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haunted-moon · 4 months

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Long Way Home [Part II]

[Azriel x Reader fanfic]

Synopsis: Y/n is the daughter of a healer in the city of Velaris. After a small incident, she moves to the House of the Wind to work for the High Lord, Rhysand. Everyone in the house seems to welcome her except Azriel, the second in command. Even though he is just blankly polite and does not acknowledge her much, she can't help but fall for him. Does Azriel return her feelings or remain unfeelingly aloof?

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Read Part 1 here.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Part II

I started noticing that I got stared at more than usual whenever I came to visit father. Apparently, he had proudly told everyone who came to be treated that his daughter now studied in the House of the Wind and worked for the High Lord himself. I was happy to see him happy, but at the same time embarrassed when I was in the spotlight of attention.

In my most recent visit, there were only a few patients to take care of, and none to stay the night in the infirmary room. Father cooked a deliciously smelling vegetable soup with mouth watering garlic bread for dinner. We carried the food along with a bottle of homemade wine to the terrace of our building. We did this often, sitting under the magnificent sky of the City of Starlight. It kind of became our ritual after mother died, where after all the eating and drinking, I'd lie down with my head on father's lap like I used to do as a small child, and he narrated stories of her.

Our family history was a bit strange. My father was a proud, handsome descendant of the Illyrians, but my mother had been a high fae from the Summer Court. I've heard that most of my ancestors' pairing is similar to that.

Your mother, she had this alluring green eyes, the colour which you see in the depths of a still pond, never letting go once you are pulled into. I can still see how the soft wind caressed her pinkish hair against her skin. He loved to describe her, and repeated over and over again the story of how they met.

The story of how she died was only told once, and he never repeated it again. When I had been two years old, mother was pregnant with my sister. There was an internal bleeding which didn't stop, and sadly, both mother and child succumbed to it.

According to one of my neighbours, father was completely devastated after her death. He even stopped selling his services for a while. He didn't talk to anyone and sulked alone, which was completely opposite to his usual extrovert nature. I don't remember any of this, though. Even with sadness in his heart, he never forgot that he had a living daughter and my childhood was full of happy memories.

Well, mostly.

That night, he was telling me the story of how he used to paint my mother's toenails with colour when she was pregnant and couldn't do it herself—his personal favourite which I listened to every time like I was hearing it for the first time—when a shadow flew across the starry sky and landed in front of us.

It was Azriel.

I pushed myself into a sitting position, squinting at the cloth wrapped parcel which he held in both hands. When my father stood up to greet him, he extended it forward.

"Greetings, sir. The High Lord and Lady send their compliments," he then turned to me. "Hello, y/n."

I nodded while father conveyed his thanks and accepted the parcel. Azriel was about to leave right then, but father insisted on him having dinner before he did so. He hesitated, his gaze dropping at our empty dining plates and wine bottle, but eventually agreed. They went down the stairs into the warmth of the kitchen and I followed.

Father was already making cheery conversation, and Azriel joined after a while. They knew some mutual fae and some members of the Illyrian clan, and began having an earnest discussion.

Azriel was ushered to sit while I set the table and father heated up the food. He always made extra portions because someone could unexpectedly stopped by for a chat and had to be welcomed with delicious food every time. While Azriel ate and they talked, I silently listened from a chair nearby. I felt the familiar squeezing ache in my chest as I watched them, because I could tell that Azriel was not humouring my father out of mere politeness and genuinely wanted to converse. He was never like that with me in the few months I've spent in the House.

I felt prickling behind my eyes, and I excused myself to my room before it turned into tears. Once underneath my warm covers, I let the tears fall and fell into a tired slumber.

I was jerked back into consciousness when I heard the sound of my bedroom door being opened. My eyes were swollen shut from all the crying and I had to fight to open them a bit and see who came in.

It was father. He sat on the side of my bed and gently caressed my hair, noticing that I was awake.

"Azriel left just now. We talked for a long time."

I closed my eyes and sighed, trying very hard not to cry again. "Hmm."

"Has he hurt you?" He asked, his voice low.

I blinked open my eyes in confusion. "Who?"

"Azriel."

I scoffed and shook my head. "I don't even know him that well to be hurt, papa."

He raised an eyebrow. "That's why you cried yourself to sleep, huh?"

I bit the inside of my cheek, not answering. He knew everything anyway.

He stood up and fetched a cold compress for my eyes. I felt fresh tears threatening to spill, and pushed the compress deeper onto my eyelids.

"Does he have a mate already?"

"No. It doesn't matter. They'll feel the bond towards each other soon, anyway. The High Lady's sister might be the one."

"I see."

He was silent for a while. The swelling eased down and I could open my eyes wider. When the compress wasn't so cold anymore, I put it on the nightstand and wriggled back to a comfortable position. Father gently patted my head in a rhythm to help me sleep.

"You'll find a deserving mate too, don't worry," he whispered. "A heart has to eventually find its home."

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Read Part 3 here.

This fanfic can also be found in Wattpad, along with other exclusive parts like playlists and pictures. Here's the link: https://www.wattpad.com/story/358573037-long-way-home

Happy reading! <3

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spine-lux · 1 month

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🏰🌲🌳 Archeron's Estate 📖 ACOTAR series by Sarah J Maas

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amandapearls · 2 months

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Elain Archeron 🌿🍃🌱🌳🌹🌼🌻🌸🌷

I know it will probably be a couple more years before we get Elain’s book but I can’t wait to see her growth. I can’t wait to see her heal. I can’t wait to see her embrace her seer powers. I’m just really excited to get inside her head and see her character development!

That is all 😊❤️

*No ships related to this post. It’s just about Elain.

#pro elain archeron #elainarcheron #acotar #elain archeron #archeronsisters

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mariamcarreno · 2 years

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Hola aqui mi dibujito #elucien

El fondo es una fotografía de la ciudad de Zermatt (la saqué de Google) para simular Velaris xd

Please don't repost without credits 💐

Characters belongs to Sarah J Maas 📚

Agradezco las interacciones🧡🔥🌸

•

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basqueezysays · 1 year

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My version of Amren of ACOTAR series

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herimagination · 2 years

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Rowan and Feyre's mates

Ok. So. Does anyone ever wonder what would happen if Aelin and Rhysand get together? They'd literally be matching their scars and comparing their tattoos. You can't tell me that Rhysand wouldn't say "my tattoos are prettier" and Aelin replying with "mine are bolder"

That's it. They are totally platonic soulmates and rivals. You can't convince me otherwise.

#feysand #rowalein #acotar #ToG #batboys #archeronsisters #sjm #ashryvergalathynius #thirteen #manonblackpeak #dorian havilliard #elorcan #theworldofsarahjmaas

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vrartstudio · 1 year

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Another piece from my short fanart episode of life 😅 🌿Elain Archeron🌿 Elain is the middle Archeron sister. She has the same golden brown hair, but her eyes are rich brown as their father’s. She is described as very gentle, quiet and “softest” from all three sisters. She is believed to be weak or defenceless because of that but that’s not really true. She can be as stubborn as her sisters. She loves gardening and often helps in the kitchen. I have one more to go before fun with faces challenge and I hope I can finish it before the weekend 🙌 Do you like this one? (All characters are property of book author Sarah J. Maas and they are not my own) #elainarcheron #acotar #acotarfanart #digitalart #digitaldrawing #fantasyart #bookishlove #archeronsisters #courtofthornsandroses #procreateart #illustrationartists https://www.instagram.com/p/Cn1q7aUsNX8/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#elainarcheron #acotar #acotarfanart #digitalart #digitaldrawing #fantasyart #bookishlove #archeronsisters #courtofthornsandroses #procreateart #illustrationartists

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deanie-dhampir · 2 years

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Sorry not sorry that I’ve basically become a Nesta fan account. Her snark face just comes so naturally to me 😂 #nestaarcheron #nestaarcheroncosplay #nestacosplay #archeronsisters #bookcosplay #bookishcosplay #booklover #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf #acotarcosplay #acosfcosplay #acourtofthornsandroses #acourtofsilverflames #sarahjmaas #sarahjmaasbooks #sarahjmaascosplay #cosplay #cosplaygirl #blackmilkclothing #bmundermyskinsheerelegancedress https://www.instagram.com/p/Cj08tx3SExE/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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theunchosenpotato · 2 years

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Sketching from the ACOTAR coloring book today #sketchbook #sketching #charliebowater #feyre #rhysand #nesta #azriel #tamlin #nightcourt #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #sarahjmaaa #feyrefriday #archeronsisters #coloringbook #acourtofthornsandroses https://www.instagram.com/p/Ci3RJoHJmTL/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#sketchbook #sketching #charliebowater #feyre #rhysand #nesta #azriel #tamlin #nightcourt #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #sarahjmaaa #feyrefriday #archeronsisters #coloringbook #acourtofthornsandroses

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azsazz · 1 year

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Fire & Water (Part 3)

Eris x Reader

Summary: Fulfilling anon reqs: “Part 3 of fire and water?” and “ooo would it be alright if you created a deleted scene of ‘fire and water’ where eris and archeron reader hook up? love ya <3-🪷”

Warnings: Smut, mentions of abuse and murder.

Word Count: 2,282

Notes: Chlo indulged me last night so I’m returning the favor...been a while since the last part of this one...I hope you all enjoy 🥰

[Part 1] [Part 2]

_________________________________________

“I want to take you to the Summer Court someday,” Eris admits, soft breath stirring the unruly hairs at the crown of your forehead. He’s trailing his long fingers up the smooth skin of your arm, the pads of his touch rough with his swordsmanship. “But I’m afraid you may never want to leave.”

You peek your eyes open at his confession. You’re not asleep nor on the verge of it, just basking in being in your mates arms again after the awful intervention your sisters and their counterparts had set up. Curled up in Eris’ arms in a bed at an inn he’d taken you to right after picking you up at the border of Autumn where Lucien had dropped you off.

You were more thankful for the youngest son of Autumn than you’re sure he knows, for betraying Feyre and the Court that had offered him solace in his time of need. He would surely be the one to take the brunt of the investigation once your sister and the High Lord have noticed you’re no longer in their Court, for helping you escape to Autumn as he wished to do himself, hopefully with his own mate, if only she would have him.

It had been difficult for Eris to see his youngest brother, of that you knew. Hurt him to lock eyes with the soft caramel gaze of Lucien, an unspoken agreement between them that Eris was doing his best to try and rid his father of the throne. He missed Lucien, more than he’d missed anyone, even more than the brothers he had lost by Tamlin’s hand. You knew it had been hard for him to see his youngest brother turning away from the court he had every right to live in to return to that of darkness and night.

Eris had been quiet on the trek to the cozy hostel, his hand tucked into yours, thumb grazing over your knuckles in a way that soothed you both. Your heart had been pounding, from the 10,000 stairs you had to descend to arrive at the rendezvous Lucien had told you to meet him at, the feeling like Rhysand or your sister or one of their cronies were right behind you, a constant fear clawing through your mind.

He hadn’t wanted to take you back to his home, for fear of his father you already knew. You didn’t care though, didn’t care if Eris took you back to that cave or the inn or somewhere even less appealing, as long as you are with him you couldn’t care less about where you are.

The both of you had fallen into the swelling urges of the mating bond as soon as the door clicked shut behind you, reverberating in your chest, a signal that you and your mate were alone, away from prying eyes and ears, well…as much as you could be at the inn. But you didn’t care about the others occupying the rooms next door or the woman seated at the counter below yours, all you saw was Eris, all you felt was your mate, the simmering and sweltering feelings clawing to the surface, to care for him, to claim him.

The hand you have settled against his chest twitches, thumb automatically moving in response to the waiver of his tone, a gentle motion back and forth that’s meant to soothe the stutter of his heart beneath your head, and calm the shake of his vulnerable words.

You peer up at him from your spot at his shoulder but he’s not looking at you, watching instead as he twirls a strand of your hair between his fingers.

“Why’s that?” you scrunch up your nose, drawing his attention. The look on your face must settle him some because he’s dropping the tuft of hair in favor of poking at your screwed up features, tapping the tip of your nose and following it with his mouth.

“The oceans mostly,” Eris says when he pulls back and you settle into him, listening to the rumble of his voice as he speaks, its own wave in your ear. “I hear the drinks are fruity and sweet. Here they taste like ash and cinnamon.” Now he’s the one wrinkling his nose in distaste as he complains.

You laugh, stealing a kiss from his pouty mouth. He follows you like a moth to a flame when you pull away, still eager for more of you.

He’s addicted to you already. Had turned his nose up at the stories of males finding their mate’s, how he’d be consumed by them like a wildfire, reducing him to ash in their wake, melted and malleable for her to do with as she pleased.

But Mother does he believe it now.

You taste like a lifeline, like the oxygen his fire so desperately needs. But you are water, so unlike him, Eris would let you douse his flames even if it only meant you’d give him a single touch, a look in his direction.

He will give you whatever you want.

“You don’t like cinnamon?” The amused lilt to your voice has his stomach burning, and the look you’re sending him, a crooked smile makes his heart skip in his chest.

“I love cinnamon,” he sighs like it’s the biggest burden he’s had to bear. Not his abusive father, not being on the cusp of war with the Night Court, who will surely be planning to attack now that he’s stolen a possession so prized to them, a sister of the High Lady.

That’s what you are to them. A possession. Not a being of your own wits and mind. A little girl, the youngest, someone who can’t make decisions for herself or run her own life. No, they have to be the ones to do that for you.

You stare up at your mate pointedly.

“You don’t get it because you’re not from here. You didn’t grow up in Autumn where all there is is cinnamon drinks and pastries, pumpkin spiced tea, and ginger snaps. It’s a total cliché.”

Ah, you understand now.

“So you’re afraid I’ll leave you because you’re a cliché?”

His playful growl catches in his throat when you shift your leg from where it’s resting across his, your knee dragging up the ridges of his muscular thighs, brushing against the tip of his spent cock.

The subtle brush of your knee against his skin, the mere thought of burying his cock inside of you once more makes him flush, makes his cock wag.

“I’m not a cliché,” he purrs instead, his fingers grazing a long stroke down your spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You shiver, arching into him just as he expected you to. He’s already shifting slightly, holding you closer to him. You can feel the heat from his cock against your leg.

Eris pounces, rolling on top of you in a movement as swift as a fox, pinning you beneath him. He clasps your hands in his, holding them to the soft fabric of the sheets while he appraises you with shiny amber eyes.

“Cinnamon is the cliche and I’m worried you’ll leave me because you’ll realize you like Summer better. The oceans are vast, and with your powers, it will be much easier to learn and hone in on your skills there. I can’t teach you how to control water, and I am fire. You might find it much more comfortable than dry, old Autumn.”

He’s being honest, nervous.

“I might like Summer,” you nod, watching how his brows twitch with unease. He allows one of your hands to slip away and you brush his thick auburn hair from his eyes, tucking it around his pointed ear before moving to caress his face. He leans into your touch. He yearns for it. The calming sea to his raging flames. “But I’ll never like it as much as I love you, Eris.”

He nearly crumples. His arms shake and his heart strains in his chest at your words. He bites at his trembling lip to stop himself from whimpering. He’s weak. He hasn’t known you for long and half of the time he’d spent fighting you when he should’ve been loving you. But now…he’d do anything you ask. He wants to drown in your love.

“Besides,” you sigh, a teasing smile pulling the corners of your lips upwards. Eris nips at your finger playfully as you trace the bow of his mouth, already preparing a response to your joke, “Who wants to be a prune anyway? I’d much rather stay here in your cozy bed with you.”

His heart soars and he can’t hold himself back, drawn to the tantalizing water like a parched male, kissing across your cheeks and down your throat. He’s warm and it makes you shiver, nipples hardening into peaks as the muscles of his chest brush across them, a wildfire of lust courses through your veins.

“And your powers?” he prowls, a question against your mouth.

“You’ll build me a pool, won’t you?”

“I’ll build you anything you godsdamned want.”

Your languid hum pitches into a lewd moan as Eris’ fingers breeze down your body, leaving embers in their wake. He brushes up against your entrance, sliding easily against the wet folds of your cunt.

“Speaking of wet,” he puffs and you groan, shoving at his shoulders. His breathy laugh is hot against your cunt and your shoving only pushes the heir away from your lips and down your body instead, everywhere he touches becomes putty in his hands.

“No, you’ve ruined it now,” you groan but he’s laughing, prizing your legs apart from where you’re trying to clench them back together after his awful joke.

“C’mon, my Love. Don’t hide from me, I’m thirsty.”

You flush, beat red. You didn’t think that it could get any worse but it has. You hadn’t known that Eris would have such a comedic streak.

You press up onto your forearms, eyeing him where he’s playfully running his hands up and down your legs, nudging you to open them. “Really, Eris? I’m done now, all dried up down there, you’ve ruined it for yourself.”

Your body betrays you, listens to the calling of your mate instead, legs falling open easily for the male before you and you curse under your breath at his knowing grin.

He kisses your skin, biting at the fleshy meat of your thigh, causing you to jump. He presses a single finger knuckle-deep into your pulsing cunt. The action has you keening, his long digit pushed up inside of you without warning, unmoving but there.

He watches as you squirm, sucking his finger in with your heat. He’s achingly hard, gaze hot as your hips writhe down on him, walls clenching, trying to pull him in further. You are like putty in his hands, all from a single touch.

He hopes that his courtiers will be this keen to take his commands, once he is crowned High Lord.

“I’m about to ruin you,” your name is solace on his tongue, “Again.”

You don’t have the breath to respond because he’s driving the air from your lungs, replacing his finger with hot tongue, tasting your wetness.

His tongue is nearly scorching as you seize around it. He’s burning your entire body in the best way. Eris jackknives his tongue into you with fervor and your mind goes dizzy. It might be the best thing you’ve ever felt, especially when he snakes a finger up to your clit, rolling it like he’d memorized the rhythm that had gotten you off the first time you’d slept together.

He hadn’t done this the first time.

Eris must catch the question trying to claw its way from your throat, the guttural noise sounding something akin to one, you think, because he’s answering with a sinful smile.

“Couldn’t have shown you all of my tricks on the first go around, Love. Have to keep you interested.”

“I think I’ll–” you gasp in pleasure as he licks up your cunt, melting at the way your body reacts to him, “I’ll always be interested in you, Eris. Because I have never loved anything such as I love you.”

Your name is a plea from his lips, hot against your core. It makes you tremble. It makes you ache.

He’s all consuming as his tongue works quicker now, licking long stripes up the length of your cunt and then some, tracing swoops and arches like the runes of a bargain.

You’d never been so thankful for your mate’s control over flames as you reach your peak, grabbing his head with both of your hands so you can grind against him.

Eris’ hands snake around your waist, pulling you tighter, burying himself into you, wild and uncaring, the feeling of you so close to the edge a hot brand across the bond–

You cum with a cry of his name on your lips, a prayer all the same.

But he’s not done with you yet.

He gives you no reprieve as he nips at your sensitive clit, drawing a strained yelp from you, your tightly shut eyes snapping open as he climbs up your body, kissing his way up, his chest brushing against your overheated skin.

Eris presses a long, hot kiss to your heart, the thrumming beat of it pulses against his mouth, making him tingle. He can’t help when his hips dip down, cock brushing through the wetness of your cunt, dragging groans from the both of you that mingle in the silent room.

There’s a faded strip of light seeping through the sliver of the curtains, framing the apples of his cheeks, the bridge of his straight nose. His freckles nearly glow in the growing light, debris of ember against his pale skin.

The rising sun only reminds you that your time here is nearly over. Soon it will be morning and with that comes reality. The reality that your sisters will find out you’ve escaped their clutches in favor of the fiery tempered heir to the Autumn Court’s throne, that you and Eris will somehow also have to survive the throes of Autumn, his father and fucked up brothers.

Neither of you has the perfect family.

But when his lips meet your own, all of your worries melt away.

You thread your fingers through his already tangled hair, reveling in the feeling of him against your mouth, against your body, smothering you like the wildfire he is.

“What do you want, my Love? Anything. Name it and you shall have it,” Eris mutters against your lips, the words of a man on his knees before his Queen.

And while he’s referring to what you want next from him; his cock stuffed deep inside of your cunt or your throat, you riding his face, anything, your mind shifts from sexual favors to something far more serious.

He’d felt the fracture of your pleasure when you’d been reminded of the upcoming days events, a stab of pain down the bond when your mind had wandered for a fleeting moment.

This is no light promise. You know this. Understand that he doesn’t mean he will give you a kiss if you ask, his cock if you beg. Eris is prepared to go to war for you, burn down Prythian if that is what you want, what will make you happy. He is utterly entrapped by you.

He’d stifle himself if it means keeping you alive.

Your heart swells, aching in the best way. You’d hated being a fae, but now, finding what Feyre and Nesta both had…you would never wish for something other than this. Other than him.

Eris coos softly, brushing a tear from your cheek, shed from his heartfelt words. You feel too much, it’s nearly drowning to feel how much he loves you, pouring through the bond as you stare up at him, clutching him tightly, in your own little world inside of an inn with your mate.

But there’s something else, that scalding burn of your anger, beneath it all. It bubbles to the surface at his promise to you, your mind flickering from how in awe you are of your perfect mate to your sisters and their counterparts. How they’d made your business everyone’s business, letting them speak when it was not in their command to do so. How they kept from you, plotted for you, forced you into doing their dirty work.

They’d never get their alliance now. Not if you had anything to do with it.

Sensing the shift in your emotions, Eris hugs you tighter, kissing the crown of your head. You’re brewing with it now, gaze simmering with something wicked. It excites him, seeing that hard look in your eyes, makes him want to take you all over again, let you do anything you want to him. He’d fall to his knees for that look alone.

“I want power. I want to show them that I’m not some fragile thing that needs protecting. I want to be a force that they constantly look over their shoulder for.”

The curve of his mouth is unholy when he responds, amber eyes glittering with pride.

“The only way to get power, Love, is to take it.”

Taglist: @writingsbychlo @readsbychlo @j-brielmalfoy @hopelesslyuncreative @libernoctem @blueskyhappyclones @samsassinparvismagna @juulle987 @character---obsessed @caosfanblr

#eris #eris vanserra #eris x reader #eris/reader #eris vanserra x reader #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acotarxreader #fire & water #autumn court #archeronsister!reader

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haunted-moon · 4 months

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Long Way Home [Part III]

[Azriel x Reader fanfic]

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Read Part 1 here.

Read Part 2 here.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Part III

A few months later, Star fall was to commence soon.

Excitement was in the air, and I was looking forward to it too. Rhysand and Feyre were going to host a party, and preparations were already underway. Everyone pitched in to help between their usual duties, chattering about the outfits, the food, song and dance.

Mor and Feyre repeatedly asked me about my outfit for the event. I remained evasive, since I had no plans of actually attending the party. I'd be watching the sky from elsewhere. Even though I helped with the preparations as if I was going to attend, I was gradually emptying my quarters and shifting my things to an isolated property outside the city. This property was situated in a river valley backed by the large mountains surrounding Velaris. It was an inheritance passed down in our family, and I had remodelled the villa and the gardens with the help of my dad. It was a perfect place to avoid others, and I loved it very much. Father, on the other hand, didn't like to be alone for long periods of time and didn't visit it much.

While I was still in the process of shifting my things, I started sleeping less in the nights. I stayed awake at the kitchen table with a hot cup of tea, working my anatomy drawings or study notes. The one thing I'd miss when I left was the library, so I tried to make extensive notes and copied important paragraphs from the books I read.

One night, I decided on a change of scenery and took my materials to one of the many balconies, making myself comfortable on the thick carpet. As usual, I had some tea in my favourite cup and lots of lamps to illuminate my work.

I had placed the tea-cup along with a glass jar of coloured pencils on a side table so that I wouldn't accidentally knock them off with my elbow. Leaning against the balcony railing, I was copying a detailed anatomical diagram of an Illyrian wing in my journal.

A sudden gust of wind knocked over the table and shattered the tea-cup and glass jar. I jumped, dropping my journal as I watched the carpet soak up my drink and pencils scattered everywhere. My favourite cup was broken to fragments.

Azriel appeared before I had the time to think what to do next.

"Oh, sorry," he pointed at the shattered pieces.

I sighed. The glass jar could be replaced, but the tea-cup was from one of a collection set of my mother's. It hadn't broken into very tiny pieces, though. Maybe I could put it back together, even if it couldn't be used. I could use another cup for drinking and keep this one back in its shelf.

I unfolded a drawstring pouch from my pocket and gathered all the pieces. Azriel helped by collecting the remains of the glass jar and the scattered pencils. The tea stain on the carpet couldn't be helped.

He didn't leave immediately after we finished, so I offered him a cup of tea while I brewed some for myself. He accepted, and soon enough, we had our own mugs of the hot liquid and sitting next to each other on the balcony floor, looking out into the night.

He cleared his throat. "That cup was important to you."

I nodded. A tendril of his shadow flickered near his neck, and slipped out of sight. "It's from a set that belonged to my mother."

His expression dropped from his usual polite blankness. "I'm truly sorry. If there's any way I can help fix—"

I held up a hand. "It's alright. I'll fix it by myself later on."

I was curious as to why he had appeared here. He had never actually come to a place I was in out of his own volition. I asked him about it.

He did not give a direct answer. "You weren't there in the kitchen. I was looking for you everywhere."

I fell silent, turning over his reply in my mind, unsure of how to proceed. Meanwhile, he laid down his mug and picked up the journal I used for sketching. This journal in particular was just pages and pages of anatomical Illyrian wings with the parts labelled and side information. I had drawn them in every possible angle and technique I could think of.

He slowly thumbed through the pages, his own wings slightly trembling in the breeze.

"These are really accurate," he commented as he stopped at one of the pages. His eyebrows went up, and I leaned over a bit to see what he was looking at.

It was a shaded sketch of a pair of hands, with the palms turned up. And they had scars on them. Azriel's hands, which I had drawn one feverish night from memory. Fuck.

I straightened, cupping my own mug with both hands and intensely staring at it, determined not to face him or acknowledge the drawing. My ears and neck turned hot with embarrassment. He stayed on that page for a long time before closing the journal and carefully keeping it on the carpet between us.

"Why the wings?" He asked after a while.

I shrugged. "I miss having them."

"What happened?"

I narrowed a side glance at him. "I'm sure you know what happened."

One corner of his mouth tipped up. "I do. But I'd like to hear the account from you."

I shrugged. "Nothing much to tell. Father was sent on a mission. Mother was already dead by that time and he had to take me with him since there was nobody else at the time to look after me. The task went wrong, and the enemy soldiers ripped off both our wings and left us to die. Only, we were somehow revived and brought back to life. It was quite a while before I learned how to properly balance myself without my wings."

"This was during the war, yes?"

"Yes."

He turned to me and gave me a once-over. "Your mother was not Illyrian."

I nodded. "She was a high fae from the Summer Court. It's a thing in our family's ancestry. We come from a long line of powerful healers, and not all our mates are Illyrian. She survived my birth, even with my wings, but she died during the second along with the child."

Noticing the sadness that crept into my voice, he changed the subject by pointing at my journal. "Why my hands?"

I blushed, turning away from his inquisitive gaze. "I find them beautiful, that's all."

He opened his mouth to reply, but stood up abruptly, his head cocked to the side as if listening to something.

"I have to go."

Going like this only meant one thing. "Is Elaine in need of help?" My voice sounded strange to my own ears.

He was on his way to one of the archways, and halted mid-stride. "Yes. Why?"

I shook my head, motioning for him to leave. "It's nothing. Go on. Don't let me keep you."

He took a step towards me. "But—"

"Just go."

He left.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

I took a nap right there on the carpet until the early morning rays warmed my skin. When I was awake, I started gathering all my things to go back to my room. Cassian appeared and waved at me as I stood up, my arms weighed down with the books and the empty mugs.

"Good morning, my chicken soup."

I laughed. "Morning, Cassian."

During my stay, Cassian had once fallen ill with a stomach problem and wouldn't eat anything and spat out the medicine. I mixed all the herbal concoction in some chicken soup, its flavours masking the bitterness of the herbs and fed it to him until he was better. From then on, he started calling me his chicken soup and always came to me in case of injuries and other illnesses.

He took some of my books and started walking me to my quarters. "I've fetched you breakfast, its in your room."

"Thanks."

When we reached my room, we unloaded our things on a table and I sat on a chair, keeping the breakfast tray on my lap. He took a seat on my bed and thoughtfully chewed on a piece of fruit.

His wings were gently fluttering and I couldn't stop staring.

"How does it feel to fly?" I asked in a low voice. My wings were ripped before I could do so.

His eyes softened. What happened to me and father was not a secret, everyone knew about it. He suddenly grinned as if he had a great idea.

"What if I show you, instead of describing it?"

I didn't know what to say. "Um, I don't know, I'm a pretty chubby woman, I might be too heavy for you to—"

He groaned dramatically. "Oh, come on. I will be put to shame if I can't carry you!" He stood up. "Finish your breakfast. I'll take you right now."

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Tags:

@kalulakunundrum

@thelov3lybookworm

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Read Part 4 here.

Thank you for all the responses to my previous two parts of the story!

This fanfic can also be found in Wattpad, along with other exclusive parts like playlists and pictures. Here's the link: https://www.wattpad.com/story/358573037-long-way-home

Happy reading! <3

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