.

I love you both. I really hope you haven’t pissed too many people off.

~ Your brother, Azriel

 And Rhys, say hello to your mother for me. Gods, I miss her cooking.

Every single letter that entered or left Windhaven was moderated and checked thoroughly, which was why they’d had to decide on code names to talk about people. Dove was their code name for Devlon. It was ironic on purpose: Devlon was anything but peaceful and full of harmony, the very things a dove represented. He would hate it if he found out what they’d been calling him; another reason they’d picked that particular name for him. They laughed every time they used it. It was defiance, he supposed. They couldn’t directly call Devlon out on his bullshit, but small things like this? This they could do without consequences.

Getting up and stretching like a cat, he folded the paper in half and decided he’d give it to Adira the next time he saw her. Surely if she was as powerful as she claimed then she could get a letter to Windhaven?

✦ ✦ ✦

He found Adira propped up on a couch on the top floor, a pile of documents beside her and a frown on her face as her eyes scanned the paper in her hands. A whole heap of what he took to be reports were scattered around the room, too.

Noting his presence, she looked up, and her frown gave way to a tight-lipped smile. “Hi.” She gestured for him to take a seat, then realized her mistake. “Actually, I don’t know how you’d sit down with the amount of papers I have practically littered all over this couch.” With a snap of her fingers, half the papers vanished, presumably into her office. “Those seemed important,” Azriel said neutrally. Actually, he had no clue as to what she’d been reading. “I’ll worry about them later,” came her reply as she waved a hand and set down the papers she’d been holding on the side table. “How can I help?”

Fishing the note out from his pocket, he gave it to her. “Could you send it to Windhaven? It’s a letter,” he added hastily as she didn’t comment. “Of course. To Rhysand and Cassian, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah. I just wanted to let them know I’m alright, and that I’m training here with you.” She smiled, albeit a bit sadly. “You’re entitled to your own thoughts and correspondences, you know. No on’es going to be checking them. Honestly, it’s really none of my business.”

He didn’t know how much he’d needed to hear those words until she’d said them. He’d grown up with the need to overexplain himself constantly, first in his father’s keep where he wasn’t believed no matter what he said, then at Windhaven with Devlon.

Adira must have scented his shift in emotions, because she steered the topic to less depressing subject. “What else did you need me for? I’m sure you didn’t climb a good four flights of stairs just to give me a letter.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“I…it’s something I’ve been wondering, actually.” Adira hummed, encouraging him to continue. “What, exactly, do you do when you don’t train me?”

“I take care of a lot of things,” she responded coolly, and Azriel knew he wouldn’t have gotten a straight answer out of her no matter what question he asked.

She continued this time, not leaving him on a cliffhanger. “I usually take care of the more serious or high-profile cases, patients that require special care or certain equipment that only we have.” 

“Who have you healed?”

She waved a hand nonchalantly. “Oh, thousands of people over the centuries. But I did help the High Lord of Autumn, and the Emperor of the East. I’ve healed Generals, Commanders, Valkyries, goodness, who haven’t I healed?” His eyes widened at that. High-profile indeed. He’d expected some lousy count or duke that she’d helped heal, but Adira was far more modest than she gave herself credit for, he decided. He wanted to tell her how talented she was and how much he admired her, but his speech, ever-eloquent, failed him. “Woah,” was all that came out, his mouth agape.

She gave him a couple of seconds, and when he didn’t exactly recover, she said, “I’m heading down for dinner. Would you like to join me?”

He hesitated for a moment before saying, “I…sure.” It wasn’t like he had anything better to do. Besides, he was probably expected to dine with her more often now that she was training him. The thought of putting on an appearance and fake smiles every meal from here on after made his stomach plummet, and he swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

“It’ll just be us,” she said. “As this is my private residence, no one is allowed in here unless I give them outright permission. Not even the students you saw this morning,” she added as Azriel made to open his mouth.

Feeling slightly more relieved, he followed her down the winding steps until he got to the dining room. 

Glass chandeliers with burning braziers filled the room with an warm, flickering glow. The walls framed stunning paintings of landscapes, and the furniture was so ornately carved Azriel couldn’t help but wondering which artisans worked in that wondrous city of hers to have crafted something so regal. 

“I thought you said you didn’t have a ceiling,” he asked as he inspected the fractals of light dancing over the walls.

“This dining room is slightly more…formal,” she said. “Recieving guests in an area that might well be a spa doesn’t bode well for negotiations, I’m afraid.” He supposed she was alluding to the room he’d first seen when he’d arrived. Indeed, it seemed far less daunting than the room he was currently in.

“Sit, sit,” she said breezily as he stood, slightly awkwardly too, he realized, as food appeared on the table. 

Dinner went fairly well, he supposed. He dined with Adira on what could only be considered a whole plethora of foods. Honeyed sweets and nuts, warm, spiced rice with the richest meats, and drinks that left bubbles in his mouth left him reeling. It so was unlike the food from Prythian, and yet he loved it as soon as he tasted it.

“How come I didn’t try this food before?” he asked as he chewed on a particularly sweet candied nut, his stomach sated and full. Adira finished chewing before she replied, wiping her mouth gently on the napkin beside her.

“I thought you’d be more comfortable with your own food. You’d already gone through so many changes in such a short amount of time that I didn’t think you’d want even that to change.” Azriel nodded, considering. Yes, he supposed, she was right. 

As Adira made to rise, he rose with her. “Thank you for dinner,” he said, giving her a tight-lipped smile. “No problem at all. Keep practicing on the piano. It’s yours for the time being. No one used it anyway,” she said as Azriel made a noise of protest. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

And so Azriel made his way to his chambers that night, more full and happy than he had felt in a long, long while.

A/N: This is a bit of a filler chapter, sorry if it’s a little boring

Part 9

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

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

A Court of Shadows & Healing

Part 1 | Part 6 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: This chapter was particularly hard to write because of all the descriptions so if something doesn’t make sense or you want me to add something please comment! I’ve read my own work so many times nothing makes sense anymore lol I’ll probably come back to it like a month later after realizing I made a stupid typo 💀

Word Count: 2729

The next morning was surprisingly sunny and warm, seeing as the past week had been fairly gloomy.

After Azriel had washed up and eaten breakfast, he heard a knock on his door. Could that be Adira? She certainly hadn’t bothered to knock last time, so that wasn’t likely.

He cracked the door open a fraction of an inch, but no one was waiting for him. Instead, a fresh set of training leathers had been left by his door, along with a note. Picking both up, he set the clothes on his bed and opened the slip of parchment. With elegant and angular writing scrawled on one side of the sheet, Azriel’s eyes drifted over the note: 

Walk straight along this corridor, up the stairs, and take the second left.

~Adira

P.S.

I hope you’re not scared of heights.

Scared of heights? Whatever the hell did that mean? 

Azriel had always done fairly well when it came to high places, but what exactly did Adira have planned for him? If she planned to throw him off a ledge, he’d have to tell her he couldn’t fly.

As much as he hated telling others about his inexperience and inability when it came to being airborne, he supposed he’d have to tell her one of these days. If he was to train with her like she had said, then it was surely inevitable.

Casting the note on the small table by his bedside, he changed into his new leathers. As he opened the door and started a brisk walk along the hallway, he couldn’t help his eyes drifting over the pale, opalescent marble floors and curtains of the lightest jade billowing on a light breeze. Surprisingly, it seemed to be deserted. Even as he ascended the stairs that would bring him to the training centre, he didn’t see or hear the signs of people at all. No footsteps, voices, nothing. Adira couldn’t be the only one living in this colossal house. 

Deciding to ask her about it when he managed to find his way to the training centre, he continued upwards and took the second left as she had instructed. 

The breath left his lungs as he turned to look at the sight before him. Quaint houses, bustling market squares, and lush gardens surrounded by fountains lay spread out over the rolling green hills, the sun illuminating them so they seemed to form a glittering blanket over the Earth. All of it was surrounded by a gleaming turquoise ocean that seemed to stretch on forever, the sun glinting over the water and making it shimmer a thousand different colours that Azriel didn’t know the names of; couldn’t know the names of, not even if he tried.

In the distance, he could just make out white shapes. Boats, he realized. Boats, both small and large, floated over the water like intricately crafted figurines, leaving ethereal ripples in their wake. A sign of life, prosperity, and wealth. Of success, and happiness. 

Azriel hadn’t realized how large the world was. He knew it was big, and that Fae, Lesser and High alike, inhabited quite a bit of it. And yet, looking at a city that size…truly looking, well, he might have just collapsed to his knees had he not been holding onto the railing, the cool metal biting into his fingers and turning his hands like that of a glacier, the stubborn cold seeping in, even with his gloves on.

“What do you think?” A soft voice asked from behind him, and Azriel seemed to awaken from a trance, his line of thought shattering like a carefully crafted mirage over a lake, finally realizing that he was standing perilously close to the edge. 

“It's beautiful.” Liar. It was so much more than that. Ethereal, enchanting, graceful. He didn’t think he had the words to describe it, nor did he think he ever would. He could be blessed with the ability to draw and paint, as no other had done before, and he still wouldn’t have been able to do this city and the land it occupied justice. Yes, he realized. It was a city. And the first one he had seen. It was so utterly captivating, and he didn’t want to look away. Now he understood why people became so attached to their homes and the cities they chose to call home. Only a madman would choose to leave a paradise like this. 

Suddenly, he found himself resenting Windhaven. Not like before, where he had simply wanted to get out with his brothers and Rhysand’s mother in tow because of how they had been treated. He hadn’t know where he wanted to go, only that he wanted to leave and never come back. He resented Windhaven differently now, though more so because he felt as if he had been trapped there, prevented from leaving. Mostly, he found himself loathing his father with every ounce of his being; hated him for keeping cities and oceans and life from him for so long.

How much of his childhood, of simply living, had he missed out on in those years trapped in that suffocating keep? How much had been taken away; stolen, from him simply because he was considered illegitimate and low-born? A bastard?

His thoughts became too much for him, and as Azriel began to spiral again, a hand grasped his elbow lightly: not enough to hurt, but firm enough that he knew he was being led away to the safer, middle part of the training centre where he couldn’t accidentally be thrown off the platform; either by an unusually powerful gust of wind, or someone that would no doubt hate his guts.

Adira sat him down on a bench overlooking the training area, and she plopped down beside him with a sigh. She reeked of sweat, he realized. She must have been hard at work well before he’d arrived. 

“Where are we?” He whispered. His voice seemed to have come back to him at last. “Are we in Summer? Is that why I feel…” He didn’t know how he felt, only that he had felt something out of place. It wasn’t necessarily bad, but the core of this house, the energy it seemed to emanate felt foreign to him. Adira nodded in understanding. ”Yes, you’ll feel different. It won’t last long though, it usually clears up after a week or two. It’s the magic that can make you feel a little…well, odd.”

“You still haven’t answered my question. Where are we? And why-”

“You, and by extension your magic, feel isolated here because we’re not in the Night Court anymore. Or even in Prythian, for that matter.”

Well, that answered that question. He stilled, realizing all at once that he was utterly at Adira’s mercy, and stuck here until she decided to take him anywhere. “If we’re not in Prythian…where are we?”

“We’re on the continent. Well, the southern part of it, really.”

“How did you even manage to winnow us so far from Windhaven without any stops?”

It was common knowledge that only some of the more powerful High Fae could winnow long distances without having to make stops in between, but for Adira to come all the way to the continent…“That’s where your little training centre is?” She bristled slightly at that, but merely said, “Yes. Though it’s far more than a training centre, and we call it that simply for lack of a better word, as you’ll soon realize.”

“How many train here?”

“Oh, hundreds,” she said casually, and was about to continue explaining when Azriel interrupted her.

“How come I didn’t see anyone on the way up? Or during the time I was…” He wasn’t sure what to call the time he spent in his room feeling sorry for himself. The time I spent being an absolute pathetic excuse of an Illyrian didn’t seem like the thing to say, anyway. Thankfully, Adira understood what he’d implied and said, “You said you wanted to be left alone while you mulled over the new information about your powers. I wanted to respect you and your privacy, so I made sure that everyone who either visited stayed away. And besides, you only explored a small part of this house. Remind me to give you a tour someday. A proper one. We can’t have you as a resident of this house not knowing where everything is.” 

“Nevertheless, most of the apprentices here are hard at work, and tend to spend their time in the city below. They only come up here occasionally, either when they need my help with something or when I have need of them.”

“What exactly are they apprenticing for?”

“Surely you saw the sigil on your way up? The one above the door?” Azriel cursed himself mentally for being so inattentive and for having missed something as vital and visible as a sigil. “No.”

Adira pointed to the centre of the training ring, where a blooming lotus was engraved into the stone. “Do you know what that means?”

Azriel vaguely remembered that flowers, specifically lotuses, were symbols of…what were they symbols of? As he tried desperately to remember what it was that lotuses signified, it dawned on him. “Healing,” he breathed. “Lotuses signify healing.”

“Yes,” murmured Adira. “This is a healing academy, where students from all across the world come to train. It doubles as a hospital in the city too, to give my students patients to practice on.”

Azriel had heard brief mentions of a healing academy in the heart of the continent, even in far-off locations like Windhaven where receiving any sort of news at all was a rare occurrence. It was famed and highly prestigious, that much he knew. But for Adira to be referring to the students here as her students… He felt the breath being knocked out of his lungs. “Holy Gods, is this your academy?”

No one knew who ran the academy, the only known fact about the Head was that they were ancient and extremely powerful, possessing abilities that made Fae tremble in their wake. It wasn’t even known if the Head was male or female, only that they possessed raw power.

“Yes.” That was pride and adoration lacing her words, pride that could only come from someone who had dedicated their entire lives to such a noble cause. Somehow, it made sense that a female like Adira was Headmistress of an institution like this. She seemed flawlessly crafted for this role, and now that Azriel knew of her healing powers, he couldn’t fathom Adira being anything but a healer.

Azriel knew the academy was old, far older than he was, possibly dating back to at least three hundred years before it was born. For Adira to hone her craft, then earn enough money to establish a healing academy of this size, that too on her own… “How old are you?” He dared ask. Thankfully, Adira didn’t take offence to the question.

“Very,” she replied with a smirk. “Though this city is far more ancient.”

“It’s called Qardala,” she said after a pause, her gaze drifting over to the metal railing and the glowing city beyond. “The King built this city with his own two hands after he fought off the rogues and bandits that had been plaguing the citizens for decades. Had they won, the continent would have looked so, so different today. Practices like my own wouldn’t have been allowed to exist, and any faeries they deemed ‘lesser’ would have been wiped off the face of the Earth long before you or me.”

They sat in thoughtful silence, Azriel soaking up the new information like a sponge. It seemed that every time he met Adira, he was hit with hordes of new information that seemed to flip his worldview upside-down, and then some.

As he mulled over what she’d told him, his eyes drifted over to two females sparring with their hands wrapped. One was blonde, the other brunette. They didn’t wield weapons at all. No, this was pure hand-to-hand combat, and even from this distance, Azriel could see their faces screwed up in concentration as they each tried to anticipate the other’s next movement.

Quick as an asp, the blonde one lunged with an outstretched fist. The other one seemed to be anticipating it, however, as she retaliated with a roundhouse kick of her own into her opponent’s side.

“Does hand-to-hand combat pique your interest? I mean, is that something you’d like to start with?”

Azriel didn’t know any other ways of training other than swordplay and hand-to hand. He’d always been lousy at swordplay, and fighting with his body was the only option. “Yes,” he answered immediately, not giving it too much attention.

“Do you want to?” Adira repeated, and Azriel reconsidered.

“No,” he said after a moment’s thought. “I’d be perfectly happy just watching.” Indeed, the females were like the wind; cold and brutal, and yet so elegant and graceful in their movements.

“I thought so,” came Adira’s reply as she got up and began to make her way to the sparring females.

“Neria, you’re not twisting your foot enough when you kick,” Adira called out. “And Caoimhe, you keep leaving your left flank exposed. There were well over a hundred opportunities where she could have broken your jaw. You’d better thank the Cauldron she didn’t. Now, go freshen up you two, I’ll see you upstairs after lunch.”

“Who were they? “ Azriel asked as Adira walked back to where he sat and the two females made their way in. “They’re two of my best, and oldest students. They come up here to train as often as they can, when their own duties allow them to do so. But never mind them,” she broke off. “We need to talk about how you’re going to train. Since you don’t want to start with hand-to-hand combat just yet, how about we work on strengthening your hands?”

“What’s wrong with my hands?” His answer came out colder than he’d intended it to, but there was a part of him that simply couldn’t help becoming defensive whenever this particular subject was brought up.

Adira’s gaze softened at Azriel’s irritated tone, but before it could morph into something else, she said softly, “There’s nothing wrong with your hands, Azriel. All I’m saying is that it’s probably best if we strengthen those muscles before you start to wield any of the more dangerous weapons, lest you hurt yourself and damage your hands even further.”

“The muscles in my hands are fine. They don’t need any extra training.” Adira sighed. “Azriel…there’s nothing wrong with needing a little extra help now and then, especially considering what you’ve been through.”

“You know nothing about what I’ve been through!” He didn’t know when he’d stood up, only that he was standing with his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white.

“Be that as it may, that doesn’t change the fact that your hands do need help. I’ve seen the way you hold a glass of water, how much effort it takes for you to put your gloves on. I wouldn’t be surprised if you experienced recurring pain of some sort.”

Azriel’s eyes widened. She’d known so much about him and the way his body worked, things that he hadn’t told anyone.

“I’m a healer,” she continued, raising her brow. “It’s my job to know things like this and to pick up on small movements to know how my patient is doing. Don’t act so surprised.”

“I’m not your patient. I’m not sick. I’m fine, so stop acting like I’m a desperate child who can’t do anything for himself,” he spat out, his breath coming in harsh pants. What would she know?

She sighed. “Think over what I’ve said. If, after a while, you decide it’s not something you’d like to do, send me a note. Or you can come talk to me, if you want. My office is on the top floor. Take the flight of stairs you took this morning and keep going up until you can’t go any further.”

With those words, she winnowed out to Cauldron knew where, and Azriel was left sitting on the bench, the feeling of the sun on his face now burning and unwelcome. Heaving a sigh of his own, Azriel stood up, and started making his way to his room.

A/N:

Qardala (pronounced “kar-dah-lah” )is based on modern-day Spain and the Balearic Islands (Majorca, Menora, Ibiza, etc) especially with the warm weather and surrounding water.

The women training/Adira’s students are Valkyries, since they existed canonically way before the War

Caoimhe is pronounced “kwee-vuh”

Also I hope this storyline isn’t becoming boring or repetitive, please comment below if it is, I would really appreciate feedback :)

Part 7

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

A Court of Shadows & Healing

Part 1 | Part 5 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 905

Azriel spent the next week or so holed up in the chamber that had become his. Adira had never officially said anything about it being his room, and he hadn’t had the guts to ask, but seeing as she hadn’t barged in to throw him out on his ass, he was fairly certain he was allowed to stay here.

The days mostly consisted of him waking up later and later each day, with breakfast right outside his door. He’d always wondered what people on the continent ate, but it didn’t seem to be any different from Prythian’s food: Bacon, eggs, toast, and a cup of tea or coffee seemed to be the norm.

After breakfast, he’d usually mope around his room, either taking a nap or wondering what he was going to do now that he was here. He couldn’t very well go back; not yet at least. Adira had told him about his powers after he’d woken up that day, and he didn’t want to go back to Windhaven without knowing what it was, exactly that he could do with them. If she didn’t manage to teach him anything, he could always travel to the continent when he was older and ask someone else for help. If not, well, he’d survived well enough on his own without them, and would surely continue to do so.

Just as he was beginning to become bored of his own company, and the racing thoughts circling in his head like vultures, waiting to pounce, he decided to send her a letter. After scrounging the room for spare parchment and a quill, he sat down and began to write.

✦ ✦ ✦

The letter shouldn’t have taken him that long to write, seeing as it was only a couple of lines:

Dear Adira,

I’m starting to become frightfully bored of this chamber. Any chance you could teach me more about these powers of mine?

The Illyrian brat you picked up from Windhaven,

Azriel

Folding the piece of parchment in half, he slid it under his door, and awaited her response.

✦ ✦ ✦

One morning, just as Azriel had finished bathing and dressing himself for the day (never mind he didn’t go further than the attached balcony), Adira breezed in, donning robes of opal which glowed with the early morning light.

“Well then, it seems someone is done moping around,” she said by way of greeting. “I got your piece of parchment last night.”

“I wasn’t moping,” he grumbled.

She winked. “Sure you weren’t.” Rolling his eyes, he asked her, “Are you going to teach me more about these powers of mine or have you come to bully me?”

“I never bully you,” she scoffed, taking a seat on the edge of his bed, which somehow seemed to make itself every morning. Some odd magic of this place, he supposed. He’d been too preoccupied with his own thoughts to question it.

“Before we start training your powers, we’re going to need to train your body. Magic takes a very heavy toll you, mentally and physically, and can be absolutely exhausting to recover from if you’re not used to wielding it to such an extent,” she started, crossing one leg over the other.

“I train my body plenty at Windhaven.” Surely sparring, footwork, and other menial chores around the camp had to be enough?

“Yes, but that’s not anywhere close to where I want you to be. Swordplay, sparring, abdominal exercises…they’re useful, and a wonderful start, no doubt about that. But to make sure your body is at its healthiest, we need to train it in different ways. That way, we train and strengthen all the different muscles and body parts. And besides,” she added. “Consider this extra preparation for the Blood Rite.”

“Now, have you ever wrestled before? What about archery? Horseriding?” She asked as Azriel shook his head at each one. “Alright then. We’ll start with the basics, then have a look at other styles and training techniques. Meet me at nine tomorrow morning. You’ll stretch, warm up, and then you can show me what you already know from your time in Windhaven.”

“We haven’t done anything besides practising with wooden swords, footwork exercises, and the occasional spar.”

“I want to see how much you know, so I know where to start. I’m not risking hurting you.” It was a blunt statement, leaving no room for arguments.

Azriel blinked. No one had ever cared for him outright, as she was doing now. Devlon hadn’t given a shit whether he’d lived or not, usually treating him like some sort of feral animal. Rhys’ mother and his brothers cared about him, though none held enough sway to change anything about their living conditions or their training.

Not quite knowing how to respond, he settled instead for a murmured “thank you,” refusing to meet her gaze, lest she find pity in it, and looked at the armoire beside him, suddenly finding it very interesting.

Adira rose, and exited the room with a soft click of the door. He could have sworn she’d paused by the threshold for a split second, almost as if she was going to say something, but had thought better of it.

Now alone, Azriel didn’t know what to do with his half-formed and utterly chaotic thoughts. He sighed, lying down on his bed, and awaited dusk, as well as the impending anxiety that was sure to follow.

Part 6

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

A Court of Shadows & Healing

Part 1 | Part 4 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 753

The bright lights pierced Azriel’s blurry vision, and he blinked furiously, trying to desperately to make sure he wouldn’t fall unconscious again.

He tried to sit up, but his head swam, and he slumped back down on the bed, groaning. Even in his almost stupor-like state, he could tell that this bed was expensively made. Silk sheets of mint green, along with what could only be described as an army of pillows and blankets watched over him like sentries.

Just as his mind was gushing over the make of the bed, his half-awake brain managed to register footsteps coming his way. Thankfully, it was only Adira, who crouched down beside his head and whispered, “How are you feeling?”

“Like I was run over by a horse. Repeatedly. Then thrown off a cliff,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice cracking. Adira grinned. “Good to know that even after you fainted, your sense of humour is still perfectly intact.”

“What happened? How did I end up here?”

“You had a panic attack and then passed out. You’ve been out for…” she trailed off, turning, and glanced at the clock above the doorway. “Well over three hours.” As Azriel opened his mouth to ask her more questions, she cut him off. “Fainting, usually for hours at a time, isn’t uncommon for someone who’s used a lot of magic in an extremely short period. Especially if they’re untrained.”

He hadn’t used any magic recently. He didn’t have any magic in him at all. At least not that he knew of.

Suddenly, it dawned on him: why there had been darkness all throughout the room as soon as she’d told him to imagine it. “The darkness…that was me?” She was silent for a moment before she asked, “Do you know what a shadowsinger is?” Azriel furrowed his brow in confusion, and shook his head. Adira hummed in acknowledgement, then said, “A shadowsinger has the ability to wield, control, and manipulate shadows however they wish. They can use their shadows to transport them wherever it is they wish to go, and blend in with the darkness as well as any creature of the night. Naturally, this makes them highly coveted faeries, not only in Prythian. Much like the daemati, they’re used by many courts and kingdoms around the world, not only for spying, as one might suspect, but also because they tend to pick up on things most people miss. Subtleties, usually, things like tells, weaknesses, mating bonds. The shadows are extremely sensitive to any change in their environment, and are, in some strange way of the Gods, as much of a part of their wielder, as the shadows, them.”

“So I’m a shadow…singer, then?” the word sounded foreign and odd on his tongue, and he wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. Adira merely nodded.

It made no sense, and somehow, it made all the sense in the world. Those years he had spent in his father’s keep, playing with the darkness as if he was born to wield and master it. An angel of the night. A god of darkness, death, and brutality. An emperor who bowed to nothing and no one, who was efficient, vicious and bloodthirsty with every ounce of his being.

As Azriel lay processing this information, his mind reeling at uncomfortable speeds, she added, “I know it’s a lot to take in right now. Take however much time you need. If you want to be alone, I’ll make sure no one disturbs you.” He merely nodded, and Adira stroked a hand through his hair once before she was gone, carrying the scent of peonies and pear with her.

✦ ✦ ✦

After she had left, his mind was empty save for one thought: what would Rhys and Cassian think when he told them who he was? What he was? Would they look at him differently, act differently? Or would they simply refuse to talk to him at all?

It had been hard enough telling them why he hated physical touch, or why he couldn’t bear anyone looking at his hands.

They hadn’t judged him, but their relationship had been…odd, the first couple of days after he’d told them of those years in that gods-forsaken cell.

If it meant losing his friends, he didn’t think he’d ever tell them what dark and horrible power roiled beneath his blood. That he wasn’t normal; not really. He’d never been normal. 

He was a freak, an abomination, and they’d be better off without him in their lives.

Part 5

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

A Court of Shadows & Healing

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

A/N: In this chapter, Azriel hasn’t learned how to fly for long distances and he can’t winnow either (no one’s taught him or bothered to explore his abilities yet, even he doesn’t know they exist). Also: slight claustrophobia at the end

Word Count: 1495

As they landed, Azriel took all of a second to steady himself, not even bothering to take in his surroundings, and pressed a dagger against Adira’s ribs, having drawn it out from a sheath moments before. “Start talking,” he hissed, looking up at her. Her eyes widened in surprise, clearly not expecting him to threaten her, but she raised her hands in surrender. “Very well, I suppose I should have expected that, though the dagger seems to be a tad extreme no?” His only response was to push the dagger further into her leathers. She sighed, or at least exhaled as much as she could. “If you want answers, boy, then you’re going to have to start asking questions. Preferably sometime today,” she quipped, when he didn’t say a word.

“Why did you bring me here?” It seemed like the most logical question to ask, considering he might very well be hundreds, if not thousands, of miles away from Windhaven. By the Mother, was he even in the Night Court?

He didn’t know how he was going to get back; at least without Adira’s help. He couldn’t fly for long distances, though he knew how to orient himself. Granted, by the time he escaped, she’d probably have tracked him down easily anyways.

Rhys and Cassian would start worrying after a while when he didn’t come back, and Rhys’ mother would be worried out of her mind. Those three would be the only ones who would bother to look for him anyway. He knew Devlon certainly wouldn’t; and seeing as Rhys’ mother and the camp lord were the only two people who knew of his current location, he wasn’t exactly feeling safe at the minute.

“Because you need to train.”

“Train for what?” He was already training for the Blood Rite; as all Illyrians did when they were old enough to wield a weapon, he supposed.

“You’re not training for anything. Gods, you’re thick, aren’t you?” Adira let her annoyance show, scoffing, and even with Azriel holding the dagger to her, it still seemed like she had the upper hand. His tether on his emotions snapped, and at that comment, Azriel drew blood, managing to elicit a hiss from the female. “If you want to ask me questions, you’re going to need me alive and breathing.” He refused to break his gaze from her, until she raised a brow in question. Azriel dropped his dagger from her side; wiping the blood from his dagger on his thighs before sheathing it in one swipe.

“Much better. Now that we’re civil again, we can talk this out without acting like lunatics and stabbing people,” she said a tad irritably, brushing off the blood as if it were nothing, the wound already beginning to heal.

“I didn’t stab you!” He objected.

“Oh really? I would call holding a knife and threatening them, then drawing blood; stabbing. I suppose they call it something else in Windhaven, do they?”

“You deserved it!” He nearly screamed.

“Deserved it? Deserved what? Getting threatened by a youngling who can’t even hold a dagger properly and hardly over a decade old?”

"I-" He started, but she ploughed on, completely, either disregarding or ignoring him. “Believe me when I say I do want to tell you what’s going on, and I will, but first, I’m going to need you to put that dagger down. And take off all your weapons while you’re at it. I don’t fancy being held at knifepoint again.”

“You first,” Azriel said, looking her up and down, trying to figure out where she might have weapons concealed. She didn’t look like the type to start a brawl, least of all with a young Illyrian-in-training, but he knew looks could be deceiving.

Rolling her eyes, Adira started to undo the buckles on her holsters, carefully removing lethally crafted blades from all across her body. Placing them on a low-lying table close by, she raised a brow at Azriel, crossing her arms across her chest. Your turn.

Begrudgingly, Azriel removed his weapons, though it took far less time, seeing as he wasn’t covered head to toe in blades as Adira was.

He looked back up at her expectantly, but Adira didn’t look pleased. “All of them.”

“This was all of them,” he said, staring her down. “These were all the weapons I have.”

“Stupidity I will tolerate, but insolence I won’t. I know you have a knife tucked in those leathers somewhere, boy.”

Huffing in annoyance, he unsheathed a small dagger from his side as well, practically throwing it onto the side table with the other weapons. He’d done his best to conceal all his weapons, and yet somehow she seemed to know his tells suspiciously well.

“Satisfied?” Ignoring his snarky little comment, Adira gestured for him to sit on a plush divan of the richest emerald, and it was then he realized how vibrant and utterly majestic this behemoth of a house actually was. The sheer size of it overwhelmed him, and no other word, save for mansion, would even begin to describe how stunned he was.

The hall they were currently in could have fit Rhys’ mother’s cottage in it well over three times, and he hadn’t even been to the other rooms yet. 

Gossamer curtains of the lightest sage were billowing in a gentle breeze that brought with it the soft scents of peony and pear, immediately helping to ease Azriel’s aggravated nerves. Plush divans of rich velvet and low-lying tables made of crystalline glass were placed throughout, likely for drinking and debauchery when night fell.

The entire house was almost entirely open to the elements, with only the occasional pillar for structural support. As Azriel trailed his eyes up a particular pillar, (a rather beautiful one at that, he admitted to himself, with intricate carvings of flowers and vines snaking up the length of it), his eyes managed to find the ceiling.

Or rather, the lack of one. His eyes met a cloudless, cerulean sky, with the occasional bird flitting across like some old mosaic of the Gods. He blinked a couple of times, trying to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. “There’s no ceiling,” he breathed finally. A soft smile tugged at Adira’s lips.

“No, indeed.”

“But how-”

“Magic,” she replied simply. “When I first became owner of this house, I decided that the climate was so beautiful we simply didn’t need a roof. So I took it away.”

Deciding that was all he was likely to get from someone he’d met a couple of hours ago, he decided to change the subject. “I want to call in my bargain. Starting now.”

Sighing, she leaned back, and waved a hand at him. “Ask away.”

“Why am I here?”

“I told you: to train.” Azriel frowned at the non-answer, and Adira continued. “You have a certain, shall we say, skill set. It’s better for you, and everyone around you, that you know how to use those skills to your advantage.”

“What skills?” He bit out. She went quiet for a moment, then said, “Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Just do as I say, and close your eyes.”

“What if you hurt me?” Azriel’s skepticism shone through, but Adira was undeterred. “I’ve taken all my weapons off. There’s no way I can attack you unless my limbs somehow stretch like jelly.” Her sarcasm wasn’t lost on Azriel, though neither laughed. Instead, she continued, “Do you want to make a bargain for that too?”

“No.” It was bad enough that he’d had to make one bargain; he wasn’t about to make another one anytime soon.

Relenting, Azriel shut his eyes, and Adira’s voice drifted over to him.

“Good. Now, think of the night sky, of the darkness between the stars. The frigid, unforgiving cold; and the smothering blanket of something foreign and heavy settling over you.” Azriel scrunched up his face in concentration, and all was silent for a moment before he heard a barely audible gasp.

He opened his eyes to ask her what had happened, but he couldn’t see Adira. The room was shrouded in pitch-black darkness, and suddenly Azriel felt trapped. The room was too small, and he couldn’t see anything half an inch from his face. Panic washed over him, and breathing had become difficult all of a sudden. 

There was a reason Azriel still slept with the lights on back in Windhaven. There was a reason he despised the dark; why it felt like the air was being sucked out of his soul every time he entered a room devoid of light.

Some days, it felt like those manacles and chains of the heaviest iron were stuck to him. The chains his father had insisted on putting him in, even when he had screamed and thrashed and fought for all he was worth.

Azriel didn’t know what happened next, only that strong, firm, and distinctly feminine hands caught his traitorous body as he went under.

Part 4

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

A Court of Shadows & Healing

Part 1 | Part 2 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Summary: Azriel makes a bargain and leaves Windhaven with Adira.

A/N: Sorry, this chapter is kind of short but I needed something that would help transition the story. The next chapter will be longer, I promise!

Word Count: 641

When she opened the door a quarter of an hour later, Azriel rose immediately from the footsteps of the porch where he had been sitting. Sitting and thinking. Things were moving far too quickly for his liking, and Azriel was not a male accustomed to change.

He didn't think he'd ever become used to change, now that he thought about it. It was much easier for him to stay in the comfort of his own routine, the repetition soothing his nerves whenever something went wrong or he had an unpleasant day. No, Azriel had never done well with change at all. Naturally, this whole ordeal was extremely disconcerting for the boy, made even more so by the fact that Adira refused to tell him anything. At least nothing of importance. He didn't bother asking her questions anyhow, since the vague, riddled answers she gave him were mildly confusing at best and thoroughly baffling at worst. He never knew what to make of her answers anyway, since they seemed to raise more questions than had been answered. One thing was for certain, though; the female certainly knew her way around words, and Azriel despised her for it just as much as he admired her.

She gave him a tight-lipped smile. "I'm sorry for keeping you waiting, but there were a couple of things I needed to pick up before we make our way to my...training centre," she finally decided. For a moment, Azriel was angry at her. Surely she didn't think he wouldn't be able to handle knowing important information? He had kept secrets, after all, though far too many of them were his own. "Training centre?" He asked finally, ignoring how she paused before saying those two words. "Yes," she replied simply. "I promise I'll answer your questions when we get there—all of them.”

"You swear it?" He didn’t know where the words came from, but how was he to be certain that she would keep true to her word? She hadn’t very well given him a reason to trust him anyhow, and she refused to answer any of his questions properly.

She blinked, perhaps the only visible sign of her surprise. “Yes,” she said finally, something like amusement creeping into her voice. “Yes, I swear it.”

At that moment, both Azriel and Adira felt an odd thrum of magic flowing through them. 

Azriel turned away from her and brought his hands up to examine his tattoo, not caring that she might be able to see his bare hands over his shoulder. Practically throwing his gloves off, he spotted a speck of black just above where his scars intersected. Cauldron damn him, he was never going to hear the end of it from Rhys’ mother. He couldn’t help admitting, although begrudgingly, how beautiful his new tattoo looked.

It was small, hardly noticeable, and yet it was delicate and beautiful and powerful all at once. A small butterfly sat just above his right knuckle with its wings spread wide, as if flying over the mountains and valleys that were his scars. 

Noticing his admiration, Adira asked, “Do you like it?”

“Yes. It’s…yes, I like it.” A small grin tugged at her lips at his response. “Have you ever made a bargain before?”

“No, but I know how they work. Rhys’ mother told us when we were younger to make sure we wouldn’t get into trouble.” Apparently satisfied, she left the subject there and extended a hand towards him. “Well then, now that we’ve gotten the whole bargain business over with, I say we get out of this shithole: what do you say?” Azriel merely gave her a nod before taking her outstretched hand, gloves and Illyrian leather concealing every exposed bit of him against the cold, and felt the familiar tug of winnowing before being whisked away through darkness and shadows.

Part 3

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

A Court of Shadows & Healing

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

Summary: Soon after Azriel arrives at Windhaven after being dumped by his cruel father, a mysterious healer shows up, seeming to know quite a bit about him, with seemingly only one intention: to help him gain full mobility of hands once again.

Word Count: 1125

Windhaven was so terribly cold and frigid this time of year, it was a miracle the Illyrians here survived the winter at all. And yet Devlon insisted that everyone train. A symbol of strength, to be able to fight in such cold weather, Azriel had overheard him say to a senior officer. Symbol of strength, his ass. If he stayed out here one moment longer, he’d catch frostbite, no matter that he’d been training for well over an hour already; the brutal footwork and sparring doing nothing to warm his frozen muscles.

Just as he was about to make a beeline for the tents, a peculiar sight caught his eye. A female. No, not just any female, a High Fae female was making her way toward the training rings, behind a sulky-looking Devlon. Gods, he hoped she’d knocked him down a peg or two. The male was beginning to become near insufferable, and he’d been starting to take his frustration out on everyone around him. Just two days ago he’d found Devlon near screaming at a boy who hadn’t had the proper form while holding a wooden practice sword.

As she approached, he realized that she was looking not at the young Illyrians in the sparring ring, but rather at him. In that moment, his mind emptied out save for two, very clear, very distinct thoughts: that the High Fae female was absolutely stunning, and that he was terrified he’d done something wrong and was now going to be punished for it. It wouldn’t be the first time something like that had happened.

“You, boy.” Devlon’s voice rang out, and Cassian and Rhysand turned to look from the weapons rack where they were polishing their daggers. “Come here.”

As Azriel moved closer to Devlon, the female’s features came into focus. With hair the color of silky midnight pulled into a practical and yet elegant bun and honey-brown eyes that seemed to observe everything and everyone, he couldn’t help what an ethereal beauty like her was doing in a miserable backwater village like Windhaven.

She turned on the spot, slowly, taking in the piss-poor tents enveloped in snow, and the great behemoth mountains that overlooked the village like slumbering beasts, waiting to pounce. Whatever she saw, though, seemed to be unsatisfactory to her standards, and her lip curled, a sneer building on her face as she turned her face back to Lord Devlon.

“By the Cauldron, Devlon, I knew your little camp was bad but this is a new level of substandard only the Illyrians could bring to the table.”

The male, to his surprise, didn’t say anything, but Azriel saw the way his lips pursed, as if he was trying his very best to hold back an insult.

“Azriel,” he started. Interesting. Devlon never used his name to address him, usually either grunting or pointing his finger at Azriel to beckon him over. “This is-”

“As charming as your hospitality is, Devlon, I think I can manage the younglings from here.” The dismissal was clear in her tone, and the camp lord had the good sense to back away, leaving them, and resumed his duties.

Only when he was out of earshot did the female turn to look at Azriel. “Hello,” she started, her voice becoming infinitely softer, and crouched down. Completely at odds with how she’d been with Devlon moments ago. “My name is Adira.” She extended a hand to shake, but Azriel didn’t take it. No, he just looked at it, then back up at her face.

Azriel despised physical touch of any kind, mostly because it involved letting everyone see his scarred hands. It was easier with Rhys and Cassian, but he’d never felt like he could truly let anyone see them, and most certainly not a strange High Fae female he’d only just met.

Adira seemed to understand, though, and her expression shifted ever so slightly. “What’s your name?” “Azriel.” His response was soft and quiet, barely a whisper, but she nodded. “It’s nice to meet you Azriel.”

At that moment, Cassian sauntered over to them, clearly struggling to keep his curious nature at bay. “Who are you? And what do you want with my brother?” He tried his best to look as menacing as he could, but seeing as he was only over a decade old, it simply amused the female, and a small smirk grew on her lips.

“My name is Adira. And I promise you I’m not going to hurt your brother.” 

Dismissing him entirely, she turned back to Azriel, her eyes glinting with something he couldn’t quite place. “You and I have a lot of work to do.”

✦ ✦ ✦

As Adira led him through the winding mud roads of Windhaven, he couldn’t help but wonder, for around the hundredth time, what she was doing here.

Where Cassian was outgoing, loud, and openly curious, Azriel tended to be shyer, though no less in curiosity. He’d never had a consequence-free environment to ask questions, and as a result, any questions he had remained buried in his mind.

But as she led them past the throngs of winged people through stores and markets; squares and smaller alleys, his mind drifted back to Adira. She was High Fae, surely she had better things to do than to talk to insignificant Illyrian younglings? Rhysand he could understand; he was the Heir to the Night Court. But him? He was no one and nothing, and couldn’t understand for the life of him, why she wanted to talk to him so badly.

Finally, after nearly half an hour of trudging through the miserable village, she stopped in front of a door covered in runes and turned to look at him, one hand on the doorknob.

“Wait here. I need to collect a few things and then we’ll be off.”

“Off? Off where?” He asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. Neither she nor Devlon had mentioned that he was to be going anywhere else other than Windhaven. Did Cassian and Rhys know? What would Rhys’ mother do when she found out that Azriel wasn’t home for the night?

Sensing his panic, she turned fully to face him and said, “Rhysand’s mother and Devlon know that you’re going to be away; at least for tonight. As for your brothers, well, they’re going to have to spend a night without you, won’t they?”

That eased some of the panic in his mind, but her answer raised more questions than it had answered. “Hold on, how do you know what my brothers are called?”

But by the time his mind had managed to process what she’d said, the wooden door of the cottage had shut, and he was left outside, in the biting cold of the Illyrian mountains.

Part 2

Line dividers go to @enchanthings