The Healer and the Soldier

This is probably only going to be a few parts. It’s about a much younger Madja, helping out Illyrians for the first time.

Masterlist

*****

Madja didn’t know how she ended up here.

At only eighty years old, she’d been Velaris’ most famous healer’s apprentice for just over forty of those years, dealing mostly with the sick and dazed among the beautiful city.

But this place was much different than Velaris.

Mud squelching beneath her boots, she followed Shvan to the tent— the largest on the field.

“I know you haven’t done a lot of this kind of work,” the healer was saying, “but these people make up the majority of the High Lord’s army. They are brutish and arrogant, but you must learn.”

Madja nodded, curling her fingers tightly around the leather strap of her medical bag.

“You’ve been studying wing anatomy, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You’ll need it.”

For she had seen Illyrian’s before— with the great and terrible black wings spread behind them. Had seen them in this camp, soaring overhead or lugging their comrades to safety. 

Shvan lifted the tent flap, bidding her forward.

But Madja had never seen so much blood.

*****

Nearly dizzy with exhaustion, Madja moved onto the next patient— and hopefully the last. She’d  been on her feet for eight hours, stitching wounds, setting bones, giving medicine. The Illyrians, she found, were a proud people, and often tried to hide their pain. This made working with many of them extremely difficult. They would turn their brows away from her hands, grit their teeth when she asked them where it hurts. But for them to be in this tent, she knew it had to be fatal, and had already lost nearly eight men who were too far gone to help.

Each death weighed on her soul, even if she knew there was not much she could do.

Her next patient was face down on the bed, his wings spilling out onto the floor beside him. She was careful not to step on them, studying the large tear down one that was hastily patched with red magic and an odd twist that suggested something broken.

“What’s your name, soldier?” she asked as she came to his bedside.

It was the first question she asked each patient. Some were too far gone to give her a coherent answer. One told her he wished he’d forgotten it. She still didn’t know what to make of that.

The man grunted, his face buried in his arm. “Ares.”

“Well, Ares, your wing is badly injured. Are there any other injuries I should know about?”

“Spear went through m’ shoulder.” He didn’t lift his head, but she lifted hers, spotting the clear puncture wound on his other side, wrapped in someone’s dirty shirt. Likely his.

“Alright. I’ll have a look at that one first, then get to your wing.”

“No,” he grunted, face still hidden by his arm. “Wing first.”

“The shoulder is more pressing. You could get an infection or—”

“Wing first.”

She sighed, rising to step back over said wing so she could get a better look at it. She’d take care of the tear first, then the break. His body shook slightly as the red magic flickered and faded away, providing her a clear view. The wound was at least eight inches wide, traveling up about a foot and a half into his wing. She gently cleaned the remaining dirt and dried blood from the area around it, marking the shivers that wracked his body. If he was shivering, that could be a sign of fever. Fever from infection. That shoulder—

“The most I can do for this is sew it back up, but you won’t be able to fly for a few weeks. I’ll also put your wing in a splint and set the bone. But first—”

“My wing,” he mumbled again.

She sighed again and went to work. The sewing was the easy part, with Illyrian wings being so thin. The bone, thankfully, wasn’t as bad as she’d first thought. It was a clean break, but easy to set. The splinting would have to wait till later when she could build something proper for him. His wings were bigger than average, and each had to be custom made anyway.  

She smeared a salve on the area that would numb it and speed along healing. His hiss found her ears, making her look up. “What is it?”

“Tha’s cold.” 

“Well, there’s nothing I can do about that. I’m going to look at your shoulder now.”

“What about the splint? You said some’in about a splint.”

“That’s going to have to wait until I look at your shoulder.”

He grumbled something she chose not to hear. That was another thing she’d learned about Illyrians. They were always grumbling. She knew by now how much they cared for their wings— clearly more than life itself— but her job was to keep him alive first.

The spear had hit just above his armpit, she found when she unwound the dirty cloth. It went all the way through, but thankfully didn’t hit bone. 

“I need you to sit up so I can see the other side. Can you do that for me?”

He grumbled some more, but shifted, pushing himself up on his good arm.

Madja had to pause.

With him no longer covering his face, she could see him clearer now. 

He was stunning. A long, thin scar trailed just below his eye, all the way down his jaw and part of his neck, but it did nothing to dull his strange etherealness. There was a fine dusting of coarse hair over his jawline, kept well groomed. His chest was a patchwork of the scars and muscles every Illyrian carried, so she didn’t know why she was so shocked. Maybe it was his eyes.

They were gold, where most of his kind had hazel or brown. His were molten gold.

She cleared her throat awkwardly, gaze shooting to the wound on his shoulder. She bent to clean it, earning a soft hiss in her ear. “It’s not infected— thankfully. And didn’t hit anything important. After I wrap it, this arm is going in a sling. You’ll only have to wear it for a day or two, just so your body can remember properly how to heal it.”

“I’m not wearing a damn sling.”

At that, Madja straightened, glaring at him. “It wasn’t a question. You will do as I tell you, or I’ll make you sleep for days so you won’t have to wear one. Oh, you don’t think I will? Want to take a gamble?”

He shut those too-full lips, pouting almost, and looked away. With both sides clean, she wrapped the wound carefully, applying a yarrow salve to the cloth. Then she grabbed a new and wider strip of cloth for the sling.

“So you can make a sling right now, but can’t do a splint.”

When she went to wash her hands, though, he opened that damned mouth again.

“Do you know how to make a splint?” she hissed, then, at his silence, added, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

He continued to glare at her as she worked, but thankfully didn’t say anything else. Once she was finished, she took another once over on his body. The legs, she couldn’t see beneath his trousers, but nothing appeared damp with fresh blood or misshapen. His torso was bruised, but nowhere immediately concerning. Good.

“What about my splint?”

“I’m debating not getting you one and letting you heal all wrinkled. Shut your mouth.” With that, she went to find some wood and maybe ask Shvan to put the splint on.

*****

Madja sighed as she collapsed onto the simple cot the camps had provided her. She was tired down to her bones, her movements heavy as she pulled off her boots. It had been nearly two weeks here, patching up soldiers who fought a war she knew nothing about. Few bothered to thank her before hefting up their swords if they were well enough, but she didn’t mind. Seeing them back on their feet was thanks enough.

Laying down, she didn’t know she had fallen asleep until she woke to the sound on mud squelching outside her tent. It had rained yesterday, leaving more infections to deal with, and trying to pull mud from a drowning soldier’s lungs.

She sat up, eying her oil lamp, which was about to go out. She hadn’t meant to leave it on. Where would she even find more oil? Who could she ask—

The tent flap lifted and Madja shot her eyes towards it, snatching the knife from beneath the pillow. She had no real fighting experience, and the knife was a small surgical one, but she hoped it would be better than nothing.

Just when she was about to stand, a dark head ducked inside. “Shvan told me I could find you here.”

“Are you injured?” She lowered the knife, but only slightly. The man stood just beyond the light of the lamp, his features cloaked in darkness.

He laughed slightly. “Not anymore.”

“Who am I speaking to? Step forward.”

He did and the dim light fell on his features. Ares. 

“What do you want?”

“To thank you.”

That threw her off. She’d begun to think that those words simply weren’t in many Illyrian vocabularies. 

“Your thanks is accepted. You may leave.”

He didn’t. Instead, he stood there. Awkwardly.

She sighed, setting her knife down. “What do you want?”

He cleared his throat. “I just… I wanted to say that I’m sorry for being an ass when you were just trying to help. And I’m sorry for waking you up just now.”

She waved him away. “Your apology is accepted too.”

And he still stood there. Still awkwardly.

“Get out of my tent.”

“Right.” He bowed, seemed to stop half-way and correct himself, then turned on his heel and left.

*****

“Your studies paid off,” Shvan told her almost a week later, looking over the room of slowly healing soldiers.

Madja bristled with pride. Compliments from Shvan were few and far between, each one coveted like gold. “Thank you. You taught me well.”

“Nonsense. I never hinted that we would be working with Illyrian. More importantly, however, you seem to have caught someone’s eye.”

“What?” She turned to her mentor, a single brow raised.

“Ares is a good friend of mine. I remember when he was just a child, coming to represent his camp when his camp lord died.”

A child? She knew Shvan was old, but how old was Ares? And why would they send a child?

“He’s asked after you several times,” the healer went on.

“I’ve only seen him twice.”

She snorted. “What a coward.”

Madja pushed the thoughts of Ares from her mind. “When do we leave for Velaris?”

“When the work is done,” Shvan answered, which was her answer to all questions like that.

“And when will that be?” Madja always asked, but didn’t this time. 

She had a feeling it was going to be a long while.

*****

A new rush of soldiers hit that night after a bomb went off somewhere in one of the camps. Madja found herself busier than she liked, wobbling on her feet from the effort of working endlessly with food or rest.

Black spots swarmed her vision as she stood from a soldier’s bedside to meet the new ones coming in, pointing to empty beds— only three were left.

Fuck. She really should have gotten something to eat.

She went to help the soldiers but Shvan was already there.

Turning, Madja’s head swam again, but she shoved it down— made her steps straight as she checked on a soldier that had had his leg amputated just a few hours earlier.

She braced her hand on the bed, cataloging that he was thankfully still asleep.

“Madja?” A voice came from behind her.

She turned— too quickly.

Taking a lurching step, her vision went black for a moment before she found herself being help up— two strong hands at her elbows, flecked in mud and blood.

“I’m so sorry—” she started to say.

“What are you doing? You look like you’re going to pass out.”

She lifted her head, the face before her taking a moment to come into focus. Ares. She pushed away from him. “I’m fine. I just—”

But before she could finish the sentence, she was being swept up, her head lulling against his muscular chest. “You’re done for the day.”

Then Shvan was there, a hand on her brow as she tried to rid herself of the hulking Illyrian. “Madja, why didn’t you tell me you were ill?”

“Not ill,” she mumbled, kicking her legs slightly. “I need to help—”

“You’re of no use to me on the verge of passing out. Take her to her tent, Ares. Make sure she drinks water and eats something useful.”

“Shvan—” Madja struggled some more, but Ares held her tighter, guiding her face into his neck.

“I’ll take care of her,” he said.

“Thank you.”

Madja gave up. If Shvan said so, maybe she really did need some rest. And she wasn’t particularly uncomfortable. She had a nice view of the strong column of his throat, his pulse pounding just beneath the golden skin.

Ares carried her from the tent, crossing the camp unperturbed despite the stares from the people around them. Her eyelids fluttered, and grew heavy.

Before she knew it, she had fallen asleep in his arms.

*****

Madja blinked against the light that had woken her, letting out a hiss as she turned her face into her pillow.

“Well, that’s certainly a sight.”

The tent flap dropped behind Ares, cutting off the band of sunlight.

She blinked at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I got you breakfast, since you slept through dinner.” He set a tray at her feet before handing her a glass of water. “Drink this. All of it.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Clearly not if you didn’t recognize your body’s own limits. Drink.”

She glared at him, but indeed tipped the glass, taking a long swallow. The water was cold and welcome, waking her up fully. “What time is it?”

“I’ll answer questions after you finish that glass.” 

Blowing air sharply through her nose, she resisted the urge to spit the water at him. After she finished the glass, she asked again.

“Just after ten.” He sat on the bed beside her. Unwelcome. “A truce was signed this morning. We’ll all be going home soon.”

He said it in a way that interested her. “Me and Shvan too?”

“Shvan and I,” he corrected. “But I have other news.”

“Don’t leave me in suspense.”

He glanced at her, then quickly away. “Shvan would like to stay with our camp. She said it would be good for you to learn other things about Illyrians, besides battlefield healing.”

“And why haven’t I heard about this yet?”

“We only spoke last night.”

“That’s rather convenient.” She glared at the space in front of her. 

Ares shifted, drawing her eyes to him. He put the tray on his lap, holding up a spoon of oatmeal that was just a tad too thick.

Madja balked. “I can feed myself, thank you very much.”

He pursed his lips. “Just eat it. You’re wasting my time.”

“I’mwastingyour—”

He shoved the spoon into her mouth.

She sputtered, nearly gagging as she pushed his hand away. “Excuse me? What the hell—”

Then his other hand was on her chin, cradling as he wiped away a bit of oatmeal on her lip. For a moment, she forgot she was angry.

“You need to eat,” he said, voice dropping.

“That doesn’t mean you need to feed me.”

His hand was still on her face. That was all she could think about.

“Are you going to fight me, or am I going to have to make you eat.”

“I was going to!”

“You’re taking too long.” He held up another spoonful. “Don’t make a mess this time.”

“I swear to—”

“Madja.”

“What?” she snapped.

“You’re cute when you blush.”

She gaped, and therefore gave him the ability to shove more in her mouth. This time, she took it easier, but still considered spitting it on him. “I’m serious. I’m not an invalid. I can feed myself.”

“I like feeding you.” He offered another spoon.

“Why?”

He didn’t answer, waving the spoon a bit in warning. A thick glob fell off and landed with a splat on the tray.

She sighed and took the bite. It was dry and tasteless on her tongue, making her regret drinking all that water at once. “Have you eaten anything today?”

He rolled his eyes. “Really? I’m not as stupid as you are.”

“I’m not—”

Another spoon in her mouth.

She seethed. If he wasn’t so damn pretty, she’d have covered him in the dish by now. Probably.

“You need to keep up your strength today,” he said, still feeding her like she was a damned baby. “Shvan needs your help getting the soldiers ready who are too injured to move themselves. Open.”

“I’m going to hurt you.”

“Open.”

She opened her mouth.

“Good girl.”

Her eyes widened and she nearly choked.

*****

“Do Illyrians bathe in mud?” Madja asked Shvan.

The healer gave her a skeptical look. “What?”

“There’s mud everywhere and I haven’t seen a drop of naturally clean water. I’ve also never seen one bathe.”

“As bold as that observation is, no, they don’t bathe in mud. That defeats the purpose of bathing.” Shvan smoothed a hand down the front of her healer’s gown. “Why are you thinking about Illyrians bathing?”

“Because they’re always disgusting. Please tell me we’re not staying in a tent anymore?”

Shvan gave a rare smile. “No tent. There’s a house that belongs to the camp lord. We’ll be staying there.”

“Brilliant.” 

“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.”

“About that.” Madja kicked a rock as they awaited the last of the Illyrians’ preparations to leave. “Why did you have that damned man come to my tent and feed me as if I couldn’t myself.”

Shvan choked, eyes shooting to hers. “He what?”

“He fed me. It was mortifying.”

She seemed to be suppressing a smile. “I didn’t tell him to do that. I told him to make sure you ate— I suppose he thought he had to go to extremes. Is he why you’re thinking about Illyrians bathing?”

Madja’s nose crinkled. “Absolutely not.”

“Mhmm.”

*****

Tags: @a-trifling-matter@vanilla28@texas-shaped-waffle-maker@illyrianwitchling13@feyrheart@sarahjmaasslave@h-a-p-p-i-e-s@sadb1tch3000 @samuelcasera-blog @wanderlustlastsforever @catita09 @ @madie-max@gendryaforthemasses@nestaarxheron@imlumpingamazingstuff@silver-flames@awesomelena555@ribhinnog@sannelovesreading@over300books@sayosdreams@illyrian-bookworm@perseusannabeth@ireallyshouldsleeprn@thalia-2-rose@my-fan-side@skychild29@superspiritfestival@nahthanks@duskandstarlight@julemmaes@darkshadowqueensrule@illyrianshadowhunter@maastrash

Music Masterlist

Fanfiction Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Sorry about the wait and the short chapter, but I hope you enjoy.

Land, when she came to it, was welcome. Nesta climbed from the water on two legs and collapsed onto the sand until the tides rose and threatened to take her again. Then, under the cover of night, she slipped into the nearest village, snatching clothes from some poor woman’s home. She also managed to find some stale bread and sweaty cheese, gnawing on the food as she tried to figure out where she was. 

And so her journey began. 

Traveling across Asia, then Europe, it was months before she heard word of the Velaris. 

“It was rescued by Hybern’s men,” a man said, wiping grease from his hands. “But that was months ago. No one has heard anything since.”

So she went to Hybern.

He was a busy man, living at the tip of Italy. It took her a week of pestering to get an audience.

Nesta didn’t bother to straighten her ragged clothes, to make herself look anything more than a beggar on the streets as she entered the ostentatious office.

“Where are they?” she demanded.

“Where are who?”

“They people of the Velaris. There had to be survivors.” 

“Ah. I was wondering when someone would come asking about that.” He scribbled something on a paper before folding it and handing it off to a trembling servant. “Most survived. Casualties were few and far between thanks to my men.” 

“What happened?” she breathed, trying not to let her relief show.

“Ship caught fire. Tragic, really. But… you don’t believe that, do you?” His cold eyes finally lifted to hers. “If I tell you where they are, what will you give me, little siren?” 

“What do you want?” 

He rubbed a hand across his beard, a smirk playing on his lips. “Would you give up that last hope? That last chance of being human? What about your memories? Would you give me those?” He leaned back in his chair. “You know, sirens only remember when they have given up their heart. A heart for a mind. Who has your heart, little siren? I want it.”

She didn’t answer and, carefully, pushed Cassian from her mind.

“I will tell you where your friends are if you will meet me on the cove at midnight tonight. I have an experiment I’d like to perform.”

“Done.”
“Brilliant.” His wicked smile gleamed. “The people you are looking for have been imprisoned by the Navy for piracy. They were granted pardon on the condition that they work their sentences building houses for the homeless. Their workshop is three blocks to the East.”

She didn’t thank him as she rushed from the room.

Those three blocks were the furthest she’d traveled. She ran as fast as she could, finding the building instantly amongst the others. It was a large warehouse, nearly falling apart at the seams. From inside, she could hear the sound of hammers and drills.

Many men heaved and sweated the day away, driving cars to the build sites, stacked full of lumber. Nesta found Rhysand first, wiping moisture from his brow as he fed a length of wood through a saw, a black P branded onto his wrists.

He looked up when he felt her gaze, eyes widening as he realized just who stood before him.

Nesta could bring herself to say anything.

Rhys roared and launched himself at her.

She braced herself for the beating, but Feyre was there first, her arms thrown around her sister. Then it was Elain. Nesta thought her legs might have given out, but their embrace held her up. 

Distantly, she heard Rhys yelling, but it was muffled, as if she were underwater. Elain pulled back, cradling her face like she was a child. “I can’t believe you’re okay. We didn’t know what to think when you both disappeared.”

“Where’s Cassian?” Azriela asked cooly from behind her. “If he’s dead, tell us now.”

Nesta wiped at her face, detangling herself from her sisters. “He’s alive.”

“Then where is he?” Rhysand snarled.

She swallowed. “I… I think we should all sit down.”

*****

Nesta stared at her hands in the silence.

Rhys was the first to speak up, his voice breaking. “This is all your fault. You did—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Azriel snapped. “We just… we need to find a way to fix this.” 

“There’s no way,” Nesta whispered. “There’s no way to reverse the curse.”

“No way that anyone has found.” Elain glanced at her, eyes wide with hope. “According to the books, sirens have been around for hundreds of years. I’m sure… I’m sure we could find something.”

Nesta’s eyes burned, but she swallowed thickly as she said, “We can look.”

Feyre shook her head. “We’re not allowed to leave.”

“What? Why?”

She turned her wrist, revealing the dark P branded there. “It’s the law. It was either this or death row.”

Nesta’s upper lip curled and a bit of the siren surfaced. “I’m going to kill them all. Slowly.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

She turned, finding Amren wiping her dirty hands on a rag as she approached.

“Why not?”

“Because we’re leaving. Today. And we’re going to find him.”

*****

Nesta couldn’t help but gape.

Because before her, balancing between beams thicker than her, was a pirate ship.

“This… you built this?” She looked at them all, caught a hint of pride on Rhysand’s face beneath all the fury.

“At night, when everyone was asleep.” Amren was dwarfed by the ship. “That’s what we’ve been doing all these months.”

“How… how did you hide it?”

“Nobody comes into this part of the warehouse. And those that wandered in, we offered a seat. Everyone wants out of here.”

The fact that such a large section of the building could go empty this long was astonishing in and of itself. “How do we get it into the water?”

“Connections,” Azriel said and that was all.

She didn’t dare to ask if she’d be welcome on the ship. She’d swim beside it if need be. “What did you name her?”

“Dreamer,” Feyre said, reaching up to run her hand across the boards. “We’ll leave tomorrow night if everything goes as planned.”

Nesta nodded even as her heart sank a bit. How long had it already been? Weeks? Months? Could they even convince him to come with them, or had he already… had he…

She pushed the thought away. She’d already crossed continents for him.

The ocean would be nothing.

*****

He stared at the girl beneath him as he ripped her heart from her chest. It was warm in his hand, a slight weight that he’d grown used to.

He left the corpse just above the drop off, strings of blood still drifting up from her body. The animals would get to her if the sea didn’t sweep her to shore first.

He didn’t know her name.

But his… What was it again? He’s heard it once, lifetimes ago, but it had been swallowed by the sea as all things were.

He backed away from the drop off, the endless ocean opening up beneath him.

And prayed it would swallow him whole.

*****

Tags: @a-trifling-matter@vanilla28@texas-shaped-waffle-maker@absolute-dissappointment@illyrianwitchling13@feyrheart@sarahjmaasslave @h-a-p-p-i-e-s @pixelatedpebble @samuelcasera-blog @wanderlustlastsforever @catita09 @just-me-too @gendryaforthemasses​ @nestaarxheron @imlumpingamazingstuff@azriel-archeron@awesomelena555@ribhinnog@sannelovesreading@januarystears@empress-ofbloodshed@skychild29 @dotmccarthy @ourbooksuniverse @b00kworm@sjm-things@guccinej@sayosdreams@thewayshedreamed@welcometothespeaknowworldtour@maastrash@aflyada@keshavomit @madie-max@silver-flames@over300books@illyrian-bookworm@perseusannabeth@booksandlewks@duskandstarlight@ireallyshouldsleeprn@thalia-2-rose@my-fan-side@skychild29@superspiritfestival@nahthanks@sayosdreams@julemmaes@darkshadowqueensrule@illyrianshadowhunter

Rhys and Azriel’s Conversation

“You believe you deserve to be her mate?”

I think a lot of people are poorly misunderstanding Rhys’ question to Az about deserving Elain here. It really bothers me that people started to freak out about Rhys and Az’s dynamic after (mis)reading this one conversation. There seems to be a couple of issues causing the confusion:

1. Interpreting the words
2. Context

The first half of all the confusion seems to be a problem of language. Sarah might’ve chosen a less ambiguous word here but, alas, here we are.

So.

Deserve: to have earned or to be given something because of the way you have behaved or the qualities you have. (Cambridge Dictionary)

Deserve: do something or have or show qualities worthy of (a reaction which rewards or punishes as appropriate). (Oxford Dictionary)

Obviously both these definitions are different and you can probably see where this is going.

In the same vein, two synonymous phrases to ‘deserve’ are ‘to be entitled to’and‘to be worthy of’. We see that the word can be used to describe either of those attitudes. For the latter, Rhys asking Az if he actually believes he’s worthy of Elain would be so, so bad - and also completely and ridiculously out of character. Rhys constantly talks about how much it hurts him to see Az (and Cassian) believe that he’s a worthless bastard and even expresses this to Feyre on multiple occasions. So for him to to turn around and imply that Az wasn’t worthy of Elain would be so uncharacteristic of Rhys’ personality. But Rhys asking Az if he thinks he’s entitled to Elain’s affection makes much more sense in this context - and also how we’d expect Rhys to respond to Az’s words just before this question: “What if the Cauldron was wrong?… The Cauldron chose three sisters. Tell me how it’s possible that my two brothers are with two of those sisters, yet the third was given to another.” To which Rhys responds: “You believe you deserve to be her mate?” The context of the conversation makes it obvious that Rhys is freaked out because it sounds like Az feels he’s entitled to the third sister because of some sort of Cauldron-math - not the possibility that Elain herself might choose Az. Azriel never even mentions considering Elain’s choice in this whole conversation, even if he might have thought about it privately. So it seems obvious where Rhys’ line of thought would go, what he would be concerned about. He was obviously making a point about how fucked up it would be if Az were to think he deserves Elain as if she were an object. Like one would deserve a trophy or prize. As if Elain’s affection is EXPECTED to be directed at Az by the Cauldron/fate because HE thinks so. That he is somehow entitled to Elain.

Bear in mind that Rhys is a male who’s obsessed with choice (because his own was taken away) and who himself didn’t ever allow himself to believe that he was entitled to his own mate’s love. There are plenty of men who believe themselves entitled to a woman for all sorts of reasons - so it’s not a stretch that Rhys would be disturbed to hear something that sounds similar to entitlement in Az’s words. Especially since it’s obvious that Az is in a dark place (not sleeping, sad eyes, standing in the doorway throughout Solstice celebrations) and Rhys has obviously noted this. People can try to justify all sorts of attitudes when they’re in such a dark place (See: Nesta).

All this context is important to this conversation, guys!

Azriel: it’s unfortunate that Nesta’s a moronsexual.

Cassian: hey! don’t call my girlfriend a moron.

Cassian:wait-

So ready for a chapter 54 revelation scene between Azriel and Gwyn in the next ACOTAR. I know Sjm is going to reveal EVERYTHING!! ❤️❤️

I don’t understand Gwynriel fans. All Azriel does is display social interaction for the first time in five books with a girl and the fandom’s already coming up with baby names for them.

Ships aside can we all get an f in the chat for all of Azriel’s past and future partners. Like we all know how Rhysand was described and I didn’t think it could have gotten worse, but then we got to see Cassian in Silver Flames. And it’s well known that Azriel has the biggest wingspan, but how in the world could he be bigger than Cassian!? Like it can’t be possible. I am praying for whoever ends up with Azriel in the future books, she’s gonna need all the help she can get.

[in an argument]

Feyre: Bite me.

Rhysand: *smirks* Where?

Feyre:

Feyre: You can’t just say those things!

Rhysand: *continues to smirk*

Nesta: *falls down the stairs*

Cassian: *catches her* I think you just

Cassian:

Cassian:

Cassian:

Cassian: Fell for me.

Nesta: Put me down.

Friendly reminder that Rowan Whitethorn is one of the most respectful Sarah J Mass men.

Words can’t describe how much I loved reading about him and how he felt about Aelin. He was full prepared to allow her to marry someone else if it meant saving Terrasen. He respected her decisions despite his feelings towards her. And an honourable mention goes to the gold nightgown scene where he told her they should wait before they truly got involved with each other. Now that’s a real man right there.

Aelin: Aw look, Evangaline drew a cute dog!

Aedion: *joins her by the drawing*

Rowan:

Rowan: *clutching a pencil*

Rowan: Its a dragon.

Throne of Glass Characters and their music taste

This is all just my personal opinion so take this as you will

Dorian: Would love pop music. Like One Direction, Shawn Mendes, the top 40? All his jam. I also think he would be the kinda guy to be constantly singing Tik Tok songs annoying the hell out of his friends.

Rowan: He would love RnB. All the relaxing vibes would help him keep his cool around Aelin. I feel like he would like Khalid a lot and I’m not just saying that because he’s the only RnB artist I know lol.

Aelin: She would definitely listen to Doja Cat and Megan thee Stallion. It’s Girl Boss music and she is the girl boss. I also get the vibe she would enjoy listening to Queen. I don’t know why, but I think it fits her vibe.

Chaol: He would probably listen to Imagine Dragons and Twenty One Pilots. He would also say he hated Dorians music, but would secretly love jamming out to One Direction because lets be honest that shit slaps.

Aedion: Definitely a classic rock guy. Journey, AC/DC, and Van Halen would all be up his ally. Maybe even some Billy Joel. And we all know Aelin would force him to listen to her music so he would secretly have a playlist of the songs he likes.

Lysandra: Harry Styles. Her favourite album would probably be fine line with the self titled album as a close second. She would also enjoy some Coldplay, more than likely their earlier stuff.

Manon: She would listen to Panic at the Disco. Not High Hopes, while she would like it, her favourite era would be I write Sins not Tragedies. Billie Eilish would also be her jam, especially her newer stuff.

Feyre: Take me to art museums and makeout with me.

Rhysand: But they said not to touch the masterpieces.

Feyre: Well, somebody’s got to pin the artwork to the wall.

Cassian: *over a walkie-talkie* This is Cassian, those idiots are fucking in the east wing again.

Elriel Comic

Credits to @/bottle_of_rum_art on Instagram

When Rhys spoke like that, it was more of a command than a question.

Elain waved a hand in dismissal before flinging open the veranda doors and striding into the open air.

“Elain,” Rhys said as he and Cassian trailed her into the dying light.

Rhys trying to intimidate:

Elain:

“ACOSFdestroyedElriel”

ACOSF:

• Cassian said tightly, “He says he’d rather stay up here than at the river house.”
• “Because of the shit with Elain?” Azriel stilled. “What happened to Elain?” Cassian waved a hand. “A fight with Nesta. Don’t bring it up,” he warned when Azriel’s eyes darkened.
• Cassian surveyed the shadows gathered around Az. “You all right?” His brother nodded. “Fine.” But shadows still swarmed him.
• Nesta saw the blow land, like a physical impact, in Elain’s face, her posture. No one spoke, though shadows gathered in the corners of the room, like snakes preparing to strike.
• “Elain was the only one who guessed. She caught me vomiting two mornings in a row.” She nodded toward Azriel. “I think she’s got you beat for secret-keeping.”
• Azrielstiffened. “I know. I helped rescue Elain, after all.” Az hadn’t so much as hesitated before going into the heart of Hybern’s war-camp.
• Mor no longer sat beside Cassian, draped herself over him, and Azriel … those longing glances toward her had become few and far between. As if he’d given up. After five hundred years, he’d somehow given up. Cassian couldn’t think why.
• Cassian let it drop, knowing Az would have told him already if he’d wanted to share what had been hounding him enough to exercise at night, rather than in the morning with them.
• Azriel stiffened, an outright sign of temper from him as he said quietly, “There is an innate darkness to the Dread Trove that Elain should not be exposed to.”
• Shethrew a nod toward Azriel. “Including Elain, who is more than capable of defending herself against the darkness of the Trove, if she chooses to. Don’t underestimate her.”
• “We won’t allow any harm to come to Elain. Rhys warded her this morning, and we have eyes on her at all times.” “Eyes can be blinded,” Nesta said. “Not the ones under my command,” Azriel said with soft menace.
• Nesta met his stare, knowing he was the only one aside from Feyre who could truly understand her hesitation. He’d gone with Feyre into the heart of Hybern’s camp to save Elain—he knew the risk.
• “She made ballrooms into battlefields and plotted like any general. Like you two,” she said, nodding to Cassian, and then, a bit more shyly, to Azriel. Azriel offered her a small smilethatElain quickly looked away from. Cassian tucked away his puzzlement.
• “You came,” Elain said behind her, and Nesta started, not having heard her sister approach. She scanned Elain from head to toe, wondering if she’d been taking lessons in stealth either from Azriel or the two half-wraiths she called friends.
• Elain just linked her arm through Nesta’s and led her toward the family room, where Azriel stood in the doorway, monitoring them. As if he’d heard Elain’s sharp laugh and wondered what had caused it.
• Then his gaze shifted to Elain, and though it was utterly neutral, something charged went through it. Between them. Elain’s breath caught slightly, and she gave him a shallow nod of greeting before brushing past, leading Nesta into the room.
• “My shadows don’t like the flames so much.” A pretty lie. She’d seen Azriel before the fire plenty. But she looked at who sat close to it and knew the answer.
• Shadows darkened his eyes, full of enough pain that she couldn’t stop herself from touching his shoulder. Letting him see that she understood why he stood in the doorway, why he wouldn’t go near the fire. His secret to tell, never hers.
• He’d been replaced in training by a stone-faced Azriel, who was more aloof than usual and wouldn’t even give her a smile.

Why Azriel’s shadows vanishing is a good thing

Azriel uses them to hide his emotions, therefore without them, he’s more open:

• Nothing. Absolutely nothing on that face, on his scent. The shadows, whatever the hell they were, hid too well. Too much.
• In the blinding sun off the turquoise water, his shadows were gone, his face stark and clear.More… human than I had ever seen him.
• The lurking shadows vanished entirely as Azriel’s head dipped a bit – his night-dark hair sliding over his handsome face as if to shield him from that mercilessly beautiful grin.

The shadows mainly show up when Azriel feels negative emotions:

• Cassian surveyed the shadows gathered around Az. “You all right?” His brother nodded. “Fine.” But shadows still swarmedhim.
• I studied the tenseness in Azriel’s shoulders, the shadows veiling half of him from the sunlight.
• The shadows coiled around him, snakes ready to strike.
• No one spoke, though shadows gathered in the corners of the room, like snakes preparing to strike.
• Azriel, his face a mask of beautiful death, silently promised them all endless, unyielding torment, even the shadows shuddering in his wake.

His shadows were born from his trauma as a child, therefore it can be presumed that they’re mostly present as a form of protection so he doesn’t need them around Elain as he feels safe with her:

• His shadows were different. Born in alightless, airless prison meant to break him. Instead, he had learned its language.

The shadows have disappeared when Azriel showed eagerness to spend time with Elain:

• “I can help her,” said Azriel, stepping to the table as Elain silently rose. No shadows at his ear, no darkness ringing his fingers as he extended a hand.

A sign of Elain’s happiness lit them up:

• “What now?” Elain mused, at last answering my question from moments ago as her attention drifted to the windows facing the sunny street. That smile grew, bright enough that it lit up even Azriel’s shadows across the room.

Characters with shadow powers from SJM’s other series were shown to be relaxed/comfortable when their shadows vanished:

• Bryce might have replied, but the shadows on Cormac’s arms faded. His broad shoulders relaxed. Then he stalked to the dining table and sat. His eyes were clearer—calmer.
• Every movement was stiff, shadows whispering around him. But the prince exhaled and the shadows, the tension, vanished.