Elriel Month: Week 3 “Would you like to show me the garden?”
Can you believe we are going into week three already? I hope everyone is having a wonderful time this month, I know I am!
WOW.Where to even begin, creating this was the most magical experience with @/berizart, What a wonderful human being and so exceptionally talented! We went through several ideas between last year when I first reached out too now but I couldn’t be happier with the what we chose and the result, it was worth every second!Thank you so much Beriz <3
This Elain and Azriel is one of my all time favourite depictions of them. *chefs kiss*
~ Please DO NOT repost on any socials, thank you very much! ~
Hello all!! Apologies for the radio silence, I hope everyone’s doing well! I’ve had a crazy time moving out and beginning university. I’m so excited to finally share this ACOTAR commission for Chest of Fandoms’ (@chestoffandoms on instagram) monthly book box! It’s been far too long since I’ve drawn Rhys, Cassian and Azriel all together ✨✨
Those who are familiar with the fantasy novel series A Court Of Thorns And Roses and Crescent City by Sarah J. Maas; let us pretend that Bryce Quinlan is not wearing an X-men suit here, instead she is wearing Illyrian leathers with a modern world twist ready to kick some Asteri ass.
don’t know where to post this BUT if anyone likes ACOTAR… i published the first chapter to a Lucien x female OC fic on both wattpad and ao3. it takes place during ACOWAR, she’s Cassian’s twin sister but he’s still mated to Elain sooo….. go check it out if you’re interested <3
We all know Azriel gave Gwyn a lesson on dagger handling but we were robbed of the details I basically took it personally .
So, the situation needed to be remedied I was wondering what would a lesson be like and I was going through some pictures and came across Morgan’s jurdan piece thats where inspiration struck for a Gwynriel piece.
Now, clearly Azriel is the spymaster and extracting information is his speciality so I thought what if he was teaching Gwyn that when training to become a spy? With Azriel clearly Shadows had to be involved
This is not based on “the lesson” from ACOSF but it is “A lesson” .
Presenting my next commission in the series I really hope you guys enjoy the art and story
after being trapped for over 500 years by amarantha and despite resurrected by the cauldron, imagine jurian wasn’t really alive again. he didn’t feel alive anyway. then imagine him meeting vassa and her fire coaxes his own out of hiding and over time he realizes that she’s made him come alive again.
you know how some people talk about how lucien could become the new high lord of spring with elain at his side but do you want to know what i’d really like to see if they end up ruling that court? elain getting the powers and becoming the first high lady that the magic chose. it’s been said that spring was made for her and lucien is already the heir to the day court, meaning he will be its high lord someday so
Summary:When a sick Cassian refuses to stay in bed, Rhys is forced to send in reinforcements.
(Post-bonding. Post-ACOWAR. NSFW.)
***
“Traitorous ass.”
“I’m not sorry,” said Rhys.
“You should be,” said Cassian.
“You left me no choice,” said Rhys.
“It’s a cold,” Cassian snarled. “I’m your commander. You can’t just put me on leave because of a damn cold.”
At any other time, Rhys might have conceded. Cassian was the best warrior in all of Prythian, worthy of all his titles and reputation ten times over. But as a patient, he was the absolute worst. The stubborn prick had refused Madja’s orders to rest, even though he was on the verge of total collapse.
“I’m your High Lord,” said Rhys. “And you know as well as I do that this isn’t just a cold.”
It was rare for a fae to succumb to illness, but when they did it was almost unbearable. The pain was like being pierced with ash—not enough to kill, but enough to incapacitate. Headaches, soreness, chills, fever, nausea…though the symptoms were similar to that of human influenza, the severity was magnified a thousandfold. Some even required a sleeping draught so they wouldn’t suffer through the worst of it.
Cassian, like the good soldier he was, simply carried on. Until it was clear that he wouldn’t be able to much longer. It took the combined efforts of Azriel, Morrigan, and Rhys to ambush him in the war camps, winnow him home, and haul him into bed. Of course, he fought them every single inch of the way and there were serious considerations of tying him up. But Cassian had grown so dangerously weak that Rhys dismissed them.
Besides, he had one card up his sleeve and if there was ever a good a time to use it, it would be now.
“Pulling rank is a cheap shot,” said Cassian. “I can leave whenever I want, you know. High Lord or not, you can’t actually stop me.”
Rhys smirked.
“One, since you can barely stand, that argument is moot. Two, you’re absolutely right. I can’t stop you from being a complete idiot. But shecan.”
Cassian groaned. “I swear to the old gods, if you actually brought Feyre into this I’ll…”
Rhys clucked his tongue. “Oh no, dear brother. It’s not my darling Feyre I called to keep watch over you.”
Thanksvember 29! I really love this fic called Fever. I enjoyed how @lady-therion portrayed Nesta. She hit the entire gammut of characteristics (snarky, worried, vulnerable, caring, short-tempered, flirty, you name it!) but it really worked here. I found this nurse Nesta to be endearing and relatable and the dynamic between her and Cassian was very sweet. Just go read the damned thing.
The language of shadows was complex, this Elain knew. It was why shadowsingers were so rare and so feared. Shadows were almost a living thing, their whispers hard to decipher, their powers hard to tame; and, Cauldron, how powerful they could be. Azriel was the most famed shadowsinger in Prythian’s history and the only one currently known to be alive. It was no wonder, then, that he found it hard to explain the nature of his powers, the nature of his shadow-work.
Even Elain, who knew Azriel better than anyone, didn’t quite understand it. But she didn’t have to really. All she had to do was trust it, those tendrils of darkness that followed him around like favored pets. She was fascinated by them, in fact, fascinated by how Azriel wove them in and out existence, how he used them to transport himself from place to place, ever-silent.
It still shocked her though, the first time a soft, black tendril wrapped around her wrist. It writhed against her, shuddered in and out of life – but it didn’t hurt. Elain would have been scared of it, were it not for how she could feel Azriel in it, feel his essence, that dark, that powerful thing he hid under a stone-still exterior.
“It’ll protect you,” Azriel told her, suddenly appearing at her side, stepping out of a large shadow he called up. Elain was too used to his sudden appearances to jump, but her heart still skipped a beat in surprise. “Tell you if there is danger on the way.”
“Can’t my own powers do that? You needn’t overextend yourself for me,” Elain replied, worried as she stared at this dark thing entwined around her fingers.
Azriel placed a gentle hand around her waist, pulling her to his side with the sureness that came with years of being together. He kissed her temple briefly in greeting, as he was often wont to do. “Yes, I suppose,” he said. “But I’d feel better if my shadows were with you anyways, with the rising threat in the Steppes.”
Elain frowned. More and more Illyrian war bands were going rogue these days, forgetting what their High Lord and Lady and their Inner Circle had done for them. She knew the others were trying their best to contain the situation, but they were limited in a way the war bands weren’t. The rogues weren’t trying to contain the violence like Rhys wanted the leaders of his court to do.
“Besides,” Azriel continued, tracing distracting circles into her skin, “the shadows have a mind of their own. I doubt I could pull them back from you now.”
And, this time his voice wasn’t where it was before, instead reflected in her head, quiet and mysterious, we can communicate through them.
That was when she noticed another tendril wrapping loosely around her neck; likely what was passing messages back-and-forth between them. She shivered a bit of the feeling of Azriel so connected to her… it made her think a little bit of a mating bond, not that either of them knew what that was like. She grew envious, sometimes, of the bonds both her sisters had with their mates. It didn’t make her any less grateful to be with Azriel, any less eager to share her eternity with him. But to have this, and with Azriel… Elain delighted at the thought.
You like this, Azriel’s voice came to her, full of wicked wonder.
Elain looked up to meet his eyes, finding them already staring at her. She nodded, cheeks feeling slightly warm. He still had that effect on her, even after all this time spent together.
Well then, let me teach you how to speak back, he whispered in her head, running his hand up her arm, tracing the shadow that was dancing there, it seems hardly fair that I can’t hear you.I do so love the sound of your voice.
Elain’s cheeks pinked even more, red-hot, but she kept her eyes on him determinedly. “Teach me,” she commanded.
And he did, teaching her with same patient strictness that he’d used to teach Feyre. But, unlike her sister, Elain was very much a natural at the shadow-work. It was odd actually, how fast she took to it. Cassian likened it to being an Illyrian born for flight. But none of the rest of the Inner Circle could wrap their heads around her propensity for it, how she didn’t seem to mind having a tendril of darkness around her wrist or neck. She knew they started to wonder if she was a shadowsinger as well, if this was another of her gifts. But that wasn’t the case at all. The shadows that surrounded her were wholly Azriel’s. But, like Azriel, they were undeniably connected to her as well. A bond of sorts, just like she’d always craved.
She loved it, this new ability to speak to her chosen partner in life whenever she needed to, whenever she wanted to. To feel him with her when things got hard, like when the visions overwhelmed her and he was too far.
Breathe Elain, he’d tell her, in that strange shadow-voice that sounded like an echo. Breathe and work through it. I’m with you.
He often sought her out too, for idle conversation when he was busy spying in some far-away territory or when he needed a calming influence. (Azriel’s stoic silences hid a huge well of intent, of fierce passion.)
The clans are getting worse and worse, he’d say, it’s a struggle not to show them a piece of my mind,the narrow-minded bastards.
I know, my love, she’d reply, but you’re far better than them.
Lovely Elain. Always seeing the good in all of us.
So the shadows were a blessing really. A wonderful blessing in her immortal life.
She especially thought so some months later, when the worst happened. The tensions with the rogue war-bands had risen to the point of real concern. Rhys and Feyre had asked Azriel to spy from a distance, to find out how to take them down with the least amount of bloodshed.
Azriel was, of course, ready to do his duty. But Elain… Elain was worried; her visions had been especially vague the past month, as if the entire future was unsure. She hated it, being unable to help him foresee any danger. It made him similarly concerned, so much so that he insisted she keep Truth-Teller with her. He had many blades, he assured her, but this one would do best to protect her, should she need it.
Elain held it close to her as he flew away, disappearing over the horizon.
Be careful, she’d called to him, the tendril around her wrist snaking up to her neck, a comforting blanket over her shoulders.
Always, came the reply, his voice soothing in its calmness.
She tried to relax after that, tried to focus on the big garden she’d been cultivating over the years in the back of the house she and Azriel shared. She grew a multitude of flowers there, and all sorts of herbs that could be used for medicines and tonics, even for cooking. She sold them in a small store she’d been running for the past decade. Quiet work, perhaps, but fulfilling.
But nothing could take her mind off Azriel, off his mission. She tried to see the possible outcomes, to use her gift, but nothing clear was coming through. She thought of checking in through the shadow-bond but didn’t want to risk distracting him.
So she waited. And waited. And waited.
And then, suddenly, the tendril of shadow that lay twisted around her arm grew, became a swirling mass around her, infused with Azriel’s power, calling to her. The shadows’ murmurings were soft even in their panic, and indecipherable to all but her and Azriel.
Lady of fortune, they called, whispered in a thousand different voices, the master is in danger, the master is in danger.
As if those words unlocked something in her, a vision passed before her eyes, lightening-fast. But it was enough to know what was going to happen any second.
Azriel was going be captured by some of the rogue Illyrians. That future was set in stone. Nothing was going to change that.
Elain knew what she had to. She spared herself all of two minutes to pull on some tough leather pants and a loose tunic, sheathing Truth-Teller in a belt around her waist. The shadows followed her, so she gathered them close, encouraged them to lay in wait.
I’m going to get him back, she told them, using her shadow-bond with Azriel to keep control of them. But I need a little help.
She ran to her sister’s river house, barged in to find Feyre already waiting, Rhys and Cassian by her side, all of them decked in their Illyrian armor. They were clearly expecting complications, so she wasted no time.
“Azriel’s been captured,” she said. “We have to go get him. Now.”
To their credit, they believed her immediately, anger written on their faces as they gathered the rest of the weaponry, readied themselves to winnow to the camp Azriel had been spying on. Elain soon realized they fully expected her to stay behind. She supposed she couldn’t blame them for it – she hadn’t joined them in any sort of battle since the war.
But this was Azriel.Her Azriel. The shadows hidden in her skin flared slightly, feeding on her anger. She forced them down with her tenuous control.
“I’m coming with you,” Elain said, staring her sister and brothers-in-law in the eye.
Feyre hesitated. “I don’t know, Elain, you’re not as trained as the rest of us. Azriel would never forgive us if you got injured.”
Elain bared her teeth – a sight so rare that everyone stilled. She gripped Truth-Teller where it was strapped to her hip, the shadow on her wrist undulating with her distress. “He might not be my Cauldron-given mate, but he is mine. I’m coming, you can’t stop me.”
There wasn’t much any of them could say to that, so Feyre simply took Elain’s hand and winnowed them out, Rhys following suit with Cassian.
The carnage the others wreaked when they arrived at the camp was indescribable, but Elain didn’t care about that. She had her own role here. So, instead, she gathered the shadows tight to her, coaxed them into guiding her until they pointed her to a hidden tent at the edge of camp.
The master, they said, the master. He waits for us.
Elainran.
And when she finally found Azriel, the sight of him made her see red. It was a fury unlike anything she had ever felt, possessive and purely fae. Because they had him strapped up to a post like an animal for slaughter, his wings – beautiful, delicate things – pinned down with Cauldron-damned nails. Fourof them. His armor had been stripped from him, leaving him in only his undershorts, not a Siphon in sight.
(And he was surrounded by young Illyrian females, a part of her noted. They were strapped to similar posts in the tent, tired and obviously malnourished, barely blinking at the sight of Elain barging in, wielding her wicked blade.)
The sole Illyrian guard smirked at her, readying his own weapons, taunting her as he stepped on one of Azriel’s wings to get to her.
Elain let out a scream – no, a growl – as she charged, Azriel’s shadows around her writhing with their anger, their fury. Logically, she knew she had little chance against a fully-grown Illyrian male. Elain was no warrior, wasn’t built for it, abhorred violence even… but she would be damned if she let this stand. So she ran forwards anyways, looking for whatever advantage she could use.
And then, as if sensing her thoughts, a long shadow appeared in front of her and she slipped into without hesitation. The next thing she knew, she appeared in front of the Illyrian, not even pausing long enough to see his shocked expression before she plunged Truth-Teller deep into his bare throat. He went down with a gurgle, his lifeblood flowing out of him.
Elain barely paid attention, running to where Azriel was still pinned, falling to her knees beside him.
“Azriel?” she asked, voice trembling, hands hovering over him, unsure where she could touch him without hurting him. Mother above, she could cry. How could they do this to him? To this wonderful, selfless male? To Azriel?
(If she didn’t know the entire war-band was already dead or soon to be, Elain would have taken Truth-Teller and run them through. The sheer violence of these thoughts surprised even her.)
Azriel, she called again, this time through the shadow-bond. She watched as black tendrils rose on his skin, protecting him even as they conveyed her messaged. Azriel, please.
“Elain,” he groaned finally, cracking his eyes open, thank the Mother. “You’re here.” He gave her a small smile, even through his pain.
“Of course I am,” she whispered back. There’s nowhere else I’d be.
Lovely Elain, Azriel sent back, half-delirious.
“I have to… I have to get you free. I’m so sorry, but this is going to hurt.”
Cauldron, Elain didn’t want to do this to him, didn’t want to cause him more pain. But she had to. So, she gathered whatever courage she had left, and reached for the first nail. She pulled it out with all her might, hating herself for the way Azriel bit off a pained groaned. She whispered a thousand apologies under her breath, saying sorry over and over as she continued to the next one. And the next. By the last nail, she was fully crying, body shaking with it.
I can’t do this, she thought. I can’t.
But then the shadows buffeted her, comforting her with their innate sense of Azriel. He was here with her. Even in his suffering, he was here.
So Elain took hold of the last, blasted nail and pulled it free.
She collapsed after, choking on a sob, but managed to find it in her to break the chains around Azriel’s hands, his shadows helping her along, whispering encouragements to her all the while. When he was finally, blessedly free, Azriel reached out to her, cupping a hand over her tear-stained cheek.
He seemed more lucid now, looking at her with clear, hazel eyes. Mother, but she loved those eyes, loved him, so much. She put her hand over his, bringing it down a little so she could press a soft kiss to his bruised wrist.
Thank you, he told her through his shadows – theirshadows.Thank you.
And then he was forcing himself to sit up. Elain immediately reached out to help, heaving him up until he was leaning his torso back against the pole, slightly winded. Elain pulled away, ready to call for help, when his hand on her wrist stopped her, tugged her back into him despite the bruises littering his skin.
She made a sound of protest, but then Azriel’s voice sounded through her head, shadows wreathing them both until they were half-hidden underneath them.
Don’t go yet. I want you close. Please.
Elain gave in quickly, allowing him to cradle her against him, hands running over her again and again, as if to reassure himself that she was really there with him. She buried her wet face in his neck, breathing him in, her breath still hitching, tears still flowing.
Azriel’s shadows were comfort around them, their soft whispering a much-wanted familiarity.
“I’m sorry that you had to do that,” Azriel said, voice absolutely wrecked. “I could have escaped, but they took my Siphons and put some their runaway females in here so if I tried to destroy their warriors, I’d destroy them too. And by that time I was too weak to do anything else but send my shadows to you.”
Elain hated that they had done this to him, preyed on his good nature so that he wouldn’t escape. It was clever of them in the cruelest kind of way, to take his Siphons so he couldn’t control the sheer breadth of his killing power. To put innocents in his way so he wouldn’t attack.
“Bastards,” she hissed, surprising them both. But she pressed a kiss to Azriel’s throat, felt him tremble beneath her as he was overcome with emotion. “And you have nothing to be sorry about. They took you from me. You are not at fault here.”
He wrapped himself tighter around her, his shadows following, until they were both fully ensconced in their shimmering darkness. Their murmurings had quieted by now, leaving just Azriel and Elain and the shadow-bond linking them together.
The females? he asked her, suddenly worried.
They’re fine. Last I saw, Cassian had barged in; I’m sure he’s taking care of them.
They lapsed into silence, Elain encouraging one of the shadowy tendrils to cover Azriel’s open wounds, to stem the blood still flowing from them until he was willing to be tended to by the rest of their family.
I’m sure the others are getting worried by now, she ventured after a long while.
Let them. Just for a moment longer.
For all her better judgment, Elain did just that, curling herself around Azriel protectively. It soothed her wild instincts; the animal in her that wouldn’t rest until the other half of her was safe. She was sure it did the same for him, this ancient warrior of hers. The shadow-bond between them was awash with feelings of comfort, of reassurance.
And when the shadows finally lifted – following Azriel’s command – the others found them like that, wrapped together, surrounded by four bloody nails and the last vestiges of darkness.
But Azriel didn’t let go of Elain even as they were winnowed back to Velaris. And Elain continued to cling to him when the healer came to their home. All the while, they spoke to one another. But no one else heard a word they said.
No, they saved their words for their bond. For each other. As it should be.
Thanksvember 27 - I love Azriel, and this is such a wonderful fic by @radientwings focusing on how his shadows might work. His shadows are the one thing that I am most curious about him in the series, so it was lovely to read such a well written interpretation of them.
Summary:Welcome to Velaris High - your favorite idiots are now teaching innocent High School students.One day, biology teacher Elain finds a love note addressed to her, without anyone taking responsibility for it. She’s left to figure out the hopeless romantic - all the while fighting her silly crush for the nerdy math teacher.
“Okay, class, we’re done for today. As soon as you’ve copied your homework, you can…” Elain broke off, already having lost the room full of hormone-driven teenagers to the liberating break within their grasp.
#Thanksvember 26! Okay, so let’s talk about this lovely fic. I really enjoy the subtle mystery that follows this entire journey. I enjoy that @julesherondalex keeps us guessing, while simultaneously weaving a sweet and tender story about two shy teachers and just a slew of mishaps worthy of a Shakespearian drama.
