A Court Of Mist And Fury - Blog Posts

A Court of Shadows & Healing

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

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

Word Count: 1495

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

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

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

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

“Because you need to train.”

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

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

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

“I didn’t stab you!” He objected.

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

“You deserved it!” He nearly screamed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, indeed.”

“But how-”

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

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

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

“Why am I here?”

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part 4

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

A Court of Shadows & Healing

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

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

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

Word Count: 641

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part 3

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

A Court of Shadows & Healing

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

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

Word Count: 1125

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✦ ✦ ✦

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part 2

Line dividers go to @enchanthings

Sleepy Affection

AO3 | Nesta Week 2025 Masterpost |

@nestaarcheronweek

Prompt: Day Five - Mother (Not only does Nesta have a bond with the Mother, but she's also mommy Mother. How do you see this word applying to her?)

A/N: I wanted to capture a more domestic side of Nesta, one where she’s relaxed instead of constantly having to act or sound a certain way, and I hope I did that here!

Word Count: 1492

Nesta groaned as a distinct, wet tongue brushed over her cheek, Instinctively turning over and pulling the covers over head, she mumbled, “Down, Roxy.” At the hound’s refusal to comply, Nesta groaned again. “Down, girl. I’ll get you breakfast soon. Just let me-”

She broke off, yawning. “Let me sleep for a few more minutes.”

Today, however, it seemed that Roxy wasn’t having it. A whine escaped the dog’s lips, and Nesta could tell, even from her under the covers, that she was pouting. 

Eris’ favoured hound and usually the most well-trained, she tended to keep the other hounds in line when they misbehaved. They were all forbidden from climbing up onto the bed, but it seemed that particular restriction wasn’t about to stop Roxy this morning. 

Nesta was just about to call Eris to get his hound off of her when she realised he was away. A slight chill enveloped her at the reminder, and it was enough to push herself out of bed.

Her husband was currently away on the continent for a meeting about trade routes between Autumn and Rask. He’d been making renewed efforts after the War to attempt to make trade global and more streamlined, claiming it took ridiculously large amounts of time for the smallest things to travel on inter-continental trade routes. Currently though, the Dukes of Rask continued to be stubborn, somehow even more orthodox and traditional than some of Prythian’s High Lords. They prided themselves on traditionality, and simply couldn’t seem to grasp the gem of a deal that Eris was offering them.

Indeed, Nesta had gone over the deal and paperwork so many times with her husband she wouldn’t be surprised if she would now be able to recite the contracts orally without hesitation. They had debated these things long into the night; how they were planning to integrate not only trade, but migration, too. 

It had been one of Eris’ many well-crafted and well-documented plans once he ascended. Some had come into effect immediately upon his coronation, while others had taken longer to implement. There were others still that were awaiting approval or negotiations, but Nesta could not bring herself to dislike it. How could she, when she’d been trained for Court life from birth? If anything, she found it intriguing.

But none of this was going through Nesta’s mind at the moment. Right now, she was intent on satiating Roxy’s hunger, if only so that she could go back to bed. It wasn’t likely that she’d fall asleep again, but it was a Sunday morning, and her duties could wait. There was a particularly thrilling erotica series she wanted to finish by the end of this week. The smut isn’t going to read itself. Gwyn’s light, airy voice entered her mind, and she couldn’t suppress the grin at her friend’s comment at their book club earlier this month. 

Though the females lived in different courts and had busy schedules, they’d found a way to meet at least once a month despite it all. Emerie and Gwyn were Nesta’s oldest friends since she’d been Made, and she’d be damned if she lost contact with them because of something so trivial as distance when winnowing was commonplace.

Once she’d flung the covers off and began making her way to the main room, Roxy followed diligently behind her, looking up at her mistress with wide, imploring eyes that said I’m hungry. Feed me.

Scrounging the cupboards near the fireplace, she found a neatly packaged collection of both treats and entire meals for the hounds. 

As soon as Nesta got the packet out, Roxy’s entire demeanor changed. From wagging tail and lolling tongue, she immediately sat down, sitting so still Nesta would have thought something would have happened had she not been used to this behaviour. 

“Good girl.” The hound’s ears perked up when Nesta complimented her, and perked up even further as Nesta poured the food into a bowl which had Roxy written on it in a fancy scrawl. 

By now, the other hounds had sensed the commotion and woken up too. Clambering up to Nesta, they surrounded her, and she pet them all. “Oh, are my other babies hungry too?” She cooed, scratching them behind the ears and under their chins as they nuzzled into her touch. 

They greedily slurped up their breakfast as she poured a bowl for each of them, and the sounds of twelve dogs munching delighted Nesta to no end.

Eris had helped her get over her initial fear of dogs by assuring her that they were hounds, not stray dogs, and wouldn’t attack unless provoked. She’d retorted that they were still animals, and would attack whenever they felt like it. It had taken a long time for her to warm up to them, but now she was just as, if not more dedicated to taking care of the hounds than Eris was. 

He’d caught her on multiple occasions chatting with Roxy as if she could understand her, and Nesta’s only excuse had been that they did. One simply had to be patient with them, and treat them with the love and care she knew all animals deserved. 

“My baby,” she’d murmured to Apollo one particularly cold and rainy night as she planted a light kiss to his forehead. He was one of Eris’ youngest; one he’d adopted after nursing it back to health on one of his journeys to the more secluded pockets of the Court. 

They still didn’t know where he came from, but it didn’t matter. Nesta hadn’t hesitated for a moment when Eris had brought the bleeding hound in, and he’d slowly become theirs.

Day by day, they’d coaxed the hound into the healthy, well-fed dog that now sat heeling at Nesta’s feet. “Are you bored, sweet boy?” As his eyes widened, Nesta let out a chuckle. “We’ll go out on a walk after everyone finishes breakfast, yeah?” She punctuated her words with a slight ruffle of his fur.

One of Eris’ first rules when it came to his hounds was that no one, absolutely no one was to feed them except either him or Nesta. Claiming that true loyalty only came when owner and pet spent quality time together, he made sure to take time out of his bustling schedule to take care of his dogs. He also insisted on all the food that came in for his cherished hounds to be checked and re-checked for any signs of poison. 

As always, Eris’ immaculate and air-tight plans had Nesta marveling at that mind of his. However did he manage to think of so much in such a short amount of time?

A soft bark dragged her back to the present, as Nova, another fierce, if not just as sweet, hound tilted up her head so that her caramel eyes met Nesta’s steel-grey ones. “You want to go out too? Come on, then.”

Hastily changing into a dress and stockings that she deemed appropriate should someone approach her, she grabbed the leashes and sat about fastening one on each dog’s collar. She tugged a coat and shoes on, grabbing a pair of leather gloves to put on later, and ushered the dogs out of her chambers.

✦ ✦ ✦

Nesta spent the better part of the morning playing with the hounds; asking them to play fetch with a ball that she’d summoned, or having them chase around the courtyard as they yipped playfully at a ribbon of silver fire that she’d conjured. They pawed at jumped at it, attempting to catch the string and figure out, once and for all, what it was, but Nesta’s control on her magic never slipped. She managed to keep it just out of their grasp as she twirled her fingers idly, crafting silver stars with her other hand. 

She came back upstairs around half-past noon, cheeks tinged red from the cold and a grin on her face. The hounds had bits of frost on their paws, and Nesta only shook her head as they sullied Eris’ rug. He wouldn’t mind, of course. In fact, he’d bought a rug so that it would be easy to clean. Dog fur and some perpetual state of frost always seemed to coat it after he’d taken them out on a walk or into the courtyard, but it tended to be cleaned by the afternoon or late evening at most. 

The servants, too, had gotten used to Eris’ hounds, and catered to them on his command. It was routine for them to offer the hounds the best care that was available in the Forest House.

A fleeting thought of reviewing budgets and other documents crossed her mind, but right now, Nesta couldn’t bring herself to care. Work and endless duties were always going to be there. Right now, she was content simply sitting by the fireplace, lavish armchair and plump couches forgotten, cuddling with her hounds, a beam of true contentment on her face.

A/N: Even though not much happened and this submission wasn’t plot heavy, I wanted to write something short and fluffy!

Crimson

AO3 | Nesta Week 2025 Masterpost |

@nestaarcheronweek

Prompt: Day Four - Lover (Nesta has had many opportunities for love across Prythain — who do you ship her with? Cassian? Emerie? Eris? Gwyn? Azriel? Cresseida? Any and all ships are welcome!)

A/N: I decided to title this contrapuntal poem "Crimson because the word fits Autumn, blood, and love all in one!

Word Count: 118

A/N: Tumblr wouldn't let me insert a table, so I had to upload a picture instead

Letters of Desperation - Neris

Part 1 - Nesta | Part 23 - Eris | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: Inspired by this and this Tumblr post

Word Count: 747

Beloved Nesta,

You engulf me so thoroughly in the throes of passion and desire I cannot know or even begin to understand where you end and where I start. I am ravenous for you, for your being, your presence, and your very soul, that charming wit, that dry humour. I feel nothing but burning want and an incessant need to be close to you, to hae you selfishly all to myself. I want to hide away from the world simply for us to be able to be together. I want your steel, I want your fire, I want your unbending will and that rigid suit of armour none have managed to pry off. I want to be singed by your fire, I want to be burned so thoroughly I can do nothing but return, begging on my hands and knees as I crawl on hot coals to be able to have even a single taste of you. A single glance, a single smile or grin or something else entirely. I want to walk out completely and utterly besotted with you, enamoured by you, until my heart beats only to keep yours alive. I want to live and survive for you, to give myself to you in my entirety so that when the world hears your name, they will whisper mine alongside it. I want us to be immortalised in every way imaginable: marble, carvings, literature, anything else that you can think of. I want the world to know that you are mine and that I am yours. 

While the world stays ice cold and frozen as the barest of tundras, we will be reveling and celebrating as our longing, our lust keeps us warm. Stolen kisses, gasps and yearning, a pining which I do not think will abate nor diminish for as long as I live. On the contrary, it will grow. My love for you will increase tenfold, over and over again until there is no more room in my heart to hold all of it in. Until the love heals me and covers me, running over my veins and bones and muscles and flesh, until all the cracks are healed with that golden nectar, that cleansing, sweet fire.

Perhaps the fire that was once meant to ruin me, that which was destined to be my demise, shall be my salvation. You are salvation and sin and ruin and lust all at once, so much so that I cannot look at you without my breath catching or my heart stuttering for a beat. Not enough for anyone else to notice, except for you. You always notice, always seem to be observing me in that keen, sharp, and utterly deliberate manner of yours. 

It seems as if our eyes cannot stay away from each other, as if we are drawn to the other by some mysterious force pushing us together. Fate, destiny, whatever Gods you believe in, I do not know. I do not care. I do not care if I am deserving of it, of you, of this love, never mind that my hands are tainted and bloody and ruined and broken. If I have been gifted with this love, I would be a fool to squander it, to give up that which has been given to me. Greater than any treasure, any wealth or jewels, you are the one I covet now. 

Let me kiss you, broken and bloodied and scabbed over even as fresh wounds consume us, but I will see nothing but my burning desire for you, and the incessant need to claw my heart out of my chest, the wretched thing, and present it to you on a silver platter. It will lay beating at your feet, perhaps the only true thing of value I shall be able to grant you; gift you. I have never had much need for it anyway, for every emotion I feel must be within your presence, otherwise it is not an emotion at all. But you will have the damned organ, and it will be yours, precisely how I am yours. 

The mere thought of something happening to you fills my heart with dread, fills it with such agony I feel as if the all the oxygen has been torn out of my lungs, crass and violent and bleeding.

Do not leave me. Not like this, not now, not ever. You are all I need, all I have ever needed.

Avec l’amour plus le pur,

Eris

Part 24 - Nesta

Line dividers credit goes @enchanthings

Letters of Desperation - Neris

Part 1 - Nesta | Part 22 - Nesta | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 440

My darling Eris,

You do not need grace and fluidity to express your love for me. You already possess it in abundance. It surrounds me and cradles me like a gentle breeze on a warm summer’s day or the crunch of leaves under my feet in autumn. It is what has kept me afloat when I could not swim, a lifeline that I have clung so tightly to like a piece of driftwood it is a wonder I have no lingering splinters, no wood embedded as deeply into my soul as my love for you is.

Every little action of yours has a plethora of love packaged into it. The way you stay up late just so we can kiss each other goodnight, the way you stay in bed a little longer just to catch my first smile of the day so that you can wish me a good morning. How you save the last bite of the pastries for me. Each action is so deeply consumed by your love for me. You are the love you seek. I only hope that I am enough and that I can give you the love you cherish and deserve.

Know that the only face I dream of as I am whisked away to the land of sleep is yours. Those amber eyes, full of such deep pain and longing and a hundred other emotions it would take years to name; those stunning, wicked lips, that have healed me beyond measure. 

Your resilience to life and all its hardships has me enamoured by you. I am in awe. Despite all that life has thrown at you, despite everything, you choose to persevere and you continue to choose to be a good person. For the sake of this court and for the sake of your family, you choose to persist.

You, who have had every reason, and then a few more to become the villain in others’ stories, have chosen to become the hero in mine. You have chosen to fight no matter how difficult it may be. Every day I am inspired by you keep up my own fight.

There are, of course, days when this battle, this war within myself becomes so exhausting I feel as if I want to want the Earth to swallow me whole and never spit me back out. But I have learned, through experience if not anything else, that hiding only makes the problem worse. 

And so I will hope you will stand by my side as I fight, sword drawn, eyes blazing, covered in blood, gore and mud. 

De tout mon coeur et plus encore,

Nesta

Part 23 - Eris

Line dividers credit goes @enchanthings

Romance, Requests, and Redirection

AO3 | Nesta Week 2025 Masterpost |

@nestaarcheronweek

Prompt: Day Three - True North (The eight-pointed star has many meanings in Nesta’s journey, but the path is far from over. Where do you think her star is pointing?)

A/N: As promised, the letter that Nesta writes to Eris on Day 1 is revealed here!

Word Count: 434

Dear Eris,

I am aware that this letter seems untoward and sudden, and I will start off by saying how apologetic I am. I also need you to know that I would not have contacted you if this was not a matter of extreme urgency.

You once asked me to write to you if I got tired of the scheming and games which the Night Court seems to revel in. If I’d managed to find a good dance partner in my twenty-five years of being alive. My answer to you is no. No, I must admit that skilled dance partners are indeed difficult to come across. So here I stand, pride, armour, and all my defenses stripped away, asking you not as an unearthly, unworldly Cauldron-Made being or someone who hoards power like jewels or gold, but simply as Nesta Archeron. I was loath to admit what effect you had on me in the Hewn City. It was enthralling; to know that someone appreciated the art of moving one’s body with a grace so lethal, almost as much as I appreciate it. 

I saw your amber eyes shimmering that night, Eris. I saw that them glisten with more than desire or lust.

You possess a heart of gold. Not of a dreamer, but one that is not afraid to act when the time is right. I implore you to act now.

The bond has not been accepted, and I will not accept it for reasons I will only tell you when I see you. I cannot put them in writing. The Blood Duel will not be invoked, at least not from Night. I will ensure it. 

Despite that, I would be lying if I said that the Autumn Court did not intrigue me, at least to some extent. It would be better than the horrors of Night. Though I cannot tell you too much about what has been going on here, for the risk of being found out remains, I shall try to get as many messages across as I can. Know that they can come in any shape, any form, any way, for I fear that I will have to become more creative with my ways of correspondence lest interception becomes commonplace.

I would not put anything past Rhysand. Treason it may be, but you must understand that I have reason to have caution. I am once again apologetic that I will not be able to recount details of my life here in Velaris, but rest assured that I will tell you everything once we meet.

I will await your letter.

~ Nesta Archeron

Part 2 - Eris' Reply

A/N: I hope I captured Nesta’s writing style accurately and I’m sorry if I was slightly redundant!

A Lesson In Façades

AO3 | Nesta Week 2025 Masterpost |

@nestaarcheronweek

Prompt: Day Two - Mask (Nesta wielded the mask in ACOSF, but she's also an expert in hiding her true thoughts and feelings. What does Nesta wearing a mask mean to you?)

A/N: This submission deals quite heavily with negative self-talk, mentions of mental health and recovery, and Nesta’s not-so-great relationship with the Inner Circle. Please read with caution.

Word Count: 4155

Nesta heaved, expelling the contents of last night’s dinner into the toilet. Sounds of her retching filled the chambers, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not as she shivered, trembling, and gripped onto the porcelain for dear life, knuckles white and gasping for breath.

She was sure she looked like a stray; a heathen hauled in from the ragged streets and the dirtier, rougher areas of Velaris. Matted hair, dark circles under her eyes, and an increasingly narrow frame had become common for her as she lived in perpetual numbness. She’s not even trying. Her sister’s cold words as Nesta overheard them, and it was then she felt a flicker of rage. A small ember, but it was snuffed out just as quickly as it had come alight.

She hadn’t found the energy to be able to care these days. Not for the city she lived in, not for her sisters, and certainly not for herself. She wouldn’t even know where to begin should she wish it. Maybe Feyre was right.

Nesta somehow managed to get to her feet, make it to the sink, and rinse her mouth out. The foul taste of her own regurgitation sat in her mouth like an iron claw that refused to loosen its hold on her. Swallowing a healthy amount of water she would no doubt end up retching later anyway, she took a seat beside the floor-to-ceiling windows that made up nearly an entire wall. 

Curling her knees to her chest, she looked out at the laughter and joy and life teeming from the city below. She could see eager patrons encouraging potential customers to enter their ridiculously priced restaurants or vendors attempting to haggle prices and selling useless knickknacks much the same as the ones her father had made. 

Velaris, Feyre had mentioned to her briefly, and had refused to elaborate. Nesta hadn’t bothered to ask. What would it matter anyway, if her bastard of a brother-in-law was bound to throw her out on her ass whenever he felt like it? It certainly wasn’t worth getting attached to, and it wasn’t like she planned to go outside and explore the city anytime soon. 

You dragged me into this mess, this horrible place.

I am not a thing to be controlled by you.

I won’t go.

None of it had mattered, in the end. She’d still been forced, kicking and screaming and crying and pleading to be left alone, but she’d still ended up in the House of Wind like a petulant child that refused to listen.

The House of Wind. Where she’d been contained and watched Elain destroy herself, her sister ready to jump out of the red-stoned mountain as she deteriorated further. Nesta’s bones chilled at the memory, and she fought to suppress them before she another bout of panic settled so deep into her she wouldn’t be able to get it out. Her breaths turned shallow, and her eyes refocused on the wall beside her. What she’d thought would have been a sanctuary, a place for her and Elain to heal, had now become her prison.

No way to leave, save for the ten-thousand steps leading down to the city itself that would likely kill her if she tried. Or flying with Cassian, then winnowing, said a small voice in the back of her head that she promptly shut down. The point was, she was trapped, and it was useless to come up with elaborate escape plans that would encourage Rhysand’s already bloodthirsty attitude towards her. She wouldn’t be surprised if he requested for her head on a pike, simply because he could.

Despite having…whatever powers she had, despite being High Fae, there was something in Nesta that cowered upon the sight of Rhysand. Violet eyes that seemed to contain the stars themselves were unnatural on a number of levels, and the ethereal, unnatural grace that he possessed terrified her. It took efforts to clamp down on that fear lest it show, lest he scent it like some sort of rabid animal.

It was the same feeling that had overtaken her at that disastrous High Lords’ meeting. Fear, so thick and cloying that it choked the very life out of her, until she was breathless and dizzy with anxiety as she fought to keep her cool. No one had noticed that day, how she’d felt. No one ever did.

Feyre might have known about her splurges in the darker areas of the city; seedy taverns and pubs that she went to solely because of the music, but what she didn’t know was what Nesta was feeling. I understand how you’re feeling. Hollow words making up hollow promises that made even hollower relationships. Nesta was surprised theirs hadn’t crumbled yet, though she supposed it wasn’t long before that happened. Perhaps it was better if she burnt that bridge, too. What would it matter in the end, if they were all the blame her?

How was she to explain to anyone what was wrong? Did she even know what was wrong? Everything, that voice crooned again, latching onto the vulnerable, wounded parts of her mind like a parasite determined to suck all the life out of her. Nesta tried not to dwell on the fact that it was succeeding, burrowing itself deeper into her mind with every passing day.

Everything. Your personality, your failures, your inability to form relationships. You barbed, thorn-tongued witch. You failed your father. He might not have cared for you when you were younger, but he did come to save you. You hated him, but he came, and you failed him, just like you failed Elain when you couldn’t protect her or Feyre from having to hunt. You’re a failure.

Nesta shut her eyes, attempting to keep the familiar tears at bay. All it took was one crack for the entire dam to come crashing forward, and who knew how many tears Nesta had shed these past few months?

You could have been one less mouth for your family to feed had you married that Tomas Mandray. You knew he was bad, but at least Elain or Feyre wouldn’t have ended up with him. You wouldn’t have been a burden. 

She dug her nails into her palms, relishing in the sharp sting as she fought to keep her breathing even. Breathe, she’d instructed Elain every time she was on the verge of a panic attack. In, out, in, out. Do it with me. Her commands were laced with nothing but concern then; concern for her sister and worry that she might find her mangled corpse thousands of feet below if she finally decided to jump.

Now, Nesta’s words to herself were cold, commanding as she chided herself. Stop crying. You have no reason to cry. Stop this.

Nesta couldn’t tell if it was her voice or her mother’s, telling her to keep her emotions at bay.

A lot of that seemed to be happening these days. The lines between reality and her nightmares seemed to blur, even more so when she drowned herself in alcohol. Her head spun the more she drank, but she knew that she’d never felt more free, more uninhibited than when the faerie wine was in her bloodstream. It was stronger than human wine, but it was one of the reasons she favoured it.

Oh, how Nesta longed for a drink now. It would help whatever she was feeling, subdue it to a dull ache that allowed her to revel in the wild debauchery and raucous music playing in the bars she frequented. Seeing the familiar patrons and bartenders, having her usual game of cards, gambling…her hands itched to do it again, if only to stop herself from collapsing entirely.

The alcohol would make her more palatable, easier to digest. Maybe some of her sharp edges would be dulled, maybe she wouldn’t feel her wounds. She’d do that until they stopped festering and lying there infected, unwilling to heal as she simply stared at the blood pooling down her body. The blood would clot eventually, until she’d have another outburst that would lead to more wounds. Nesta wouldn’t be surprised if her arms and legs were all covered in scars by the time she made it to her grave. Maybe they’d be a reminder that whatever she’d endured had been real, and not just a fantasy she’d made up inside her head.

Maybe that would finally be enough to get that writhing creature inside of her, whatever it was, out. She only hoped that it would stay out once she got rid of it and wouldn’t ever find a way back in.

Nesta wasn’t sure she’d be able to survive something like that again.

✦ ✦ ✦

Sunlight streamed in through the window, bright and piercing, and Nesta blinked her eyes open. She’d forgotten to close the windows last night, and she turned over to the other side in a futile attempt to get a few more minutes of extra sleep.

The House, however, seemed to have other plans. Tugging at the blanket she’d curled over her head, it managed to win the battle between it and an extremely disgruntled and sleepy Nesta. 

“Seriously?” She huffed to it as she lay on her bed in shorts and a tank top, the blanket thrown haphazardly over the enormous bed as it trailed onto the floor.

In answer, it only flicked the lights of the bathroom on, signalling to Nesta that it was time to get ready. “Fine,” she grumbled, but began her morning routine for the day anyway. 

Forty-five minutes later, she was showered, dressed, and had done her makeup as best she could to cover her dark circles. Her hair was braided in the usual coronet fashion that Nesta favoured as she sat at the breakfast table, facing an equally exhausted-looking Cassian.

“Morning Nes,” he crooned with an upward tilt of his mouth. She wouldn’t go so far as to call it a smile, but it seemed that he was at least attempting to be civil. She gave no acknowledgement, only picking up a bowl and beginning to pile cereal onto her plate. They might have hauled her here against her will, but she’d be damned if she didn’t enjoy good food while she was at it, never mind that she threw up most of it anyway. They didn’t need to know that.

“Still don’t want to talk to me, huh?” His question hung in the air for a brief second before Nesta sliced through it, snapping it clean in two. “What makes you think I want to talk to you?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he started, placing a hand on his chin in mock contemplation. “Maybe because we live in the same house and because I’m training you?”

“I’m not obligated to talk to you outside our training sessions. Why don’t you bring Morrigan over here? It’s not like she has a job anyway. And if she does, it’s not like she does it. One would think her job is drinking wine and going to that unholy place she calls a club.”

Nesta knew the blow had landed the minute Cassian’s face contorted into a snarl. “Shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” she countered coolly, unphased by his sudden change in demeanor. “I’ve never seen her do much else.” If he attacked her, it would give her all the more reason to leave this damned mountain. She only hoped she was smart enough to provoke him, and that he was sutpid enough to take the bait.

Cassian merely pursed his lips in response as he glared daggers at her. Any decent person with an ounce of common sense and a slight bit of self-preservation would have the good sense to look at least a bit worried, but not Nesta. Maybe she’d never cared enough for her own good.

What he didn’t know, however, was why Nesta had insulted Morrigan. That self-righteous, haughty superiority complex had waltzed into last night’s dinner over an hour late, the one that Nesta had been forced to attend as a sign that she was getting better. The blonde had then proceeded to joke around with everyone, given and received the appropriate pleasantries, and turned her serpent’s gaze on Nesta.

“Well, you certainly look like you’ve been eating,” she’d remarked so condescendingly it had made Nesta want to rip the skin right off her flesh. Her brown eyes, void of any warmth or consideration, had roved over every curve and plane of her body, though there hadn’t been many curves there to begin with. A brief murmur had landed on Nesta’s ears, but she hadn’t bothered to properly listen in. Knowing them, they were likely encouraging Morrigan to continue insulting Nesta publicly.

“Yes. Nutritional requirements tend to increase when one trains,” she’d responded, voice bored and carefully neutral. It wouldn’t do to start a brawl in the middle of the High Lord’s dining room. She’d be pulverised to dust before she even had the chance to say I’m sorry. It wasn’t worth it. Besides, there were far better and far easier ways to get under their skin.

For all their supposed diplomatic skills that they showed to the world, the Night Court’s Inner Circle wore their emotions on their sleeves, with the exception of Azriel. It had led Nesta to notice many things about them, things that her sister had missed because she’d never been the observant one of the lot. Simply sitting and observing, Nesta’s mother had drilled into her, let you know more about the people than you might ever need to. Tuck this information away into the crevices of your mind, she’d whispered into the ears of a barely twelve-year-old Nesta as she stood poised about to enter that year’s summer gala. You never know when it might come in handy. Use it then.

Nesta was using it now, throwing their pathetic hearts on their sleeves right back at them every time they said or did something particularly heinous. For instance, when Morrigan’s conceited attitude came head-to-head with her favourite pastime of picking on Nesta for no particular reason.

“Oh, so you are training now?” She asked again with a quizzical tilt of her head. “Did your decision to do actually contribute to the well-being of this Court instead of its ruin take place before, after, or during you were fucking Cassian?”

Nesta would consider herself a heroine if she didn’t murder the pompous blonde by the end of tonight. Honestly, Rhysand should keep his lackeys in check. Then again, the bastard was likely enjoying the free entertainment he was receiving at her expense. The day he stepped in to help Nesta was the day Hel would freeze over.

“Did your decision to target me like some sort of game animal take place before, after, or during you saw me fucking him?” She retorted. Her tone was the same as Mor’s; light, breezy, and completely contradicting the vitriol they were spewing at each other. 

Unluckily for the Night Court’s Third-in-command, she didn’t know who she was up against. Nesta had always prided herself on her viper’s tongue, had honed the weapon to such precision it hardly took her half a thought before she was poised and ready to strike at the slightest provocation. 

It was what kept the hordes of people away, those with false promises and honeyed hopes that all would be right in the world and she would be okay. All was not right in the world, and she was not okay. She was far from it, but they didn’t need to know that. Besides, it wasn’t like they cared, despite what they attempted to show her and the world.

“Nesta,” came Feyre’s exasperated voice as she clutched her swollen belly. “Can we not? It’s…you’ve been doing so well, and this…can we have a nice, quiet night? Please?”

She nearly gagged at Feyre’s imploring tone that would no doubt turn into a hardened command if she declined. They loved giving people the illusion of choice, she realised. They wanted everyone, but mostly her, to think that she had some say in whatever twisted politics they relished in playing. It was what their court thrived on.

But Nesta was done. She was tired of playing games like these. She’d been trained to play them with such expertise it would shock her opponent, instructed and coached to be a deadly weapon that she was sure it would never come out of her, not if they tried it a hundred different ways. She was the weapon, and short of killing her, they’d have to deal with her.

“Thank you for dinner,” she said to no one in particular, her voice firm, leaving no room for argument. She might have lashed out then, might have screamed at whoever tried to stop her. 

Thankfully, they appeared to retain at least that amount of sound judgment. No one stopped her, but they watched as she tugged on her boots and coat, and then stepped out into the biting cold.

✦ ✦ ✦

Nesta didn’t know how long she wandered the desolate streets of Velaris for. It had begun to get colder now, the warm rays of the sun giving way to the watery gloom that was autumn.

Nesta remembered how she’d hated autumn as a child. Colds, sniffles, and fevers had frequented the Archeron manor every year. She remembered having to stay cooped up in bed while cold-blooded and dispassionate servants had ensured she swallowed enough doses of whatever vile medicine the doctors had prescribed.

As an older girl living in a cottage, she had somehow managed to hate the frigid season even more. The moment the leaves had started yellowing was the moment she knew that winter would soon be upon them. It would mean scarce game, less food, and hungry bellies. It would mean raised tempers, aching bones, and the risk that they might not all make it through the season. 

No, Nesta had never been particularly fond of autumn. Certainly not now that it had started to rain, the drops falling in thick clumps and filling her ears with a pitter-patter that was almost soothing.

For all of Nesta’s hatred towards the autumn, she loved the rain. Something in the quiet, steady rhythm of the drops and the silence that seemed to envelope the world stilled the restlessness and unease in her.

Wiping a drop off her eye, she continued walking towards the general direction of the House of Wind. She’d make it there eventually if she followed the river. There was a bridge somewhere along there, she knew, and all she needed to do was cross it and keeping walking straight. 

While she’d never been into the city itself, she’d gleaned enough from the aerial views and flights she’d been on to make her way around Feyre’s four (or was it five?) mansions, estates, and properties all over the city. 

Another ridiculous notion of her youngest sister’s; to insist on having literal palaces around the city when there was still rampant poverty throughout Velaris, she thought to herself as the familiar taste of bitterness began to seep into her bones once more, as sharp and resentful as it had always had been.

Nesta had drank, dined, and gambled with a few of the less…financially stable patrons. She hadn’t thought less of them, only given them the grim understanding a stranger could give as both parties’ priorities were the same: drowning out their worries for the night as they laughed and joked and toasted to the small moments like those instead of wallowing in their own self-pity.

It was what had kept many of them from giving up entirely. Nesta often thought that the power of indulgence was exceptionally undersold. It was a luxury that the rich were looked up to for, while anyone not in the same elite status was demonized. The double standard was sickening.

Nevertheless, it was Rhysand’s governing that had led to the financial divide, and his unwillingness to even acknowledge, let alone bridge the enormous wealth gap, was mortifying.

She came to a sudden halt as the crimson stone of the House loomed in front of her, now slick and wet with the pouring rain. She hadn’t realised she’d made it all the way here; she’d been so consumed by her own thoughts.

Panting lightly, she decided it was best to at least attempt to climb the steps. If she didn’t make it back up to the House by midnight, she’d camp out on the stairs. She’d be dry if nothing else. It wasn’t like they would care much for her absence anyhow. 

Sighing, Nesta began the unholy ten-thousand step climb, and prayed to the Mother that she’d have enough energy to deal with the aftermath of her behaviour tomorrow.

✦ ✦ ✦

Nesta didn’t know how long it took her to climb those steps, only that she had eventually made it to the House, and that she was now soaked with sweat. The city glowed golden beneath her, alight with joy and love and and life and a hundred other things that now seemed foreign to her, but she didn’t notice it, nor did she care.

It took Nesta more energy than she cared to admit to make it back to her room. As she passed the common corridor, (because Cassian had insisted they stay on the same floor), she heard the male’s snores faintly echoing around the space.

She relaxed slightly, relieved that she wouldn’t have to interact with anyone else lest she act so malicious they would consider throwing her into the Hewn City.

As much as she told herself it was an empty threat, there was a part of her that wasn’t so ready to accept the lies the self-proclaimed Inner Circle fed her. She had no doubt they’d dispose of her as little more than trash and be altogether too happy to be rid of her the minute she ceased being of any true value to the court. 

The only question was when.

✦ ✦ ✦

Turning onto her side, Nesta glanced at the clock and sighed. 3:02, it read. Three in the fucking morning, and she hadn’t managed to catch even a wink of sleep.

Some nights, the sleeplessness was due to her nightmares. Other times, it was worry and anxiety roiling so deep in her gut she ended up expelling most of it anyway. This time, she wasn’t sure what it was, only that she couldn’t stay in bed like this any longer. She’d lose her mind with boredom.

She was sure the House was sleeping now, too, and wouldn’t play any music if she asked it to. In fact, she was sure it would be grumpier the next day, acting more stubborn and cocky than usual.

Nesta tossed the covers off and got up, making her way to the bathroom to wash her face. Maybe some fresh water would help. 

Once that was done, she put on her slippers and padded to the common library. It was by no means the library, but it was a smaller collection of books that happened to be there on each floor to avoid traipsing up and down the steps every time in search of a particular novel.

A touch so fatal, read the first title, piquing Nesta’s interest immediately. She’d always been a romantic at heart, and she simply loved the House’s extensive erotica collection. It seemed that it, too, had been starved of good smut to read, and a companion to share its niche love for literature with.

Picking it up off the shelf, she situated herself in an armchair, curling her legs to her chest, and began to read. 

✦ ✦ ✦

Nesta didn’t know how long she was sat there for, only that the words flew over the page and her mind was filled with images of knights and dragons and castles. Stolen kisses, lingering promises and fleeting touches had her melting, and she couldn’t help it as her heart soared.

She was nothing and no one, simply enjoying the literature that was in front of her, indulging herself and her desires in something so frivolous and silly her past self would have chided her for it. 

But the Cauldron had Made something in Nesta. No, she thought. Not Made. Uncovered. For the part that had adored books and music and dance had been with her, in her since she was a child. The only difference now was that she had the opportunity to fulfill that aching want of knowing a character in a book deeper than she knew herself. To explore worlds that might otherwise have been out of her reach, to think and grieve and laugh and sing with each individual.

Starry night bled into blossoming dawn, the sun creeping steadily over the horizon, and still Nesta did not stop.

A/N: I used an unofficial map of Velaris and this is another one that I thought was cool (but didn't use)

A Waltz With Magic

AO3 | Nesta Week 2025 Masterpost |

@nestaarcheronweek

Prompt: Day One - Bonds (Nesta has forged many bonds during the series, from the Valkyries, to Elain and Feyre, to even a brotp with Azriel. What do you think of the bonds she's formed with her family and friends?)

A/N: I wanted to write a fic/drabble where she learns to get comfortable with her magic and not treat it like something horrible. I’m also a major Neris shipper, sooooo

Word Count: 1225

Nesta awoke, panting and drenched in sweat, eyes blown wide as she gasped down air into her lungs. Clawing madly at the blankets now pooled around her waist, she scrambled for something, anything, to dampen the odd, otherworldly glow emanating from her hands. 

As soon as she touched the blankets, though, they erupted into a silver fire that had her reeling back with a shout. 

A sharp pain radiated through her shoulder, and when she blinked open her eyes she realised she was on the floor. Hissing in pain and wincing as her shoulder gave another painful throb, she gingerly got up and began making her way to the bathroom in a futile attempt to calm her racing heart. 

Nothing worked, of course. Her head was aching, and her hands were shaking as she fought to regain composure.

No, no, no, she begged to her powers. Please. Not now. She clamped her eyes shut to ground herself, but the action only made her feel more untethered. The darkness had never helped soothe her, and it certainly wasn’t going to help her now. 

She’d always been more suited to fire than she had been to the night.

Something warm and wet landed on her cheek, and rage filled the already uneasy stirring of emotions in her gut. Stupid girl. Why are you crying?

It was a voice Nesta hadn’t heard in her mind for a long time. It was safe to say that she was startled, but she also couldn’t help her hackles raise at the harsh disappointment that brought back unwanted memories of tears and humiliation.

I’m sorry, Grandmamma. I promise I won’t cry again. Her own voice, only fifteen years ago, pervaded her mind. Meek, shy, and so desperate for the dame’s approval, Nesta hadn’t realised the old woman didn’t care for her until it was too late.

What have I told you about making promises? You don’t, because you never know what’s going to happen. I expected you to listen more. 

You’re going to have to do better if you want to get married someday. No decent man will want you if you keep acting like a flimsy, frivolous child.

I’m surprised your mother hasn’t deemed you a complete failure yet. Then again, I suppose she hasn’t tried to improve you the way I have. Be grateful you’re under the tutelage of someone who cares.

A child needs a good beating and they fall straight into line, that’s what I say. 

Each dialogue, delivered with that same, sharp blow dug nails so deep into Nesta’s heart it was a miracle she was breathing at all by the time her panic had abated.

Nearly all of her episodes followed a similar structure: she’d wake up, panting or yelling, her powers would spiral out of control, and she’d fight to keep them contained but to no avail. It wasn’t unusual for sleep to evade her for hours after that, so she didn’t exactly have high hopes this time around.

Indeed, the silver blaze coating her palms hadn’t subsided in the least. If anything, it had increased, seeming to glow brighter as if it was feeding off of Nesta’s self-hatred and anxiety.

“House?” Nesta managed to croak out, throat parched and raw, presumably from screaming. “Can you replace the sheets on my bed, please?”

It obliged without question, and the bed was immediately covered in fresh, perfumed linens smelling lightly of vanilla and lavender.

While some might say they were the most basic, plain scents, they were also the ones Nesta adored the most. There was beauty in simplicity, she’d realised early on, choosing to forgo any gaudy or tacky jewellery in favour of something more modest and established. It was one of the reasons she’d had so many eyes on her as a mortal girl, she knew. That regal, timeless look she managed to exude had enthralled many, far too many of whom had been predators.

Sighing, she lay down in bed and attempted to cleanse her mind of the thoughts ruminating in her head. They were like weeds, she thought to herself. The longer she let them fester, the worse she would feel.

She had to try, even if no good came of it.

✦ ✦ ✦

Nesta didn’t remember drifting off, only that she did at some point in the middle of the night. She’d woken up decidedly groggier the next morning, the dark circles under her eyes long since having taken hold of her face, but she’d also woken up with a mission. 

Venturing to the Library after training and lunch, she sat down in a quieter section where she knew neither Gwyn nor any of the other priestesses would wander. Their work tended to be on the higher levels, usually from six upwards, and Nesta was currently sitting on level four. 

Taking a quill from the inkpots that stood on every desk, and asking the House to summon a piece of parchment, she began to write.

✦ ✦ ✦

It took Nesta an embarrassingly long amount of time, countless scraps of parchment, and more groans and sighs than she cared to admit before she finished that letter. It was disproportionate, really, seeing as the letter wasn’t more than a page. But the courage she’d needed to summon to write it, and the utter shame and relief she’d felt when she had finally managed to get the words down on paper…

“House? I’d like to get this letter to Eris Vanserra, please.” Her whispered request echoed in the silent antechamber, and she cringed internally. Hopefully, no one would think her insane for talking to a sentient structure.

The letter vanished in an instant, disappearing in a cloud of puffed smoke, leaving Nesta with nothing but her swirling thoughts.

✦ ✦ ✦

Dinner had been quiet and almost….civil, considering the way her other meals with the General had gone. They hadn’t talked, but they hadn’t been hostile, either. To Nesta, that was about as pleasant as it was going to get, and she certainly wasn’t complaining.

Indeed, the stars shone brightly overhead as she made her way up to the training ring. It was peaceful, she admitted to herself, having the area all to herself as she sat cross-legged in the center of the arena. All was quiet save for the occasional rustle of the wind and the call of a distant swallow soaring overhead.

But Nesta did not notice that. She had her eyes closed, and was attempting a mind-stilling. The task was proving more difficult than she would have liked to admit.

While the activity had seemed easier when she’d begun it, it was only now she was realising how difficult it truly was. Calming her head on a good day proved to be difficult enough, but on a day when her thoughts were scattered and there was no one and nothing to ground her? She might as well be asking for a miracle.

Come on, she coaxed. Come out. I know you’re desperate to come out at night. But no matter how she tried, her magic refused to answer. 

Cajoling and pleading did not work; neither did threats. Eventually, Nesta left the ring with nothing to show for her practice save for a block of disappointment that sat deep in her gut, and another sleepless night ahead of her.

A/N: The letter Nesta sends will be revealed on Day 3! I hadn’t planned on doing this, but I’m thinking of continuing this drabble as a series where Nesta goes to Autumn to learn more about her fire and scrying powers, let me know what you think!

Nesta Week 2025 Masterpost

AO3

Total Word Count: 13,291

1. Day One: Bonds ♕ Nesta has forged many bonds during the series, from the Valkyries, to Elain and Feyre, to even a brotp with Azriel. What do you think of the bonds she's formed with her family and friends?

A Waltz With Magic: We know quite a bit about Nesta’s relationships with others, but what about her relationship with her magic?

2. Day Two: Mask ♕ Nesta wielded the mask in ACOSF, but she's also an expert in hiding her true thoughts and feelings. What does Nesta wearing a mask mean to you?

A Lesson in Façades: Nesta has been forced to wear many masks during her journey. But what about her love for books?

3. Day Three: True North ♕ The eight-pointed star has many meanings in Nesta’s journey, but the path is far from over. Where do you think her star is pointing?

Romance, Requests, and Redirection: Nesta’s compass has pointed first to the Cauldron and then to the Night Court. Will the next step in her journey be the Autumn Court?

4. Day Four: Lover ♕ Nesta has had many opportunities for love across Prythain — who do you ship her with? Cassian? Emerie? Eris? Gwyn? Azriel? Cresseida? Any and all ships are welcome!

Crimson: Eris and Nesta's potential for a romantic relationship has interested me for such a long time. Aside from the obvious fire symbolism, their childhoods, traumas, desires, and the things they enjoy are similar in so many ways.

5. Day Five: Mother ♕ Not only does Nesta have a bond with the Mother, but she's also mommy Mother. How do you see this word applying to her?

Sleepy Affection: Nesta has been a mother to many, but how do Eris’ smokehounds see their mother?

6. Day Six: Birthday Girl ♕ While Nesta doesn’t have a specified birthday in canon, that doesn’t mean we can’t celebrate our favorite character turning a year older! How do you think Nesta and the people who love her would celebrate her special day?

Vibrant Velaris: What do the Valkyries have planned for their best friend on her special day?

7. Day Seven: Free Day ♕ Any topic of your choosing!

Karaoke Night: What happens when our two favourite, most badass females from different universes cross paths with each other in a modern world?

Thank you so much to @nestaarcheronweek for hosting Nesta Week 2025! The prompts were so much fun to work with and I had a great time!

Line dividers credit goes to @sweetmelodygraphics

Letters of Desperation - Neris

Part 1 - Nesta | Part 21 - Eris | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: Partly inspired by this Tumblr post

Word Count: 448

Beloved Nesta,

I never thought I would get to see an ethereal being until I saw you at the altar.

Straight-backed, regal, and with a dress flowing like an angel’s halo, I realised I was blessed the minute I lay eyes on you. Your cheekbones sharp enough to bring an emperor to his knees, the sun glinted behind you, a silent witness to the radiance shining from within.

Your smile, something serene and yet knowing in it as we watched each other from opposite ends of the room, eyeing the other, taking the other in as if we had been separated for centuries and were drinking our fill. Eyes darting over one another, lips slightly parted as we fought to keep our breaths steady and our gazes on each other.

My eyes did not leave yours for a moment, and I swear to the Mother I was in a trance. 

The bouquet you held, your hair in that coronet fashion I have come to love, and those stunning eyes, blazing with the fires of determination as if they had been raised from Hel themselves. Icy eyes, pools of cerulean and turquoise and a hundred other shades I cannot name, eyes burning like they had been set on fire. Burning, and yet cold; such an accurate embodiment of your powers I was once again stunned by you and your ethereal grace. 

Something stopped in my heart when I saw you walk out into the aisle, a Queen presiding over her court. Did you know, Nesta, that I was about to drop to my knees the moment I saw you, to kneel before you like a knight would yield to his Queen?

And as the priestess glanced around to all those assembled, then turned to face me, asking, “Do you love her?” I could not help but think that love is too weak of an emotion for what I feel for you. Perhaps I will spend this entire lifetime trying to find the eloquence and grace that lacks in me, the words that are in me but have not yet found their way out. They will reside in me always, clawing and desperate to be able to make their way to you. 

If only our souls could intertwine, would that not be easier? To simply be able to transport my emotions to yours without a word?

Easier, certainly, but then I would not have these articulately written letters to cherish, to look back upon on those nights when I feel lonely. It settles something in me, I think, to know that I will always have a part of you with me, immortalised on parchment. 

Avec l’amour plus le pur,

Eris

Part 22 - Nesta

Line dividers credit goes @enchanthings

Letters of Desperation - Neris

Part 1 - Nesta | Part 20 - Eris | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 380

Beloved Nesta,

Even as the role of High Lord is becoming unbearable, my adoration for you has increased tenfold. Even as the pressure builds, I cannot help but think that it is merely bringing out the facets of you which have been hidden from the world. Ever the patient, polite, and utterly pristine consort, you have been by my side from the very beginning.

Every day my love, you inspire me to become a better version of myself. I want to heal. I want to get better. For you, I want this. You deserve a version of me that is not broken. I refuse to stand by and watch as you feel unworthy. If no one will step up, then I will. 

Broken, bloodied, and battered, I will crawl to you if I must, but know this: I will stand by you. No matter what may go on for the world to see, I will stand by you as you have stood by me. It is the very least you deserve, to have someone care for you as your duties for this Court increase. 

You once told me, Nesta, that it is vital to care for ourselves. But I know that you would rather swallow glass before you do anything for yourself. And so it is my responsibility to ensure that you are taken care of. 

Will you accept the care by my hands, scarred with phantom blood and pain? Trembling and shaking like a newborn fawn, fingernails chipped and ugly? Will you accept utter ruination, and love it anyway? 

Ache is the only language they have known, and I must beg for your forgiveness before I let them in your vicinity. Aching for you, aching for a simple life that can never be mine.

I know that I am well beyond simple, mortal love now. For the depth of adoration I feel for you cannot be normal. This kind of love will either heal me or ruin me and I have not decided which it will be. This kind of love must last. I will not allow there to be another alternative. I must spend my future with you.

I beg you, Nesta Archeron, hold on to me, and never let me go. 

Avec l’amour plus le pur,

Eris

Part 21 - Eris

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Letters of Desperation - Neris

Part 1 - Nesta | Part 19 - Nesta | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 351

My darling Eris,

A crack runs through my heart, as swift and dooming as lightning at each one of your letters. I had not known the burden of your grief until I peeled back the layers and saw in you all your glory. I had known it haunted you, yes, but I had not known the extent to which it was palpable, both to you and those around you.

I know it can make us feel like we have nothing to live for and that we are bound to this life. I know how it feels. But I also want you to know that never in this Court, never once beside you have I felt shackled or trapped. If anything, it was the Night Court who smothered me, and nearly blew out the flame of my heart. 

I have experienced it, and there was not a single moment with you when I felt the same way. 

Life can be overwhelming when one is burdened with responsibilities, but know that you are strong enough. More than enough. You have been through so much, and you will get through these initial days of worry and confusion. I suppose it is easy for me to say this now, but I truly believe in you. If you do not believe in yourself, Eris, that is fine. I will believe in you, enough for the both of us. 

I believe that you are a good person with a kind heart who wants the best for his Court. I believe that you are your own individual and that you will be a different ruler than the one before you. You will not find a shred of him in your soul. Bit by bit, the pain will clear, and it will all fall into place. It will take a while, but it will happen. You must be patient. I will be patient with you. I will sit with you for however long it is you need me to, and then some more, simply because I can. Because I love you.

De tout mon coeur et plus encore,

Nesta

Part 20 - Eris

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Letters of Desperation - Neris

Part 1 - Nesta | Part 18 - Eris | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 498

Beloved Nesta, 

I apologise that I must write to you under such regrettable circumstances. I am not in the right mind, and everything seems to be doing its very best to set me off. Be it small footsteps or laughter echoing in the halls, I seem to get irritated at the slightest touch or whisper of a voice. I am sorry for all those who must see me like this; full of rage and unable to settle, plundering these halls like the monster before me. I am afraid that I shall morph into a worse caricature of him. It feels like inviting misfortune into our home by saying his name, so I will not. But I hope the message is glaringly clear. 

But most of all, I am sorry that you must be the one to see me like this. After everything you have endured, you deserve a husband who will grant you the sweetest love, who will fill your senses with scents of cloyed jasmine and rose; who will ply you with mountains of gifts. 

I do not want you to fear this being that I have become. I want you to know that I am trying, Nesta, even as I am being smothered alive by the amount of work that seems to hound me day and night.

I had once thought that a High Lord was granted with freedom. In reality, I have been given golden shackles to keep me bound to my throne for all eternity. 

And you, my dear, have been shackled along with me.

As I rule, as I occupy that seat, I need to you know one extremely important thing: I will always be your loving husband. No matter what happens outside the walls of our chambers, I am yours, always and forever. I do not want you to be afraid.

I do not want you to bow and my every whim and wish; to concede and grovel in front of me. I do not want a servant: I want a wife.

I enjoy being challenged, being spoken to without fear, being called out. It is, inevitably, what will make me both a better leader, and a better person. For that, I crave your presence. It is refreshing, you must understand, to not have to second guess and doubt every opinion that leaves your lips, for I know you speak with the utmost honesty and care for the well-being of this Court. I do not have to consider your words, for they are truth unto themselves. They are not coated in layers of lies, grimy and filthy with the ever-changing intentions of another. They are not shrouded in mist, indecipherable until someone falls into the maw of an ever-looming trap.

I appreciate honesty; and you have been honest with me from the very beginning about every part of yourself. You have given and given, while I have only stood, starstruck, in awe.

Keep burning, my flame. 

Avec l’amour plus le pur,

Eris

A/N: Thank you so much for 50 followers! (People actually want to read this stuff?!)

Part 19 - Nesta

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Letters of Desperation - Neris

Part 1 - Nesta | Part 17 - Nesta | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 275

My darling Eris,

I had known from the beginning what a demanding role one of a High Lord was. At least I thought I did. Every day I wake up and you are not there, lying next to me, my heart sinks just a little bit. Every time I see your breakfast untouched or a half-eaten meal, the worry that I have carefully folded away into my heart comes pouring out. 

I see everything that you are doing for this Court, Eris. I see everything that you have done. I see that you have the best interests of this Court at heart. 

I also see that you are working yourself to the bone. If there is anything my life in Autumn has taught me, anything you have taught me, it is that we all require rest, no matter how invincible we may seem on the outside. Our souls must periodically alleviate the stress and pain they have been building up. 

You cannot help others if you do not help yourself first. Then again, it seems ironic that I am the one speaking so when it seems more fitting for you to lecture me on topics like these. But perhaps that is all that a partnership is, is it not? To support each other in every phase of our lives, no matter how taxing or gruelling or utterly horrible it may be.

It is my duty as your wife to support you, Eris. Remember that you will always have one steadfast, unwavering ally in this fickle and slippery Court. I will stand by you no matter what happens. 

De tout mon coeur et plus encore,

Nesta

A/N: I needed this reminder just as much as Eris (so I decided to write a new chapter about it)

Part 18 - Eris

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Letters of Desperation - Neris

Part 1 - Nesta | Part 16 - Eris | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 466

Beloved Nesta,

As the toll of this new life is starting to take over, I have realised how exhausting it is to be High Lord. 

They say the first few days after the ascension are the more difficult ones; I know. But what of the rest of my rule? How difficult will that be? These questions are what plague my mind like the parasites and insects they are; oozing thoughts of insecurity as they try desperately to bury their hungry claws into my mind, attempting to rip through it like a knife through butter. 

Now I know why people wish for plainness and mundanity in their lives. It would certainly be more peaceful. Indeed, I cannot remember the last time I have been without a headache, nor something that requires my utmost and immediate attention. 

Simpering courtiers, ministers who otherwise wouldn’t have given a damn about me or this Court are all charging after me as if I am a piece of meat, an animal they wish to conquer and then butcher, putting me up on display like some rare specimen they wish to admire from afar. Yet they refuse to be true allies, friends and comrades I can trust. I have known this game, have seen it in a hundred different forms in the centuries I have lived: wanting power without willing to work for it. Laziness corrupts the mind, indeed. 

It seems that whatever task I attempt to do, no matter how menial, they are all swarming at my feet like a colony of ants, insignificant, and yet cumbersome. I truly don’t know how my father managed to rule for so long without going entirely insane (though I suppose he already was from the beginning, so there wasn’t much sanity to lose after all.) It feels like I have won a war, conquered a territory each time something small is accomplished. 

But I am certain, my sweet, that I will conquer whatever it is I wish to conquer, with no other than you by my side. 

Perhaps I will one day be able to provide you with all that your magnificent heart desires, and will see that ethereal smile on your face that has me on my knees every time I glimpse it. I will make it my life’s mission to keep that smile for all eternity.

That is all I have ever wanted with you, my love. Your happiness is all that matters. I want us to be happy together, no matter where we may be. 

I want to grow old with you, my love, however long it may take with our eternal lives and Fae blood coursing through our veins. I want to experience true joy, elation, with you by my side, an unfaltering, grounding presence. 

Avec l’amour plus le pur,

Eris

Part 17 - Nesta

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Letters of Desperation - Neris

Part 1 - Nesta | Part 15 - Fate | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 103

Son of Autumn, daughter of flame,

Born to come together again.

Both will suffer though differently,

Aches and blows, heartbreak and agony,

Will be all they will ever know

Until their souls entwine.

One of fire, one of ice,

This will happen only thrice.

Twice already it has occurred,

Now it is fate who will have secured

The fate of Prythian, the magic of the land,

It is not mine, but rather fate’s hand.

Cunning and devious, it may be,

But it does not stop the urge to flee.

Flee from all that brings us sorrow,

You shall witness the dawn of morrow.

Part 16 - Eris

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Letters of Desperation - Neris

Part 1 - Nesta | Part 14 - Nesta | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 514

My darling Eris,

You being the calculated male I have known you to be, and then watching that mask slip away, fall like the crimson and amber leaves; the very lifeblood of this court has been utterly enchanting. To watch every layer chip away ever so slowly, to see the male who has been forced to hide himself away, who has donned a mask for long enough. It has been like seeing a hidden gem reveal itself, a butterfly metamorphosis in its own unique and blissful. To watch a play, to watch as everything clicked into place.

It seems fitting, after all, that the scheming Heir I fell in love with, who plotted and was so stunningly skilled in the ways of nobles, in the ways of the court, was also the one that taught me chess. 

It is a game of sacrifice, in the end. A game of planning, a game of strategy, one that works the brain so beautifully, hones it and trains it in ways I didn’t think possible. The elegant movement of the pieces across the board, their roles and functions all defined clearly. A thousand different combinations of how something could go right, a hundred different ways to win, and yet even more ways something could go wrong. A battlefield in its own right, as the board begins to litter with fallen pieces. An unpredictable and volatile game; chess. Easy enough to learn, but one begins to go mad the second she decides to conquer it. It seems fitting that the male who brought courts to their knees with a few well-placed words was also the one who was a master of chess.

He eventually became the master of my heart, commanding it as he commanded Autumn’s armies before his ascension to the throne. Vying for control, vying for power, he was every bit the Prince I had heard of, as well as the face that haunted my dreams. And yet the stories I had heard whispered of him did not seem to fit him, his demeanour, his actions. It seems that he always had a plan up his sleeve, a hundred other ways and backup plans should the slightest things go wrong. A magician.

It intrigued me just as it baffled me. A true enigma, Eris Vanserra. A slippery person; difficult to talk to and even more difficult to get a straight answer out of. A twisted male, in more ways than one. He had a way of extracting information that did not seem abrupt. Smooth and eloquent was his speech, never faltering, never missing a step, no matter how the others tried to trip him. Somehow avoiding them within an inch of your life, you also managed to craft traps of your own. You kept me up at night, your grand plans and schemes unfoiling and unraveling more perfectly and beautifully than I had imagined. 

It was his mind that enamoured me more than anything else. 

Eventually, he became a part of my soul, and now occupies it entirely. 

De tout mon coeur et plus encore,

Nesta

Part 15 - Fate

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Letters of Desperation - Neris

Part 1 - Nesta | Part 13 - Eris | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 437

Beloved Nesta,

Your presence in this court has truly transformed me in ways I did not think possible. Eris Vanserra, cunning, cold, and calculated to a fault. A merciless male, who did not do anything without considering every alternative, every way the game could play out. A male who was more snake than High Fae, who did not do anything and bowed to no one unless he benefited from it. A schemer, a liar, one full of deceit and false charms, honeyed lies he poured into unsuspecting ears as he wove webs and traps so thoroughly even the prey did not understand what was happening until long after it had happened and left nothing but ruin in its wake. 

But you, Nesta, you awakened a side of me I had long thought to be eternally dormant. You have changed me (for the better, I must emphasise). My demeanour has changed, as has my worldview has been flipped upside down, and then some. I have become impulsive, passionate, and irrevocably soft, though I cannot bring myself to regret it. Not with you by my side. Not with you as my equal. If anything, the softness makes me stronger in a way that I had not realised I was weak until you waltzed into my life like a Queen, chin held high and back ramrod straight.

This is a way for me to make up for all those loveless years, a way of repentance. At least that is what I tell myself. By loving you, not only am I giving in to my heart, to my desires, but I am also healing a part of myself I thought long gone. The part capable of free and unburdened love. 

Recently, I had not used those words at all. They have never crossed my mind. Not until you stepped into my life, Queen of Death. 

A revelation I have had is that Death is not always bad, it does not imply mourning and grief. It can mean freedom, liberation, and a new beginning. You killed part of me, Nesta. You killed and smothered the insecurity, the shame, the pain, that I had managed to hide away from the world for so long so thoroughly. Only now that I have been rid of it can I see how much I had let my wounds fester and rot, let them blacken. But my heart glows now, warm as an ember, as it has slowly kindled to life with your presence.

I cannot be more grateful to you, but I will certainly try, in more ways than one.

Avec l’amour plus le pur,

Eris

Part 14 - Nesta

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Letters of Desperation - Neris

Part 1 - Nesta | Part 12 - Nesta | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 586

My darling Eris,

How I yearn for you to fill me with liquid amber, weave my soul with threads spun of gold, until the darkness which has dictated me is forever banished. Pour yourself into me, and I shall drink it up like the plants swallow the sunlight. Hungrily, desperately, and with no regret nor remorse. Perhaps you can fill the parts of me that are lacking and make me whole again. Maybe you can sew together the parts which have been torn and ripped into shreds I am not sure how much is left anymore. If it is possible for you to fix it, fix me, Eris, then I beg of you, do it.

I yearn and long so painfully, not only for your love, but for you. For your presence. 

If there were a way to etch your name onto my soul, my heart, my very being, I would. If there were a way to meld your entire self, I would. But alas, this world despises lovers, and only wishes for them to be kept apart for their cruel entertainment. 

They drive us to the breaking point, until we are not sure if we are broken or have broken others. Perhaps both. But the lines have long since gone blurry, as has my vision when it fills with a pool of tears. Tears of longing, tears of desperation, tears of yearning. For what, I do not know. A life which has not been dictated by others, or perhaps a family who has truly loved me. 

My birth family has long since stopped being my own; perhaps the day I was locked up like a rabid beast who bit when cornered, or perhaps the day they dismissed me and my experiences as nothing but the scum on the bottom of their shoes.

But I have a new family now; one which rules Autumn and all that decays. I am eternally grateful to have you all. Brothers, who jest and joke now that the ever-looming presence of your father’s shadow has long since departed (how utterly unfortunate, that he had to have passed from a disease). A mother who is nothing like my own; who radiates warmth and a quiet strength I sometimes envy. A support I did not know I needed until I had collapsed into your waiting arms. Not a maiden to rescue, but merely someone who needed a partner to lean on, people she could trust.

And I will be eternally grateful to have found that in you, Eris. Your heart of gold, your mind as nimble as the flickering flame of passion, you have been my friend first, my lover next. Perhaps that was all I needed. Someone who would listen, without judgement or remorse, who would not condemn me as cruelly as fate had. For it seemed to hate me the moment I was born, cursing me as it blessed my sisters. And yet I found a lover. One who would help me shoulder those burdens, as it became startlingly clear that I had been carrying them for far too long. I am glad I have found that in you, no matter that we were forced to wed under less-than-convenient circumstances.

Despite that, I want you to know, that simply because our first marriage was not true in the sense of a union born of love, my admiration for you, and my dedication to be the best wife I can be stands true.

De tout mon coeur et plus encore,

Nesta

Part 13 - Eris

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Letters of Desperation - Neris

Part 1 - Nesta | Part 11 - Eris | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 458

Beloved Nesta,

I am becoming desperate. Desperate for the thought of you, for your presence, for your very being that my body seems to crave at all times of day. 

I beg of you, my darling Nesta, my flame that burns as bright as passion, accept me or damn me. For there is no other option. Either I am blessed by your presence, allowed to revel in it and rejoice as if it is the last thing I shall ever experience. Or I shall be damned to the prison that has become my mind, or perhaps my mind that has become a prison. I cannot tell. 

All I know is that I will be ruined should you leave me. As much as it will pain me, I will let you go, even if it tears my soul, my very being apart from the inside out. As if I am being set on fire from the flame of your rejection that will wound and burn me more than any injury I have gained in battle. 

I care not what the world thinks. What do you think, my dearest? Do you accept me, broken and bloodied and bleeding? I have seen your wounds, those festering, rotting scars that are yet to heal. Perhaps it is time I show you mine, and we can heal together in a world where I am not a High Lord’s son, nor you a fallen noble’s daughter. A world where we are just us: simply Nesta and Eris. A world that will not condemn us, where we at least stand a chance of winning the game that is life rather than being doomed so eternally from the beginning, with suffering being the only constant in our increasingly miserable lives. 

But you have always been the opposite of death, my love, despite that being your power. Lady Death, who wished for nothing but life, who could turn the world to ash if she wished with her flames and yet chooses not to. Not out of mercy, but out of dignity; out of duty.

Nesta, you are the flame I needed to not freeze to death and be forgotten, to give me warmth and heat and protection and your undying love.

Trust me when I say that you will not burn me no matter how bright you burn. I have grown up in Autumn, Nesta, I am a Son of this Court. Let me experience those delightful flames, let me play with them. 

I am not deserving of any of it, my love, but if it is me that you have chosen, then I will not mind one bit. For who will deny the love of a Goddess such as yourself?

Avec l’amour plus le pur,

Eris

Part 12 - Nesta

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Letters of Desperation - Neris

Part 1 - Nesta | Part 10 - Eris | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 488

Beloved Nesta,

How I enjoyed reading your previous letter. I must admit, I did not think you would have loved bloodshed and vengeance so thoroughly, thoroughly enough to want to truly maim and kill. But rest assured my love, you will not need to.

I will fight and stand to protect everything you hold dear, no matter if I perish in the process. I have committed enough heinous crimes, enough sins, so many that even the Cauldron will have to come with some special hell for me. 

But you; Nesta, you deserve it all. 

I will give you the world, my love. You only need ask for it. I will lay it at your fingertips, and I will be with you wherever it is you wish to go. I will abandon my Court, abdicate my throne, if only to be with you for a moment more. 

We will flee to a place we call home, where we can be nothing and no one but our true, authentic selves. Two lovers, who have found themselves in each other at last; so similar and yet so startlingly different. 

There is magic, I believe, in choosing who we love. Without the presence of a mating bond, without the Cauldron deciding our fates and our lifelong partners, and pairing us up like jigsaw puzzles. We can still be whole without someone to call our own, after all. Our partners simply complement and amplify us; they do not complete us. I find joy in that thought. I find joy in choosing and finding love every day that I wake up; in every action and every word. 

Know this, Nesta; know that I shall choose you, from today until I am no more; until there are nothing but ashes, dust, and a ruined name to call my own. 

It seems only fitting, my dear, that we chose each other, seeing as life drove away all the other choices from us. From the day we were born, our fates were set, and yet we managed to defy them, finding each other despite all odds, despite the hardships we have both endured. It seems fitting we chose the one person who would understand us, mind, body, and soul, and would not resent the other for what we have been through.

We are similar in more ways than one, my love; our souls entwine even more the longer you spend in Autumn. 

I suppose that just as you were befitting me, so was this Court. Lady Death and Lord of Decay, who command the power of destruction as but a tool in the plethora of weapons they possess. Who are rulers and lovers, powerful and yet soft. A dichotomy of personalities, a contradiction in itself in the absurdities of how we love. 

Mark my words, Nesta. There will be poems written about us; songs; literature, and the Cauldron knows what else. 

Avec l’amour plus le pur,

Eris

Part 11 - Eris

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Letters of Desperation - Neris

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

Word Count: 693

My darling Eris,

Reading your letters strewn about your study like the pieces of your heart has truly been an experience. I had not known how much love you harboured for me until I read through your confessions, and it was then my tears began to flow so freely they could not be stopped. You must forgive me if any stain this piece of parchment as I write to you. 

My Eris, how pure your heart is. You cannot know how much I adore you; it is impossible. Not only for what it would mean for our tentative relationship, but also for the opinion of your father, and of the people. If you were here right now, I know exactly what you’d say: Nesta, his opinion does not matter. It is yours I care about. But Eris, how can I not listen to him, to the voices in my head that do not allow me a moment’s reprieve, a minute’s rest? Waking or asleep, they plague me, as do the thoughts of my undying love for you.

I do not know which ones I should listen to, if any at all. The urge to run away and flee from the horrors of the Forest House runs through my mind every day. Imagine how beautiful it would be, to not worry about the inner rulings of this court and instead focus on being happy, living in a quaint little cottage where no one would recognise me or know my name. Where the cursed name of Lady Death would not be whispered like a curse or damnation, as if the powers I fought for and stole were my punishment and burden to carry. I truly think I would be happy then. 

Happiness. What a foreign concept. I had heard of it, yes, had heard of people experiencing it and finding such immeasurable and immense joy in their lives that anything I had ever felt paled so drastically in comparison it made me sick to the stomach to even contemplate. 

I was raised as a Lady, poised to seduce a wealthy Duke or Lord and get married off as soon as my parents found one suitable enough. It did not matter who he was, so long as he had enough money to waste on the most useless of trinkets. I do not believe my witch of a mother gave me the opportunity to truly experience joy for myself. I was her puppet, her mannequin, her doll, who would do her bidding obediently without any resistance.

But a little girl is not like that. She must experience, and play, and live, before the expectations begin to suffocate her carefully cultivated spirit. But what spirit is there to crush if the child has had no chance to develop one? My mother truly believed that, and so I did, too. 

Much like your father, my mother, too, relished in my woe. Some nights, I wonder if she truly required any food at all, or if she simply fed off our misery like a vampire. I would not be surprised if that was the case. 

But the environment one finds themselves in truly does play a role. Being in Autumn, simply residing here, has given me all I need and more to heal. You, Heir of Autumn, are all I need to heal.

We are a match made in hell, my love, and we shall rain nothing but hellfire upon every being who has wronged us, as we stand and rise to protect the fallen, wielding crimson and amber flames that glow with our wrath, that same rage reflected in every aspect of our lives. We have been wronged by the very people whose only duty was to love us unconditionally. Were we so unlovable that our own parents could not muster up the smallest inkling of care, of compassion for their oldest child?

As I sit here contemplating this truly sorry thought, a tear wells in my eye, thinking of how far away across Prythian you are, and how it shall feel like an eternity before I glimpse your face again. 

De tout mon coeur et plus encore,

Nesta

Part 10 - Eris

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Letters of Desperation - Neris

Part 1 - Nesta | Part 8 - Eris | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 651

Beloved Nesta,

Seeing you at that meeting was enough to set my heart ablaze. What I had thought had long since been reduced to ash and rubble has once again come alight in your glorious presence. 

I crave you, the taste of you, the feeling of you, and of your presence, more than I crave air, more than I crave life itself. Because you are life, and you are the light that this wicked, wretched world does not deserve. That I do not deserve, and never will. But rest assured that I will do everything in my power and beyond to be worthy of your love, every day until the die my heart stops beating. Rest assured that when it does, it will be with my name on your lips as fate drains the life out of me. And even then, fate will not keep us apart. I will find you in a thousand different lives, again and again, because we both know, and the world knows, that our souls were meant to be together. The day they are separated is the day that the fires of hell will unleash themselves upon this Earth, and I will be content to watch it burn. For you, I would ruin myself, do anything you asked of me. You tell me to drive a knife into my own heart and I will do it, if it means that you will loathe me or love me. 

I would wage wars the likes of which this world, nor any other, has seen for you. I will bleed and perish and kill and whore my way across this world for a glimpse of you. For a glimpse of those ethereal eyes, those artist’s hands, and wicked, sinful mouth of yours that I fantasise over. You are my ruination and my salvation, all at once. You have my heart, my soul, my body, my very essence in the palm of your hand and you may do with it what you will. I care not, for if I get to have you, then nothing will matter. 

You, Queen of Queens, Empress, deserve a throne of diamond, a crown of flames and darkness that pulses with power like the never-ending might of the ocean and the power of a thousand winds. 

I will kneel before you, as will your kingdom; your people in your palace crafted of light and warmth and everlasting happiness. And we will revel, and dance, and celebrate to our heart’s content. 

I will spin webs of lies, schemes of deceit for your safety, without a shred of regret, an ounce of doubt. 

My Queen. 

My Empress.

My Goddess.

My only religion, the religion I shall never lose faith in. 

I want to bind myself to you in every way imaginable, tie myself and my soul to you with such vigour that even the Mother will not separate us. 

Even the blessing of immortality is not enough for me to explore you. Even eternity feels too short. 

I know that I shall not tire of you. Your voice, a soothing melody in my ears, wrapping its vice full of love around my shrivelled heart. Your arms, the only embrace I feel cared for in. Safe in. Your eyes, like pools of starlight glowing with mirth, with love, with passion. 

The thought of losing you cleaves my soul in two, and it is then I pray to the Gods who have long since abandoned me to keep you safe, even if it means that I shall not be here in this world to see your happiness. 

I know I have crossed the line of simple, meek, mortal love when my biggest fear turned into losing you rather than my losing my own life. 

And it is then I wonder, is love too weak of an emotion for what I feel for you? 

Avec l’amour plus le pur,

Eris

A/N: This is one of my poems that I wrote a while ago (I have the entire collection posted, check out my profile here or on AO3 if you’re interested!) and thought it fit perfectly with Eris’ feelings for Nesta. This was completely unplanned btw

Part 9 - Nesta

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Letters of Desperation - Neris

Part 1 - Nesta | Part 7 - Eris | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 499

Beloved Nesta,

I could not help but chuckle at your attempt at writing a poem about me. I cannot decide if I should be flattered or offended. Though, seeing as it is my wife who has written about me, perhaps flattered would be the wiser choice. I must say, it was quite an attempt. You truly have managed to capture the essence of Eris Vanserra in your eight lines of poetry, though I’m not sure I agree with the part about your broken heart.

You are not broken, Nesta. Not a single part of you is broken. Some parts might hurt, they might be bruised or painful. But you are not a broken doll in need of mending. You have never been. If the world chooses to paint you as that, it does not matter. We can both be painted as the villains in their stories, while we are the heroes in ours.

On a lighter note, I’d never have pinned you down as a romantic writing poems by firelight, certainly not that day in Dawn at the High Lords’ meeting, when it seemed like you were the one holding Court, despite your being Emissary. I’d never have known your growing, infernal love for literature had you not been living in Autumn. With me. Beside me. My equal, who will never be downtrodden or treated as a breeding mare. 

Whatever my father may say, Nesta, whatever garbage he may spew, it does not matter. I care not if it is treason to speak against my own father like this, my High Lord. But you must realise, he has never been a father to me. Not truly. He has been absent all my life, as I was handed off to midwife after midwife, none willing to care for me should they face the wrath of Beron Vanserra.

He has been like this for as long as I can remember. But the worst part about him is perhaps how he treats the ladies of this Court. You have witnessed it firsthand, Nesta, how they are seen as nothing but the dirt on the bottom of his polished boots; sometimes even less, depending on how foul his mood is that particular day. It is an ever-changing line, that I somehow always manage to toe. 

But enough about that bastard. Even hell does not deserve him, let alone the pages of my notebook. For the sake of brevity, Nesta, I want you to know that no matter what he says, you will always be loved and respected by me and by the people of this Court. I will not tolerate any disrespect against my wife. Anyone who says a word against you will find that I can be every bit as cruel and cunning as my father. I know you do not relish in violence the way I was brought up to. But I simply cannot, and will not, tolerate a word said against my radiant wife. 

Avec l’amour plus le pur,

Eris

Part 8 - Eris

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Letters of Desperation - Neris

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

Word Count: 56

Hair like wildfire, mind like flame,

He reaches for my soul all over again.

Cheekbones sharp as a knife,

His voice is smooth, holding me in a vice.

Like a lover’s caress, he does beguile,

His wit and charm and everlasting wile.

Enchant and mesmerize and altogether woo,

My broken heart tainted all the way through.

Part 7 - Eris

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Inner Battles

AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: This is mostly how my depression feels to me, or how I feel on my worst days. It’s not going to be an accurate description of depression in general, and you may not relate to some things. Please be considerate when commenting/giving feedback.

Includes Azriel being a dick. Little bit of angst? Comfort at the end.

Summary: OC Valea is battling depression when training with Azriel. She is one of Azriel’s new spy recruits but is recovering from serious depression. She normally doesn't like being pushed too hard and Azriel knows that but he still does one day in training. She runs away, absolutely exhausted because she’s already been having a bad week. She considers quitting and invites Adira, who is working in Autumn. He comes to visit Valea and finds Adira, and they have an argument until Azriel apologizes. 

Word Count: 3372

Sweat ran down her brow, and she felt absolutely exhausted. The bright sun beat down on her, unrelenting and ruthless, and she felt dizzy, as if she’d start swaying any minute now. Her vision was beginning to cloud at the edges, and her punches had been getting lousier and lousier each passing minute. She paused, panting, and hunched over with her hands on her knees. “Please,” she panted. “I need a break.”

Valea hardly ever asked for breaks and usually pushed through. The determined one, they called her. 

“No.” Azriel, was stubborn. He wouldn’t let her off the hook unless she’d completed fifty repetitions, of which she’d barely managed to do twenty without her body giving out. “Thirty more, and besides, you still have your core exercises to do.”

Either he was oblivious to the pain she was feeling right now, or he simply didn’t want to understand how bad it was. “Come on, you’ve been like this all week. You have to keep pushing through the pain if you want to get better, you know.”

She nodded, her head swimming with the movement, and momentarily shut her eyes, trying to block out the light and the clanking sounds of the other priestesses sparring with swords and daggers.

How he hadn’t seen the dark bags under her eyes yet was a miracle, seeing as they covered quite literally half her face. The signs of exhaustion were all there, had always been there, but that was how it was with Azriel. He never noticed, no matter what she did to try to get him to. It was ironic, seeing as he was the Court’s Spymaster.

“I need a break,” she repeated for what seemed like the hundredth time during the day’s training session. “And I said no,” Azriel retorted. “Not until you get through all your drills.”

“I can’t,” she snarled in desperation and promptly stormed out. Or at least tried to. 

Swift as an asp, Azriel winnowed in front of her, blocking the only entrance into the House of Wind. And there he stood, as immovable as a brick wall, with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Why won’t you train?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to-” she tried defending herself.

“It sure as hell seems like that to me,” he cut in. 

“I swear, I’m not trying to skip-”

“Really? Is that why you’ve been missing training these past couple of weeks, on and off? You know you’re getting weaker? Training, if you could even call it that at this point,” he scoffed, “is absolutely useless unless you’re willing to put the effort in. Which you’re not,” he observed, wrinkling his nose in obvious distaste. “I have no use for apprentices who don’t want to be the absolute best.”

But she was done. She was tired, and bone-dead exhausted, right up to the point where even standing up straight and holding a conversation was too taxing. Not bothering to give him an explanation, she left, slowly making her way down to her chambers.

She didn’t care how pathetic she looked, but if she was in that training ring for another minute, she’d have collapsed. And Azriel wasn’t listening to her.

✦ ✦ ✦

Finally, she made it to her room, barely even managing to lock the door, and collapsed on the bed. She hadn’t even bothered to change out of her leathers.

When she awoke, she felt better, though only slightly. The exhaustion had ebbed away to some degree, but her mind still felt like it had been trampled by a horde of horses. Slowly making her way out of bed, she managed to get a glass of water to drink, and took her medicine, downing two pills in one go. She’d been told not to take more than one at once, but right now, she needed all the help she could get.

Before she went back to bed, she decided to write a note.

Adira, I need you.

She winnowed it away with half a thought, awaiting her friend’s response. 

An hour or so later, Adira appeared, winnowing right outside her door, and knocked. Their signature knock. Valea waved a hand, mustering what little power she could, and the door swung open of its own accord. Immediately, Adira was rushing for her, amber eyes examining her for any fatal injuries. “I’m fine,” she tried telling the healer, but when Adira was finally satisfied and found nothing amiss, at least physically, she looked at her face. “What’s wrong?” she asked softly, and knelt down so they’d be at eye level.

“Bad day,” she managed to mumble, and Adira nodded consolingly, though not pitifully. She knew Valea had received enough pity to last her a lifetime, and didn’t need any more. She supposed that was what she liked about Adira; the fact that she treated her like a person rather than some sort of wounded freak or helpless animal that couldn’t do anything on its own. 

“Do you want me to stay here?”

“Yes please,” Valea answered softly.

“And what about your medicine? Have you taken your pills or do you want me to go bring you a new bottle if you’re out?”

She felt so immensely thankful, even her in sleepy and exhausted state, to have someone like Adira she could rely on. 

“I’ve taken them, so I should be feeling better soon.”

“That’s good to know,” Adira replied. 

As Valea fell silent again, Adira asked quietly, “Did something trigger it?” Valea could only manage to nod, not wanting to say what had happened out loud. Adira must have sensed that though, because she asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

She shook her head no again, and so Adira asked, “Do you want to talk about something else?”

“Yes. Tell me what’s been going on with you,” she prompted.

And so her friend obliged her. They spent the next hour or so simply talking, Adira having winnowed in her knitting from whatever pocket realm she kept everything in. They talked about everything and nothing: how the latest autumn equinox had gone and how the markets were faring, who had gotten the most drunk last weekend, all while Adira knitted another one of her obnoxious scarves that Valea was too polite to tell her looked downright hideous.

Without realizing it, Valea started feeling much better. As Adira was making to leave, her hand on the doorknob, Valea called out, “Wait.” Half-turning, she turned to look back at her friend. “I think…I think I want to tell you what happened.” She merely nodded and made her way back to the bed where Valea was propped up with pillows.

And so it all came rushing out. How Azriel had pushed her to the point of exhaustion, both mentally and physically, even when he knew what was going on, the battles she fought every day. Not with another person, but with herself. Her mind. Those battles that no one but her saw, no one but her endured, day by day, as she fought tooth and nail to recover from the gaping pit she’d been cast into.

Adira sat through it all, never balking, never faltering. She only looked at her with a grim understanding. After all, she had gone through something similar as well, and who better to talk to than someone who knew her inner turmoil?

Just as they were finishing up, they heard a knock on the door. Knock-knock. A sharp one, as though the person knocking seemed to be in a sour mood, if the clipped and short nature of those knocks was any indication.

They looked at each other, and Adira merely said, “Your choice,” before Valea nodded. Adira got up out of the covers, making to open the door, and froze.

“What is it?” Valea called. Adira merely stepped aside to reveal Azriel in the doorway, his wings tucked in tight. He was holding a bouquet of flowers in his hands, as though that would fix anything.

They all stared at each other for a moment, not quite sure what to do, until Valea realized they were waiting for her permission. “Come in,” she managed to get out, her voice quieter and more subdued than normal.

Adira stepped aside, giving Azriel a look that promised nothing short of death as he entered her room. 

Whatever apology Azriel had been thinking of giving her, however, seemed to be cut short when he truly glimpsed who was with her. The bouquet was half-crushed in his hands, knuckles tightening. Not taking his eyes off her for one moment, he asked Valea, “What’s she doing here.” Then again, it seemed to be more of a clipped demand than a question, but Valea wasn’t in the mood to argue with anyone right now, least of all Azriel.

“I’m here to help her.” A non-answer that Adira gave, sparing Valea from actually using her brain to formulate some sort of coherent answer.

“Clearly,” he bit out.

“What, exactly, is your problem with me being here?” Adira inquired, raising a brow. Though she was a good five inches shorter than him, Adira still radiated with power. 

“My problem is that she’s fine, and you’re coddling her. She just needs to get back in the training ring and she’ll be okay.”

“I think we’ll leave Valea to decide what’s best for her.”

“I thought that would help too, until she started skipping training on purpose. She’s been doing it for the past three weeks. If she’s going to get better, this sort of lazy attitude just won’t slide,” he drawled.

“I dare you,” Adira said, her voice going far lower than it normally did. “I dare you to say that one more time and see what becomes of you, Shadowsinger.” Azriel, however, brushed her threat off like it was nothing. “Honestly, if you think that every little thing she says is true, then you’re far more gullible than I thought.”

“You stupid overgrown bat. You really don’t understand, do you?”

“What is there to understand? She hasn’t been coming to training, and she’s faking being sick. Keeps saying she’s tired. I say it’s a good thing she’s tired, because that means she’s working her body. I honestly don’t know why she keeps complaining. She seems fine to me.”

Valea fought the horror uncoiling in her gut at Azriel’s brash statements. Did he really think she was faking this because she had nothing better to do? Did he think she wanted to be in bed, exhausted and drained on her best days, and unable function on her worst?

“So you keep insisting. But have you actually considered stopping and letting some other thoughts other than the ones fed through your thick skull hundreds of years ago actually enter your mind?” Adira’s voice cut through her thoughts, snapping her back to the present.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he barked out, clearly not in the mood for games. Good. Neither was Adira, from the looks of it and how her eyes glittered with ice-cold malice.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she sneered.

She finally broke her gaze from Azriel to look at Valea. Can I tell him? Valea gave the briefest shake of her head in response. Not yet. Adira merely nodded, blinking, and turned back to Azriel.

“What the hell are those looks you keep giving each other?” Azriel challenged.

“Shouldn’t your darling shadows know?” Ignoring her statement, he repeated, “Why hasn’t she been coming to training lately?”

“I suggest you ask her before you grill me.” He turned on Valea, and suddenly, she couldn’t look at him anymore. How was she to tell him that every passing day had become increasingly difficult to get through? That every day she didn’t do something productive she hated herself even more? That she couldn’t fall asleep at night because she was so damn terrified of her future, her past, and everything in between? 

He noticed her silence, and gave her a once-over. “Ah, you’ve finally run out of excuses, then?” She leaned her head back, and it hit the headboard lightly. She really didn’t have the energy for this anymore. She needed to rest, and be alone. Away from him, from everyone that made her feel worse about herself. 

“Tell me, Azriel,” Adira cut in once more, likely sensing Valea’s aversion to the winged male at the current moment. “What sick pleasure do you get from bothering your apprentices that have taken ill?”

“She’s not sick,” he bit out. “She looks fine to me.”

“Have you ever considered that there might be illnesses other than those that affect someone physically?”

“There are none like that,” he deadpanned.

“And what would you know? Last I checked I was the healer, not you.”

He rolled his eyes, and huffed. “Now I remember why I don’t talk to you anymore. Your bitchy attitude and you constantly pulling rank.” Clearly, Azriel knew exactly what to say to piss Adira off, and her expression turned vile, nearly feral, as she hissed, “Don’t make this about yourself. As much as I know you’re all conceited, arrogant bastards, you do not have the right to make this about me.” “Like hell I don’t,” he retorted. “You disappeared after a minor argument, and Rhys apologized. It’s honestly ridiculous how headstrong and dramatic you can be.”

“He nearly killed me you absolute fucking bastard! He nearly killed me, and pushed me against a wall as I fought to keep conscious.” She heaved a breath, clearly overwhelmed, before she continued in a softer voice, but not any less powerful. “I tried to ask you for help, you know. I kept begging you, even as Rhys was bashing my head in. I begged you and Cassian both as I fought. But you didn’t do anything. And I suppose that was enough for me to realize that you didn’t care about me. Not really. It was my skills you were after. You and your Inner Circle didn’t give a shit about me so long as I helped you with whatever sadistic agenda you had planned. I was supposed to answer every beck and call, every order that Rhys gave without question, because he was our High Lord. I called bullshit. You refused. And so I left.”

Azriel’s hazel eyes were blown wide at Adira’s confessions, and he stood speechless. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way,” Adira continued, turning away from him and dismissing him entirely; as though nothing had happened. “I believe you had something to say to Valea.”

“I’ve got nothing to say to her other than the fact that she’s lazy and needs to come to training or I’ll drag her sorry ass out of here.”

A sharp, cold thread of something like fear sluiced down Valea’s spine. He didn’t actually think to drag her out of her chambers. Did he?

Adira, thankfully, picked up on the subtle shift in her demeanour. “Not if I can help it.” Without waiting for a response, she continued, “Do you want to take this outside?” Her gaze flicked to the door, then to Valea, who nodded in confirmation.

“No.” Azriel’s voice was an ultimatum. “I wasn’t asking,” said Adira, her voice dropping as well. 

They stared each other down for a moment before Adira finally relented, breaking the growing tension that had begun to seep into the room. 

Azriel, to his misfortune, began speaking again, this time facing Valea. “You have the luxury to sit here in bed and claim you’re sick. It was something I certainly never had. I never-”

“I don’t care,” Valea interrupted, her voice soft as she spoke. Soft, but no less powerful. She may as well have shouted across the room. 

Azriel’s expression darkened, and a frown crept up on his already bitter expression. “I don’t care,” she repeated, a little louder this time. “It doesn’t matter that you didn’t have access to all the resources I have at my disposal. It doesn’t matter that you never experienced something like this. What does matter is that you believe me when I tell you that something is wrong, that I need help, or that I can’t do something. I trust that you know my physical abilities, Azriel. What I ask of you is this: trust me to know my own mental capabilities, to know what I can handle and what I can’t.”

Her gaze flicked over to Adira’s, whose eyes glowed with something remarkably similar to pride. “Do you want to know what I feel? What I felt today and how I feel most days?”

Azriel, damn him, only rolled his eyes and gestured for her to continue in a way that made her bristle. Adira, too, from the looks of it, seeing as a muscle quivered in her jaw. Thankfully, she managed to hold back whatever barbed comment she was about to make, and raised an eyebrow at her friend. Should I show him?

Valea nodded, a determination in her eyes. Adira paused for a moment before her eyes went glassy along with Azriel’s. She must be showing him what went through her mind every day. 

Moments passed as Valea grew all the more nervous. Would this be enough?

Finally, after what felt like an eternity but in reality had only been a few minutes, Azriel’s eyes widened in surprise, clear as day. He staggered back a step as he caught his breath. He must have slammed back into his own body after experiencing Valea’s…episodes. 

“What the hell,” he panted, “was that?” His face was deathly pale, lips bloodless and wan. He barely made it to the bed, clutching onto the wooden post as though it were a lifeline before he nearly collapsed onto the mattress.

An odd sort of satisfaction passed over Valea, even though she knew it was wrong to feel that way. 

“What I go through most days,” she said, waving a hand dismissively and pointedly avoiding his gaze. “I didn’t…” he started, then trailed off. Azriel took a deep breath and tried again. “I didn’t think it was this bad.”

Valea felt Adira practically vibrating with the need to say something, though to her credit, she kept quiet.

Instead, Valea merely hummed in acknowledgement. Not an outright approval or sympathetic gesture, but not a coldhearted one either. 

Azriel swallowed, and tucked his hands behind his back as he placed the bouquet on her bedside table. “I’m sorry.” Adira scoffed. “Surely you can do better than that?” He glared at her, but thankfully didn’t say anything as he continued, actually making eye contact with her this time, “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were feeling this way. I’ll do my best to listen to you from now on. If-” A crease furrowed over his brow. “If you’ll still have me as your trainer, that is.”

“Don’t be stupid,” muttered Valea. “Yes, I still want you to train me. On the condition that you’ll let me rest if I need to, and that I can call in a break when I feel like I’m going to be sick.”

Azriel nodded, a solemn agreement. Adira, ever the vigilant guard, seemed to think it wasn’t enough. “Say it.” “What?”

“Say the words,” she confirmed. “I need you to know you’ll actually listen to her and that this won’t be some sort of agreement you’ll make just to appease her. Or me, for that matter.”

Azriel only scoffed in response. “You want me to make a bargain for this?” Adira only raised her brow, as if daring him to challenge her after what he’d seen today. Hazel bore into amber, and he eventually relented. “Yes,” he said. “I accept.”

Valea snapped back her hand immediately from where it lay over the covers as a withering rose the size of her forearm appeared on her left arm. After examining hers thoroughly, she found herself looking at Azriel’s. His seemed to be embedded into his Illyrian tattoos and felt almost…natural, she thought to herself. It would be impossible for someone to know that he’d gotten this tattoo years after getting his Illyrian markings.

Azriel, who’d finished ogling his, only got up, and gave Valea a small smile. “I’ll see you at training tomorrow.” 

A/N: Idk the ending seems kinda bad?

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Letters of Desperation - Neris

Part 1 - Nesta | Part 5 - Eris | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 452

Beloved Nesta,

Every day I train with you is a day so wonderfully spent. I would give up the duties of this Court in a heartbeat simply to spend more time with you, to watch that brilliant mind of yours whirring like clockwork as you try to make sense of the world around you. 

The complexity of your mind, how nimble it is, astonishes me at every turn. Despite being so much younger than me, my own races to keep up with your thoughts. Your sophistication and grace, your elegance and eloquence. I am mesmerised.

Seeing you hone your mind, train it as but another lethal weapon in your ever-growing arsenal has been a sight I have truly been blessed with. You have even managed to astound Maceo. I will admit, that male requires nothing short of a miracle to be surprised. He has seen it all, save for your cunning and quick wit. There seems to be a reason, after all, why you fit in so well with Autumn; with me. The Court of Foxes, the Court of lies and deceit at every turn.

I must commend your training, too. Your determination and grit. The way your magic seems to flow and ripple and arc around my own flames, one cold as ice, the other hot as fire, as if they are two creatures simply reacquainting themselves with the other. Our flames, so deeply entangled as are our hearts, have grown closer over the months. 

I feel such an immense sense of pride every time you train, my love. Not for the benefit of this Court. Where you are concerned, my Court is damned, as am I. You are not a weapon to be used as the High Lord sees fit. First and foremost, you are a person, and you deserve to make your own decisions. It is simply my job to educate you on the implications of them.

Your powers do not define you, Nesta. Remember that. No matter what anyone may say. 

Because I know you. I know your heart, I know how deeply it loves, how deeply it feels, how deeply it wounds. There are many people, my beloved, who say despicable things about you, about me. About us. But you cannot let them get to you. Trust me, if I had spent even a moment listening to all the horrific things they said about me, the lies they spun to help themselves sleep better at night, I would have long succumbed to the darkness. And yet I am still here, aren’t I?

No matter what they say, what utter nonsense they spew, promise me this: you will make your own decisions. 

Avec l’amour plus le pur,

Eris

A/N: I loved writing this, mostly because the IC and Cassian treated Nesta like a dog and paraded her out whenever they needed her, and expected her to be docile and compliant with every one of their childish whims. My bbg Nesta deserves better <3

Part 6 - Nesta

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Letters of Desperation - Neris

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

A/N: I’m sorry this one was kinda short! I didn’t really know what to write but I tried my best

Word Count: 318

My darling Eris,

I write this letter to you without knowing if you are alive or not. It terrifies me, my dear husband, to not know if you are well. Despite the healer’s consolations, my soul will not rest until it sees you well and unharmed. And even then, I shall hold you close for a good, long, while, and will be determined to never let you out of my sights again. 

Even as I write, my hand trembles, my voice shakes, and my body is not my own. It feels foreign, not having such a steady presence such as yourself by my side. 

You must be well and healthy, Eris. I shall allow no other alternative. I cannot bear with another alternative. 

I will not allow you to succumb to Death’s cold and unforgiving grip, even if it is made of iron. Death might have forgotten, but I have not; fire can burn through the hottest steel. Scalding and burning and feral, my love for you could not be more similar to the fires we wield.

Eris, you are everything to me, and I cannot lose yet another who has carved out a space for themselves in my ruin of a heart. For if you leave, there shall be nothing left in me but a dark void, that not even liquor will be able to fill. Not this time. Nothing shall suffice except your presence. 

I will not be able to take care of myself until I take care of you. I shiver with thoughts of what tragedies could have befallen you, of what terrible monstrosities might have found you. I know you are capable of handling them; capable a hundred times over, and then some. 

But it is my job, my sole occupation as your loving wife, to worry about your well-being every waking moment of every day. 

De tout mon coeur et plus encore,

Nesta

Part 5 - Eris

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings