Pro Azriel - Blog Posts

A Song for Spring

Chapter 2/2: 7k words

Azriel X Eris

Read on Ao3

“You’re coming too, right?” Tears burned in the corners of his eyes, and he remembered what it felt like to be sad and scared.  “I don’t think I can.” So at peace, Eris only had smiles to give. Azriel should have wanted that for his mate; he had wanted it for his mate for so long, but right then, he hated it. “I’m sorry.” 

Holla at ya boi if you want on or off the Azris tag train :

@talibunny30 @iftheshoef1tz @born-to-riot  @fieldofdaisiies @aktrain @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @secret-third-thing @acourtofladydeath @pippsmcgee @youvereachedthenearest-lovergirl @baileybird71 @skyesayshi  @yams-77 @buffy-vanserra @areyoudreaminof @unanswered-stars @futurehunt @ninthcircleofprythian @matrixsss @going-through-shit @c-starstuff-man0 @jules-writes-stories @the-darkestminds @krowiathemythologynerd @cauldronblssd @hieragalbatorixdottir @yourlazykitkat @hellolordling @climbthemountain2020  @lilah-asteria  @shadowsandlint @acourtofbatboydreams @theeternalstruggle @christeareads @molcat07 @mistandmemories @neciebee @dusk-muse @chairofchaos @amalhe-kofee @brunetterebel010 @astro-h0e-4azris @g00seg1rl @queercontrarian @neverendingstay @beppyd07

Bark like you want it

Azriel/ Inner Circle | 8.9k | explicit | master/pet

(pls be mindful of the tags contains non-con & dub-con <3)

He was nothing but a pet to them, wasn’t he? A trained dog that stayed still and quiet while they discussed their matters.

He hated it. He did!

But a part of him... loved it.

His thoughts spiralled, confusion blending with the heat spreading across his skin. No, I’m not a pet. He wanted to protest, to argue, to remind them of the warrior he once was—the spymaster of the Night Court.

Yet every word seemed to stick in his throat, silenced by the knowledge that, in this moment, Rhysand owned him completely.

Or: Azriel serves as the Inner Circle's personal cocksleeve

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64453297

Update: I fucked up. He’s listening to the ACTED OUT AUDIO BOOK

Y’all….

I’m talking to this really cute guy and I happened to mention that I’m really in to ACOTAR and then he starts reading it???? So he can talk about it with me???? I’m cooked 💀

When I get excited or really into a groove while reading sometimes the words jumble together on page. I always end up reading the description of Azriel’s hands as sacred instead of scarred. I think that’s fitting

“Sarah J Maas is definitely gonna announce the new Acotar book this year!” - me in 2024 🤓

(Me in 2025 😭)

My fav is the guy who’s literal job is to torture people 🥰🦇🥰

we should all stop trying to justify rhys being a good person or cassian being a good person and instead just accept that they all kinda suck as people and we should just choose our fav criminal to stan

Since when does Pinterest let you make collages???

Please excuse me as I make several dozen collages of my husband 🦇

Me when my fictional husband ends up with nobody and is sad and unloved: 👿😣😡

Me when my fictional husband ends up happy but is with someone who isn’t me: 😭🤷‍♀️😭

Eris 🤝 Tamlin 🤝 Azriel 🤝 Cassian

“Like him” - Tyler the Creator

“She said that I make expressions like him

My legs to my shoulders to my chin like him

My waist and my posture like him”

What I think Azriel’s shadows would look like 🦇

I recently learned that I can lock my likes

And now nothing is stopping me from liking the ungodly amount of smutty Azriel fanfiction I read

The BEST scene in ACOSF

My favorite part about Azriel’s bonus chapter is how fucking awkward he is.

He does not catch one break. At one point he’s even like “Damn, I need to say something else that was not a socially acceptable answer 😰”

And I swear if that isn’t my own internal monologue constantly

I just know Azriel would love Maneskin

I cannot stress this enough

When Azriel eventually does have a romance plot line I NEED it to have k-drama level pining and angst.

Don’t get me wrong ACOSF was fun and all but you know what would be more fun???

Azriel acting like a leading man in a K-drama. Sad backstory. Stoic but kind. Trying to be indifferent meanwhile he’s suffocating under the weight of his feelings

I definitely think he can manipulate his shadow. He probably hides it during spy work

No one should be this obsessed with a fictional character. The Azriel brain rot is consuming me 😭

Do you think Azriel has a normal shadow? Like he has all of his “magic” shadows but do you think he casts a regular shadow when light hits him? If so, why can’t he control that one? If not, do you think anyone has noticed?

The best part about the bat boys being outrageously old is that I’ll never grow older than them. It’s not like they are 25 and I’ll eventually have to stop crushing on them cause I’ll be too old. No. I will be 70 and still be young to them. There would still be a chance… you know… if they weren’t fictional

BIG THEORY!!!!! (Acotar and HOFAS spoilers)

So in the ACOTAR series truth teller is described as an obsidian hilted blade. And then in HOFAS when Azriel, Nesta, and Bryce are in the prison the Asteri tells Azriel he’s not using Truth teller to its full potential….

I have recently been researching scying and divination and one common form of it is looking into an obsidian mirror…..

what if truth teller can act as a scrying device???

It could potentially look into future? One other form of scrying we have seen in the series was when Elain tracked the suriel from across the lands. So maybe it could also track through space….

Wait.

What if truth teller can scry through space and time? Across all dimensions???

Letters of Desperation - Gwynriel

Part 1 - Azriel | Part 7 - Gwyneth | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 593

My sweetest Azriel,

What despairing thoughts you have, to consider yourself the sinner in my story, to see yourself as nothing but an evil spirit, a demon as if I am clean and pure and the epitome of goodness. In fact, it is quite the contrary; I have blood on my hands from the lives I couldn’t save while you have blood on your hands for the lives you took.

But if there is anything I have learned as a priestess, it is this: we are not born sinners, but rather it is our actions that decide our fate, that decide if we get entry into the immortal land of milk and honey. Sin is something we choose to do despite knowing that it is wrong, despite knowing the repercussions.

I know you, Azriel, perhaps more than you give me credit for. I know that you do not hurt people out of spite. You hurt only yourself. You withdraw into yourself so deeply and isolate yourself, building impenetrable walls and fortresses, I wonder each time if I will be able to coax you out of your shell, your sanctuary which you hide in that will become your prison if you refuse to let the light in. I see you, Azriel. I know you think of yourself as non-existent, not quite there, your pain invisible to all, but I see you. I see all of you, and I will not balk. I see your kind heart, your lively spirit, and your dry, witty sense of humour that I have come to cherish. I see your courage and your sacrifice, I see all that you do. There is not a single part of you that is undesirable or unlovable, and I need you to know this.

I see your actions, which are crafted of so much care and a love so deep I am in awe each time I witness it for my own. Each action, each deliberate movement holds so much love in it I am entranced by how a single person may hold such large amounts of it and not combust, how one can manage to hide these parts of thesmelves and not go insane. I certainly would have.

I do not see a sinner in you, Azriel. I never have. I see is a male who works tirelessly, day and night, come what may, to support his family and his court, who fights with honour and has dignity embedded into his soul, who poses such a threat to my heart, to the borders I have erected around it so that no one may penetrate. But you have managed to do just that; not with an army, but with a few kind words that had me crumbling. I had not known such support was needed until I had someone to lean on, to share the burden with, until I had you beside me. 

All I see is a male who is valiant in his glory, resplendent in his awe, who never balks, never falters; a loyal, kind male, who saved a priestess from a temple after a horrific crime, my own knight in shining armour. A patient teacher, a ravenous lover, a kind husband. A male so multifaceted and varied in his personalities I struggle to keep up with all that you are. 

I can only hope to wake beside you each day and discover a new side of you that I have yet to see. I doubt that you will ever stop surprising me. I certainly don’t intend to. 

Unconditionally yours,

Gwyneth

Part 8

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Letters of Desperation - Gwynriel

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

Word Count: 398

My precious warrior,

You are shaped like a dagger that somehow knows its way to my heart no matter the obstacles that it faces. You will seek me out no matter what, you will seek me out with such undying precision and terrifying clarity I am left breathless each time you see me vulnerable. You will find your way to me against all odds, I am left breathless each time you manage to read me like a book. It is the certainty with which you behold me that has me shaking, as if your eyes can see all the way to my battered soul and extract all the parts of me that are unlovable with a care so gentle my already fractured heart cracks just a little more, bruises a little more deeply, aches just a little more. I do not know if I shake with fear, with love, with relief, or something else entirely I do not know. I do not think I want to know, for it might just destroy me.

It is if I am shedding layers of myself around you so slowly many would not even call it shedding, or perhaps you are simply too skilled at peeling them back with those steady, stunning, unmarrred hands of yours, with a light in your eyes that is wholly unfamiliar to me. 

I had not known how flimsy my walls were until a scraped nail along them, the lightest brush of a finger had them dissolving and disintegrating into nothing, leaving my soul bare and open and utterly yours to take or consume or destroy or set fire to. Whatever you choose to do with it, whatever you do with the ruin that is me, I will willingly accept my fate, even if I am condemned by God for loving a creature as breathtaking as you, for I should have been aware of the consequences when I first became infatuated by you. When I first laid eyes upon you, when I first talked to you, I truly do not think it was possible for either of us to predict that something as explosive nor fervent could have enveloped us, a fire so purifying and cleansing it rids me of every sin I have ever committed, every malevolent thought and deed of my long-suffering existence, simply because you were not by my side. 

Your eternal love,

Azriel

Part 7 - Gwyneth

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Letters of Desperation - Gwynriel

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

Word Count: 509

My precious warrior,

Surely it must be a crime to make a five hundred year old Illyrian cry, and yet here we are. But I will admit that I sobbed upon reading your letter like never before. My tears did not stop, even as I am writing to you now. I apologise for any dark spots on the parchment, my love.

I truly have no words, Gwyn. Truly. No words, save for this immense aching and longing in my chest that increases every moment we are forced to spend apart. This chasm in me; this hole, it only makes me wish for your presence, even more than I already do. 

I had not known such unconditional support and love existed in the world, least of all concentrated in such large amounts in the heart of one person as they are in you. I had not known how full of light you were until I was blinded by it, awed by the glory in front of me and stunned by its briliance. I will admit, it took some getting used to, but now I can look at the light, if not for a long time then at least for a little while and not consider myself completely unworthy. It is a process that is taking far longer than I would have liked, but it is a process nonetheless and so I must be patient as I have been patient with love.

I must learn to be patient with myself, and I have no doubt that you will stand by me always.

I am learning to rest, learning to love, learning how to thrive, learning how to simply be, because I had not been living until I met you. Not truly. I was an empty shell of survival, a hollow husk that encased my body but had no soul. A being that wandered, searching for its purpose, until it found you. 

While the fire that is embedded in my memories destroyed a part of me, your fire ignited my own. Those flickers of light, those initial, weak sputters came together to form such a raging inferno, one that burns only for you, I will be surprised if I do not burn along with it. I will be surprised if it does not swallow us whole and leave nothing but ash and ruin in its wake.

But I do not mind. I will burn happily; I will die happily, knowing I was someone who got to spend even a moment with you and consider you an integral part of my life.

Perhaps this is ironic, coming from a male who spent the better part of his life fearing fire, to say that I was entranced by a being of such passion, such love, and such unending blazing. But I have learned to love, learned to love you and life and all the wonderful things it has to offer.

I cannot wait to experience them with you, and I can only hope that you want the same with me.

Your eternal love,

Azriel

Part 6 - Azriel

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Letters of Grief

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

A/N: Inspired slightly by this Tumblr post

Word Count: 2516

Each week, each visit had done nothing to quell the rage and grief within Azriel. He’d gone on missions for Rhys, spent time with his family on Solstice; had even managed to go to Illyria and assist Cassian with keeping some of the camps in check.

Despite it all, despite his routine, the hollowness within him only grew. It was a festering wound, he knew, and would cause him to bleed and explode over people who had in no way wronged him. The problem with being far too self-aware was, he didn’t know what to do with this terrifying piece of knowledge about himself.

As the Night Court’s Spymaster, it was his job to notice subtleties about others that a usual glance or once-over would miss. The slightest pinch of a brow, the crook of a mouth, the barely-there shrug of a shoulder…Azriel had accustomed himself to observing and cataloguing anything and everything that he came across. The trait was as much a part of him as his wings. He didn’t know who he’d be without it.

A moment of weakness on a more recent mission when he’d failed to do exactly that, however, had nearly cost Azriel his life. He’d been scouting the continent for any sign of the mortal queens, any whisper from his spies that indicated a plan or even movement towards Prythian. Sitting on the roof of a ramshackle little hut that was no doubt abandoned, he got the perfect view of the palace they lived in. The decrepit little cottage sat on a small mound (it was too small to even refer to it as a hill) and provided Azriel with enough of a view that he could easily monitor any movements through the main gates.

He’d scoured the smaller, less frequently used drawbridges, though his shadows and his own findings had only ever led to the same conclusion: only the main gates were used. The queens likely preferred their servants to be kept out of sight and thus encouraged them to use to side passageways. Azriel had only ever found servants leaving to get to the stables or go to the market. It was nothing out of the ordinary.

At least, that was how it had seemed until a naga had pounced on him. Azriel barely had any time to react before it had ripped a decent chunk of armour off, penetrating through the metal until the muscle. He’d hissed in pain and barely fought it off, finally killing the damn thing, before he’d winnowed straight home. 

There was no way in hell he was surviving a naga attack when one of his limbs was rendered immobile.

Azriel didn’t remember how he ended up in a warm bed at the House of Wind that night. Cassian must have seen him and called for Madja.

Indeed, she was a talented healer who’d patched him up in less than an hour. He’d felt guilty for coming back so soon with no intel, nothing to report, but he also knew his body’s limits. He wasn’t about to stretch it for the sake of his pride, not when his ignorance had nearly gotten him killed. By a naga, no less.

Upon further contemplation, Azriel made a mental note to ask Rhys about the naga. He’d encountered a few here and there on his countless missions to the other courts, but he couldn’t remember them ever hunting faeries specifcally, or the ability to scale trees with such ruthless efficiency. From what he remembered, they preferred the safety of solid land beneath their feet and only ever hunted mortals for sport and entertainment.

Az? Why are you still awake? As if summoned by his thoughts, the High Lord of Night spoke into Azriel’s mind. A naga attacked me while I was doing reconnaissance of the palace. I’m fine, nothing for you to fret over, but I did have to come back and get Madja to heal me.

I don’t care that you had to come back halfway through a mission. I care about you. Damnnit, Az, why didn’t you tell either of us? There was irritation lining Rhys’ voice, yes, but also concern. It was palpable even through his absence.

I told you, I’m fine. Visit me in the morning. Cass will probably startle awake like a frenzied boar the moment you land. If this was what Azriel had to do to avoid Rhys getting all worked up like a mother hen then that was what he would do.

He’s a deep sleeper. I doubt he’d notice my presence until I made it glaringly obvious to him that I was staying for the night. A pause. Then…Good night, Azriel. I hope you feel better soon.

Sunlight streamed in through the now-open window, the House having drawn the curtains. Azriel still wasn’t used to the fact that the House was sentient, and had found it extremely odd to utter a ‘thank you’ when no one was around. Was it wrong to want a magical house which summoned nearly everything under the sun to like you?

Azriel was awake, and was propped up with a mountain of pillows surrounding him. He hadn’t had the heart to tell Madja that so many pillows would make him feel as if he was drowning in cotton; not as she’d fussed over him and groused over his deteriorating health.

By deteriorating health, she’d meant his lack of a structured sleep schedule, irregular meal times, lack of hydration…the usual. It wasn’t odd for Azriel to receive these comments from most of the healers he visited, each one expressing varying degrees of concern over how and why his regimes were so lax.

This time, however, it seemed that the female wasn’t going to leave without a proper argument. “You need to start taking care of yourself. This neglect and unwillingness to listen to you body’s needs is going to catch up to you one day, and you’ll be worse off for it.”

“I do listen to my body’s needs,” he protested halfheartedly, looking up at the healer who had her arms on her hips in a clear show of disappointment. “I came to you when my arm was nearly bitten off by a naga, didn’t I?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“Madja.” Azriel’s tone had softened. “My body does fine on its own. There’s no point interfering in things that are working well enough unattended.”

“Except you’re not.” It seemed that Azriel’s placating voice had done nothing to ease the healer’s worry. “You neglect yourself. Your needs, your wants.”

“I go to a mind healer once every week.” That had Madja sobering up, a newer, more assessing look in her eyes as she took Azriel in again. “Since when?”

“A few months.”

“And have you found that it has helped?”

Azriel fell silent. No, the visits weren’t helping, but he wasn’t getting much better, either. It was hard to tell. A couple of months was hardly anything to the Fae, after all. The loss of his mate was still fresh as ever, the wound just as deep as the day he’d seen her die.

“I see.” Her brow furrowed, clearly interpreting the silence as a negative. Azriel didn’t even know why he’d told her. Maybe he’d needed someone to talk to, and Madja had been the closest person, the one most willing to listen. It wasn’t like there was a line of people outside his door ready to listen to his plights and tragedies, but…it felt good getting that particular truth off his chest. Azriel trusted her. She’d tell no one without explicit permission from Azriel. She was discreet that way, and that was perhaps one of the things he admired most about Madja, aside from her healing abilities.

“I will check on you once this afternoon. If the wounds are not fully healed then I will have to visit once more.”

Azriel knew his body, knew that the wounds had begun healing and would likely disappear by the next afternoon.

✦ ✦ ✦

“I just…I want to go back. To her. To a time when we would have been happy simply because we had each other and we needed nothing more. Every day, I wake up and my first thought is of her. Every morning, I think about what I wouldn’t do to go back. Just once.”

Azriel had been encouraged to go back to the mind healer even if he felt as if the visits weren’t helping. No, encouraging was too weak a word for what Madja had done. Despite being nearly a foot shorter than him, the healer had nearly threatened to freeze his balls off if he didn’t go. It had been amusing, at the very least, to see Madja so worked up, and Azriel had thought nothing but her agitated expression as he made his way down to the too-familiar, all-white room.

All laughter had evaporated, however, when she’d asked how he’d been doing and Azriel hadn’t quite known how to answer. The response he’d given had been an echo, a glimpse into the true stumbling mess that he was.

She’d looked at him as he told her the words he’d been willing to give voice to; an odd, contemplative sort of expression that Azriel hadn’t been able to place. “You could go back. But there is nothing and no one waiting for you there.”

“I am waiting for her there,” he’d answered as he fought not to let his temper get the best of him. “I’ve been waiting for her, and I will continue to wait for the day I die because then it will mean that we will be together.”

“And what will you do once you are together?”

“Simply hold each other. Bask in the other’s presence. She was my light, my sunshine, my everything, and I cannot imagine myself in a world without her.”

Audrine sighed. Not an exasperated sigh by any means, but a quieter one. No, there hadn’t been an ounce of displeasure on her face, only an exhaustion that had Azriel wondering if she was alright. It vanished as quickly as it had appeared, though, and Azriel didn’t have any more time to contemplate her well-being as she asked him another question.

“What made you decide to come down here once more?”

As always, her question had caught him completely unawares, and he was only able to utter a one-word response. “Madja.”

“She forced you?” Audrine quirked a brow, but it seemed that the situation was not unusual for either of them: Madja for having to force patients to the mind healers, and them expecting nothing less as they took in patient after unwilling patient.

“No. She…persuaded me.”

The priestess snorted. “Trust me, I know exactly how persuasive she can be.”

Despite himself, Azriel snorted. “She did play a role in getting me to come visit, yes, but that’s not the only reason I came down. I was…involved in a mission recently, so to speak. The outcome wasn’t as I hoped it would be, and I found my thoughts getting the better of me once more. I thought being in the company of others in a quieter environment would help.”

“And these sessions have helped you so much that the first thing you decided to do was to talk to me?”

“Not quite,” Azriel replied with no small amount of hesitation, attempting to soften the blow. “But I told her that I take counselling when she healed me, and she encouraged me to go even if it doesn’t help. She said I lack routine, and that this will help build it. According to her, training for hours on the roof of the House without a break isn’t acceptable,” he finished with a snicker.

“No indeed.” A small smile graced Audrine’s lips as she made more notes, hastily scrawling them in the margins of her notepad. “I do have to ask, though,” she began. “Is there any specific reason you train for so long? I mean, you’re well over five hundred now. Surely the lack of training for a few days, maybe even weeks, wouldn’t be the end of the world?”

How was it possible for someone to see through him at every turn? He’d managed for a long time, so why were his walls beginning to crack now?

“No. I suppose not.” His reply was more brittle, more jagged than he would have liked it to be. At his unwillingness to supply more, she asked again. “Then why do you train so much?’

“It’s…the only way I know how to channel my emotions. It keeps them at bay. That’s how it’s been for as long as I can remember, and I can’t think of another explanation other than old habits die hard.”

“Have you tried journaling?”

“Yes.” This time, Azriel looked away, his eyes finding the wood panelled floor in front of the priestess’ feet far more riveting than their current conversation.

“How did it go?”

“I couldn’t write more than half a page. My hand cramped up.”

“Have you been to a healer to see if anything can be salvaged underneath the scarring?” It was noble of her to care so much for wounds that would never fade.

“Yes.” These were questions Azriel had endured for as long as he could remember. The condescending, pitying tone that most took on when talking about him and his hands nearly had the male seeing red. He was tired of being infantilised, dammnit. “Nothing could be done. The healer did as much as she could, and now I must live with them the way they are.”

The finality with which he said the statement might cause a fresh wave of pity to rise in some, believing Azriel was being pessimistic. He was not. He was practical, and many seemed to confuse practicality with pessimism. If others chose to believe in fantasies they’d spun out of the seemingly endless depths of hope they somehow possessed, they could not complain when that same hope crushed their spirits as it tumbled down like a house of cards blown away with the wind.

Azriel had hoped once. Long ago, before High Ladies or mates or the inevitable grief which followed death like a shroud, an invisible veil he couldn’t seem to rid himself of. He had hoped there was a better life, one where there was no pain, no punishment, no cruelty. They had been the fickle dreams of a child, and he’d held onto them so tightly his nails and cracked and left crescent-shaped marks on his palms, until his fingers went numb and all he could think about was holding on lest he was left behind in the aftermath.

Azriel remembered the days the healer had tried for hours to save at least some part of his hands, to ensure he retained some mobility. When nothing good had come of it, he’d been given a salve for the pain until that too, and rendered the scarring permanent. He’d long since given up on trying to fix it. It was too late now.

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

A Court of Shadows & Healing

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

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

Word Count: 2610

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✦ ✦ ✦

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like what?”

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

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

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

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

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

✦ ✦ ✦

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

Truth-Teller.

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

Part 12

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings