Chapter Text
Koschei the Deathless Sorcerer was killed by the Spymaster of the Night Court.
It was less dramatic than it sounded. At least Azriel thought so.
And if Lucien hadn’t been a fucking idiot and put himself into a position to be kidnapped by the very same deathless sorcerer…then they wouldn’t even have been in that kind of situation.
But he had been and so it ended with Azriel so magically exhausted that he collapsed the very same moment Truthteller stroke true once more.
At least Koschei was slayn.
And the only reason Azriel had gone to rescue the red-headed male in the first place was the fact that Lucien was Elaine’s mate. Lucien was the male Elain loved. Azriel couldn’t let him die.
Couldn’t let Elain feel the devastation of a mating bond broken by death…so his decision making had been quick. Either he would manage to get Lucien free…or he would die trying. There wasn’t many things that he wouldn’t do for the female he loved. Even when he knew it shouldn’t be.
Azriel had never been very good at knowing when enough was enough after all, wasn’t he?
No price was high enough to pay when it was about Elain’s happiness, as far as Azriel was concerned.
He hadn't expected to wake up, and yet… there he was. Alive and whole.
*I hope it was worth it, Master,* the shadows sniped at him.
He blinked, taking in the dim light of the room, taking in the familiar surroundings. His room in the House of Wind.
“You are a fucking idiot, you know?” Cassian hissed at him from his place at his bedside and Azriel blinked at him.
"Lucien?" he brought out hoarsely.
"Not as much as a fucking scratch on him. Thanks to you," Cassian responded. "You on the other hand...Madja thought you were going to fucking die from pure magical exhaustion!"
Even Azriel he had...it would have been worth it. Lucien had made it out alive - and that was all that mattered in the end. Elain would be happy. That was all he cared about.
He didn't say that aloud though.
He took a deep breath, opening his eyes again. "How long was I out?" he asked.
"Three days," Cassian growled. "Three. Days."
Azriel sat up slowly, wincing at the ache in his muscles. It felt like his entire body was one giant bruise, every inch of him pained and sore.
"Lay back down," Cassian snapped.
Azriel shot him a glare, but sank back onto the bed nonetheless. "I'm fine," he grumbled. "Just tired."
"Yeah, well, we'll let Madja be the judge of that," Cassian snapped. "And when you are feeling better, I am going to kill you for going off on your own!"
Azriel just gave him a weary look. "Better me than you," he said dryly. He closed his eyes, feeling a deep exhaustion settle over him. Cassian had Nesta to think about. Azriel didn't. Azriel just had himself.
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!" Cassian demanded.
Azriel didn't have the energy to answer
He dosed off, feeling the shadows twine around him. They were muttering, words he could c quite understand, bitching under their breath but for once it was comforting.
He woke up, feeling groggy and disoriented. His eyes felt like sandpaper, and his limbs were heavy. He groggily blinked at the room, feeling like he was in a haze.
It took him a moment to realize he wasn't alone. Cassian was still there, as was Madja.
Azriel groaned, pushing himself up into a sitting position. His head was throbbing, and his vision was a little blurred. He rubbed his face, trying to clear the fog from his mind. "Hey," he said, his voice rough and gravelly.
Cassian and Madja both looked at him, their expressions relieved. "How are you feeling?" Madja asked him, moving closer to the bed and waving a hand in front of his face.
"Like I was hit by a wagon," Azriel admitted. His muscles felt tight and sore, his body heavy with fatigue. His wings felt like they were made of lead, and every movement took a huge effort.
"That's unsurprising considering you nearly magicked yourself to death," Madja said gruffly. "Your body had a tremendous amount of stress and strain put on it. You're lucky to be alive."
He gritted his teeth. "Yeah, well, I didn't have a lot of other options," he pointed out.
Madja just let out a huff and began prodding and poking at his body, running her hands over his wings and checking his pulse. Cassian watched anxiously from the side, his arms crossed over his chest.
Azriel bore her ministrations in silence, trying not to wince as she poked and prodded at him. He knew she was just trying to help, but it didn't make the ordeal any more pleasant.
After what felt like forever, she finally stepped back, nodding to herself. "You're lucky, shadowsinger," she said gruffly. "You're lucky you're so damn resilient," she said, and he couldn't tell if it was a compliment or just an observation.
He looked at her blearily. "I guess I can add that to my list of things to be proud of," he muttered sarcastically.
Cassian barked out a laugh, but Madja just rolled her eyes. The door opened at that moment. "How's he doing?" Rhys demanded.
Azriel wanted to let out a sigh at the sight of Rhys. He loved his brother, but he didn't have the energy for a lecture right now.
Madja turned to Rhys. "He's weak and he's stupid," she snapped. "But he's alive."
Rhys let out a sigh, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. "Thank you, Madja," he said. "Would you...give us a moment?"
Madja nodded, patting Azriel's leg as she got up to leave. "Rest," she ordered. "And no strenuous activity for at least a week."
As soon as the door closed behind her, Rhys turned to Azriel. "What were you thinking?" he demanded, his eyes blazing.
"I was thinking that I was saving Lucien's life," Azriel replied evenly, meeting his brother's gaze. "I couldn't let him die, Rhys."
"Wouldn't that have made it easier for you?* Rhys demanded sharply mentally. *You are the one that fancies himself in love with Elain.*
Maybe it shouldn't hurt him as much as it did. He didn't fancy himself in love with her. He was in love with her. Had been in love with her and Rhys had been the one to order him away from her, which had given Lucien the opportunity to swoop in and Elain had...Elain had given in. Given in to that Siren Song of the Mating Bond and was very much in love with her mate now.
It hurt to hear Rhys say it like that, like it was just some passing infatuation that he'd gotten over.
*Lucien is her mate,* he responded simply. He didn't say what he really thought. He didn't say that he would rather have Elain be happy and never talk with him again than to have her wilt like one of her flowers because her mate had died and the mating bond would be broken… He didn't say that he loved Elain enough, that her happiness was more important to him than anything else. He didn't say any of that.
*At least you are recognising that now,* Rhys said with a snort. Azriel didn't flinch. Didn't react.
He hid away in that little corner of his brain he went to when everything became too much. Where he could just shut up all his feelings, all these pesky emotions, and just be...nothing. Nothing. That's the only thing he still had left.
He just shrugged, schooling his face into a careless expression. "I did what I had to do, Rhys," he repeated stubbornly. "Lucien is a good male. He didn't deserve to die."
"Elain wants to thank you," Rhys said suddenly.
Azriel's stomach twisted as Rhys mentioned Elain. He felt a pang of longing in his chest, a desperate ache to see her, to touch her, to hear her voice. But he knew he couldn't. He couldn't subject himself to the torture of seeing her with her mate, seeing her happy in Lucien's arms.
So his answer was definite: "There is no need for that," he said simply.
Rhys gave him a sharp look. "Don't be an idiot," he said gruffly. "She's been worried sick about you."
But Azriel just shook his head, even as his heart thudded in his chest.
*You can keep it together for 5 minutes,* Rhys snapped into his mind.
"Rhys," Cassian said carefully. "If he doesn't want to, just let it..."
"He's being ridiculous," Rhys snapped, interrupting Cassian. "Elain is family.”
Azriel grit his teeth but didn't respond. He didn't have the energy for an argument right now. He just wanted to sleep.
*See her for 5 minute snad then you can sulk like a spoiled child until you feel better about yourself,* Rhys bargained drily.
Azriel hesitated. He knew he should see her, knew that it would make things easier for everyone if he did. But the thought of seeing her, seeing her happy with Lucien when he was so miserable, was like a knife to the gut.
"Does it even matter what I want?" he asked, his voice flat.
Rhys let out a frustrated sigh, looking at him with exasperation. "Az, stop being so damned stubborn. Elain has been worried sick about you - the least you can do is let her see that you are alive."
Azriel didn't say anything. Didn't respond. He just stared at Rhys, feeling like every fiber of his being was being pulled apart. He wanted to see her. Wanted to see her more than anything. But he knew that once he saw her, he wouldn't be able to hold himself together. He would break. He would shatter into a thousand pieces.
"Just...come on, Az," Rhys said finally. "Let her see you. She needs to know you're alright."
Azriel knew he couldn't say no. Knew he couldn't hurt her like that. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "Fine," he said softly. "But just for five minutes."
Five minutes. He could do five minutes. He had to. For her…
She was still as achingly beautiful as she always had been. These devasting brown eyes, the caramel curls...
Azriel's breath hitched at the sight of her, and he felt a wave of conflicting emotions wash over him. Love, longing, sadness, and that bittersweet pang of being so close to something he could never have.
Behave, Rhys warned him sharply.
He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. Trying to push back that wave of feelings that threatened to drown him. It was just five minutes, he reminded himself. Five minutes. He could do this.
The shadows swirled around him, welling up with intensity, shrouding much of his body in inky blackness and Elain flinched back from them.
She had never quite warmed up to them. Azriel was just thankful for that display, for keeping her away from him as she entered the room, Lucien on her heels.
"How...How are you feeling?" she asked him, her voice soft.
He could tell that she was worried, that she was concerned for him. It warmed something inside him, and he hated himself for it.
"I'm fine," Azriel answered hoarsely. "Just tired.
"I...thank you," Elain said softly, binting her lip. "If you hadn't...if you hadn't killed Koschei and freed Lucien...I...Thank you, Azriel."
Hearing her say his name again was like a punch to the gut. It was both a comfort and a torture, to be so close to her and yet so far away. He swallowed hard, biting back the words that threatened to spill out.
"You don't owe me any thanks," he said quietly. "I just did what had to be done."
"I do owe you my life," Lucien disagreed. "Thank you. Without your interference...I wouln't have survived, " he said flatly.
Azriel just shrugged, feeling a wave of bitterness wash over him. He had saved Lucien, had risked his life to save the male who was mated to the female he loved. It was a strange sort of irony.
"It's fine," he said roughly. "I'm just glad I got there in time."
He couldn't look at her. Couldn't look at Lucien. It hurt too much. So he stared at the floor, willing the shadows to consume him entirely.
"We are all just happy you are feeling alright," Elain said softly. "I...I was worried about you. Everyone was."
Azriel forced himself to look up at her, his heart clenching at the sincerity in her eyes. She really had been worried about him. "I'm alright," he promised her, his voice rough. "Really. I just need some rest."
Elain hesitated, taking a step forward. He could hear her heartbeat, could feel the warmth radiating off her skin. It was torture to be so close to her and yet so far away. It was torture to know that she was so close and yet so unattainable. He wanted to reach out, to touch her, to hold her, but he knew he couldn't. He held onto that last shred of reason he had.
She tugged a piece of hair behind one delicately arched ear...and that was the moment he saw the gold and pearl ring that decorated her ring finger.
"Congratulations." He wasn't sure how he even brought out these words...how he managed to make them sound...appropriately happy for her.
It took a herculean effort to say those words, to offer a smile that barely reached his eyes. Every fibre of his being was screaming in protest, yelling that he should have been the one giving her that ring, that he should have been the one by her side. But he pushed back those feelings, burying them deep down inside of himself. He couldn't let her see how he truly felt. He couldn't let her know how much it was tearing him apart to stand there and look at her. Look at her with her mate, with the male she loved, the one she had chosen.
"Congratulation," he repeated, his voice a little rougher than before.
"It wouldn't have been possible without you," Elain said, with a smile.
Azriel just nodded, feeling a lump in his throat. He couldn't find the words to respond, couldn't find the words to express the tangle of emotions swirling inside of him. He just sat there, feeling more alone and isolated than he had in a long time.
Elain took another step in his direction, seemingly ready to reach out, but Cassian intercepted her. placing a gentle hand on Elain's shoulder. "He needs his rest," he said softly. "Let's leave him be for now."
Azriel felt a pang of gratitude towards Cassian. Elain hesitated, looking torn.
"I wish you every happiness," Azriel brought out his voice hoarsely. Not even a lie. It was the frank truth in these words and Elain gave him a smile, before Lucien's hand came to rest at her lower back, guiding her out of the room.
Thank the cauldron. They were gone.
He slumped back into the pillow. He was falling apart. He was exhausted, emotionally and physically. He just wanted to be left alone, to lick his wounds in peace.
"Az..." Cassian said carefully, but he cut him off.
“I am tired,” Azriel said, his voice hoarse. “I need to sleep.”
The shadows swirled around him tighter.
Rhys and Cassian exchanged a look, before Cassian nodded, "Alright," he said. "Get some rest."
He laid down properly, closing his eyes, calling the shadows to him wordlessly. They swamred around him immediately. Damn Near suffocating him. It was the only thing that kept him from starting to sob.
The shadows embraced him, wrapping him in their inky blackness, shielding him from the outside world. They were his only comfort, just like they had been for centuries.
*We are there, Master.* They promised him softly. *It will be fine, Master.*
He didn’t believe a fucking word they said.
*We are not willing to lose you, Master. We aren’t interested in finding a new master,* they told him seriously. He choked out a laugh that turned into a sob.
*Sleep, Master. We'll keep watch,* they promised him.
And they did.
Bone deep exhaustion meant that at least his sleep was dreamless. At least that was given to him. It was a small mercy.
When he woke up again, Nesta was there, sitting in an armchair reading.
Azriel blinked, feeling disoriented and groggy. He sat up slowly, wincing as his wounds protested the movement. Nesta looked up from her book, her expression neutral.
"How are you feeling?" she asked him quietly.
"Fine," he answered, his voice hoarse. He was fine. He would be fine.
"Thank you," Nesta said suddenly.
Azriel looked up at her, surprised. He wasn't even sure what she was thanking him for.
"For what?" he asked, his voice rough with sleep.
“You nearly got yourself killed to save my sister’s mate. I think Thank you is the least I owe you," Nesta said drily.
She mustered him with grey eyes and he knew that she knew. Knew that she knew or at the very least could guess about his feelings for Elain and probably be right. She wouldn't say anything, but she knew.
He didn’t want to talk about this anymore. It was over with. Done.
Lucien and Elain could be happy and Azriel…Azriel would hide away somewhere.
"You don't owe me anything," he waved Nesta off weakly, but she didn’t seem to want to take the hint, sticking out her chin.
"Yes, I do," Nesta disagreed. "You are the reason why my little sister is happy right now," she told him fiercely. He swallowed down the unkind words at the tip of her tongue...didn't say anything. Didn't.... He didn’t want to think about this. He didn’t…
"Is there anything I can do?" Nesta asked him, her voice soft. "Anything at all, Az?" H knew that he could ask for anything and Nesta would do her level best to give it to him. She was stubborn like that. He had half a mind to ask her to use her silver flames to put him on fire and put him out of his misery.
He didn’t.
Even that wouldn’t fix it.
There was nothing. There was absolutely nothing to make it any better. There was nothing that could...that could fix the ache in his chest.
"Porridge," he said, his voice hoarse.
"Porridge?" Nesta repeated incrediously.
"Porridge with honey. I am hungry," he repeated, meeting her gaze. Food. Food. More Sleep. More Work. He could fill his waking hours with useless things and everybody would be happy.
Nesta just looked at him for a moment, then inclined her head.
"Porridge with honey. Alright," she agreed. Just a moment later a massive bowl of Porridge with honey drizzled on top, appeared on his bedside table, so hot it was steaming. Seemed like the house was in a mood to spoil him. He even got a whiff of cinnamon from it.
"Thank you," he thanked Nesta's creature aloud as the shadows fetched the bowl and held it up for him to eat a spoonful. "What are you reading?" he asked Nesta, changing the topic.
She was polite enough not to say anything about it.
Nesta held up her book. “The newest Sellyn Drake novel,” she replied.
"Is it any good?" he inquired, stirring his porridge gently.
“It’s brilliant," Nesta gushed, her eyes devoured the pages as soon as she looked down to continue reading.
"You seem to really like it," he pointed out, taking another bite of his porridge. "It is brilliant," Nesta agreed readily. “The plot is so intricate and twists and turns and the characters are so deep and complex and their emotions are so real and the romance is so...” she trailed off, blushing slightly.
He opened his mouth to respond...but then he heard her.
Mor. Of course.
He couldn’t deal with Mor. Not right now. But there she was, Rhys hot on her heels.
Nesta heard her too, rolling her eyes, curling back up on her chair, making it very clear that while she was going nowhere, she was letting him deal with it on her own.
And he didn’t want to deal with Mor.
But there she was.
Mor came strolling into the room, her usual confident smile firmly in place. Rhys just looked at Azriel, his expression unreadable.
He didn't say it. But Azriel knew. Behave . That’s all Rhys was telling him these days. Either it was about Elain and Lucien...or about Mor and Emerie. Like Azriel would ever do anything to put that in jeopardy. Like Azriel was a jealous child that wouldn't allow Mor to be happy on her own terms. Like...
Azriel ignored the sharp pang of hurt that shot through him at Rhys's look.
Still it was better than looking at Mor…he couldn’t bear to look at Mor.
Didn't want to look at Mor, in her usual bright red, skin baring dress, that clung to all her curves...didn't want to look at the female he had spent centuries in love with even when he had known that she was never going to return his affections...it hadn't helped him. He had still been in love with her.
And he had still hoped...hoped against all hope that maybe...maybe there would be a time where she would return his affection...that maybe there would be a time where...
But there wouldn't. He knew. He knew. And he had still been in love with her.
Would have given damn near anything for her attention, for that broad smile on her face to be directed in his direction...would have given anything for her to bound over to his bedside and envelope him in her arms...to feel her soft skin against his as she hugged him fiercely, cinnamon and citrus enveloping him.
Now...now it felt like somebody was pouring salt into a gaping wound. Now it felt as painful as the fire and oil on his hands had. She was flaying him alive and she wasn’t even aware that she was hurting him.
"How are you feeling, Az?" Mor's voice was gentle, concerned. He knew it was genuine, knew that Mor really cared about him. But he couldn't bring himself to look at her. Not when his heart was bleeding out just from the sound of her voice.
"Fine," he answered, his voice flat. "Nothing that sleep won't fix," he promised her, even as her hands fluttered around him as she sat down on his bedside...
She was so close. He could reach out and touch her, could feel the soft fabric of her dress against his fingertips. He clenched his fists, willing himself to keep his hands to himself.
But he couldn't help it. He looked up at her, meeting her eyes. He could see the concern there, the worry. He felt a pang of guilt for putting that look on her face. He didn't want to cause her any distress.
"I'm just glad you are feeling better," Mor sighed, gently patting his arm. "You had us all worried for a moment there," she admitted softly.
Even just the touch of her hand felt like she was branding him. He wanted to flinch away and forced himself no to.
It was like a bittersweet poison, the way she touched him. It was so familiar, so comforting. But it was also so painful, a reminder of what he could never have.
He looked away, staring down at his hands. They were shaking, just a little. He clasped them together, the monstrous scars that covered them, standing out starkly.
The shadows trembled around him, pulling nearer, growing darker and Mor watched them with a raised eyebrow. "Worried, are they?" she teased him slightly.
*You are fine, Master,* the shadows promised him. *No more fire,* they promised him fiercely. But it didn’t help. He didn’t trust himself to speak without his voice cracking.
Mor seemed to sense his discomfort and stood up, her hand slipping from his arm. "Just rest and get better soon, alright?" she said softly, taking a step back.
"Thank you," he thanked her, his voice hoarse.
He risked a glance up at her, just a quick look. Her face was soft, her eyes filled with warmth. He felt his heart squeeze in his chest and he had to look away again. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take.
"We should let him rest, Mor," Rhys said, giving Azriel another look .
"Right, right," Mor agreed, already turning towards the door. "Rest up, Az," she said again, giving him one last smile as she disappeared out the door.
Azriel felt a sense of relief wash over him as she left the room.
Gone. Thank the cauldron. He couldn't take much more of her presence, not right now.
He didn't even want to know why Rhys had accompanied her. Probably because he was worried that Azriel wasn't going to behave .
What was he supposed to do instead? Tell Mor about how much she had hurt him over the centuries? How she had given him jut enough scraps of her affection to make him yearn for more but never telling him that she didn’t love him like that?
He wasn’t going to do that.
He didn't want to look at Rhys right now, didn't want to face the scrutiny of his high lord's gaze. He just wanted to be left alone.
He knew that Rhys was watching him, that the male wanted to say something. But Azriel didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to hear the lecture, the warning. He just wanted to be left alone.
The room fell silent, except for the sound of his own breathing. He closed his eyes and sank deeper into the mattress. Maybe if he just pretended to sleep, Rhys would leave him alone.
"He's tired. You should let him sleep," Nesta said flatly.
Leave it to Nesta to tell Rhys to stuff it, he reflected weakly. He heard Rhys sigh, but he kept his eyes closed. And after a moment, he heard the sound of footsteps leaving the room.
He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, feeling a wave of relief wash over him.
Alone. Safe. Mostly at least.
Life went on. It always did.
The exhaustion went away after a few days... he caught up on Paperwork in the meantime. He sent the shadows off to find him one information or other and they didn't even bitch to him that badly, which told him that even they felt bad for him.
Behave . That’s all Rhys was telling him these days.
So he did. He behaved .
He did his job. He did everything Rhys could possibly want from his spymaster.
He didn’t argue. He didn’t fight. He did his job and he trained and he did everyhting that was expected off him.
And then he hadn’t tortured himself enough… and he went to visit Rosehall.
Where his mother lived.
Under the Mountains had it’s own kind consequences. This was one of them: His mother didn’t even want to talk to him anymore.
50 years without him...and his mother had made herself a new family. A family that he wasn’t welcome in. A family that she wanted him nowhere near. He couldn’t fault her for it. Not at all.
She had been half a child when she had had him and it hadn’t been by choice.
So who could blame her for making a new family with people that weren’t as fucked up in the head as he was? Not Azriel.
Azriel didn’t blame her at all. Azriel left her in peace. He didn't reach out. He made sure that she was fine, that she had enough money to never worry about it and otherwise dissappeared from her life.
His shadows kept an eye on her…He shored up the wards around Rosehall and caught a glimpse of her. And then he left it at that. She looked happy. That’s all he cared about.
Happy and safe and…she didn’t need him. She didn’t want him around her either, and he could understand that too.
And still, it hurt. It hurt so fucking much.
But
*You know the rules,* he told the shadows quietly. *You don’t need to report to me about her anymore. Keep an eye on her and only tell me if she is in danger or hurt.*
*Yes, Master,* t hey agreed readily.
So he went back to the House of Wind. Back to Velaris…Back to work.
He went back to his routine, back to his duties, back to his mask of indifference. He hid the pain behind his usual stoic facade, only letting his shadows know how much it hurt. He threw himself into his work, using it as a way to distract himself from his own loneliness.
And when he wasn't working, he would spend hours and hours in the training ring in the House of Wind, working himself to exhaustion. Anything to try and drown out the ache in his heart.
For gods sake, he even attended Elain and Lucien’s mating ceremony. And gifted them an appropriate gift. He behaved just like Rhys wanted him too.
He even summoned up a smile for them on their special day, hiding his own pain behind a mask of false happiness. He congratulated them both, feeling a pang in his chest at the sight of Elain's beaming face. But he didn’t let it show. He behaved. Like Rhys wanted him too.
He stayed for the whole thing. Stayed for the dancing, stayed for the feast. Stayed until he could physically take it no more. And then he had retreated to that training ring again, beating his pain and loneliness out on whatever dummy he could find.
He was so tired. Tired of hiding, tired of pretending. Tired of pretending like nothing was wrong. He wanted nothing more than to just scream and rage and shout and cry. But he didn’t. He held it all in. Bottled it up like he was so good at doing.
He was in the bathtub, sluicing off the sweat he was drenched in…shaking off his wings just because he could move them however he wanted to
*You should go out, Master,* the shadows suggested seriously. *Go out and find a female.*
He just snorted. *Not interested,* he sniped back harshly. *I am not getting my heart broken again.*
Everybody could just fuck off and leave him alone. Even when he was aching…aching for somebody in his life that loved him. For whom he could be everything. Somebody he could dote on. Somebody that wanted his attention, that wanted his love…that would like his ruined hands on their body and wasn’t paid to simply acccept it.
*You could let us pick her!* the shadows suggested brightly.
His eyes snapped back open and he glared at the shadows swirling around the room. *Absolutely not,* he said firmly. *I mean it, you stay out of it.*
*We can’t do a worse job than you do,* they sniped at him. *Neither The Seer nor The Morrigan would have suited you at all.*
*Excuse me?!*
*You heard us, Master,* the shadows said, sounding far too smug for their own good. *And you know it.*
Azriel just glared at them, feeling his temper start to rise. *I know I wasn’t good enough for them,* he snapped. *You don’t need to tell me that.*
*You think you weren’t good enough for them?!* The shadows asked him incredulously.
*They deserve better. So much better than me,* he said quietly. "I'm not good enough for either of them. Never was.*
What was he, after all? An Illyrian bastard? A monster? Either? Both?
He had never said it out loud before, not even to himself. But in that moment, lying in the water, his heart so raw and exposed, he couldn't help but speak the truth that he had always known but never admitted to himself. "I'm not good enough for either of them," he repeated softly, the weight of his words settling heavily on his chest.
He knew it was true. Mor was a golden ray of light, the embodiment of beauty and grace. Elain was sweet and gentle and kind, a pure soul in a sea of darkness.
And what was he? Damaged. Broken. Scarred. Inside and out.
He had done unspeakable things, things that would haunt his nightmares for centuries to come. He was nothing compared to them. He was darkness, they were light. And they deserved better than him, far better than him.
Even if he had loved Mor with every fiber of his being, even if he had yearned for her with every beat of his heart, even if he had dreamed of her every night, it didn't matter. It had never mattered. Because he wasn't good enough for her. And he never would be.
He wasn’t good enough for Elain. The mother hadn’t thought it to be prudent to make them mates. Both of his brother had been gifted with a mating bond, but not him. That should tell him everything he needed to know abotu the state of his own soul.
So why…why should he even try anymore.
Why shouldn’t he just stew in his own misery, alone and heartbroken and a monster and expect everybody to just leave him alone? There was no point of putting himself out there again. There was nothing out there for him. Nothing but more pain.
So he closed his eyes again, sinking lower into the water, letting the warmth soothe his aching muscles. He let out a long sigh, his mind already racing with thoughts of his next missions, his next assignments. Because that was all that really mattered now. His job. His duties. His responsibilities. That was all he had left.
Behave. That’s all he was good for.
*Alright, that’s fucking enough,* the shadows snapped. *You are not letting The High Lord talk to you like that any longer, Master.*
Azriel was so surprised by their fucking vehemence that he could just stare at them.
*The Morrigan used you for centuries to make herself feel better about herself, * the shadows snapped. *She used the feelings you had for her and that she was very much aware of to strangle you and keep you in line.*
Azriel swallowed. He knew they were right. He knew that Mor had used his feelings for her for a long time. She had led him on, given him false hope, only to yank it away time and time again. It had been a painful cycle, one that had left him feeling used and broken and worthless.
*She could have stopped at any time but she never did,* the shadows hissed. *But instead she hurt you on purpose. Instead of turning you down, she slept with other males to show you that you would never have her!*
Azriel felt bile rise in the back of his throat. Mor had flaunted her other lovers in front of him, making it clear that he would never be enough for her. She had used his devotion to her as a weapon against him, wielding it whenever it suited her needs. And he had let her. He had been foolish, desperate enough to cling onto any scrap of affection she might throw his way.
*And The Seer?! Granted she has never done that, but her feelings for you weren’t particular deep when she replaced you on her affections with The Fox as soon as you weren’t available anymore! If she had cared, truly cared, she would have thought about what happened during Winter Solstice,* the shadows snapped.
*And The High Lord? Don’t even let us get started on him,* the shadows snapped. *You haven’t even done anything since that Winter Solstice, and he keeps behaving like some kind of despotic Overlord, worried that his orders won’t be followed. If you wanted to punch him in the face, you probably had every right to it,* they mumbled.
Azriel couldn’t help but snort.
*You deserve better, Master,* The shadows told him fiercely. *You deserve somebody that loves you.*
. He wanted to believe the shadows. He wanted to believe that he was good enough, that he deserved more. But the scars on his body and the memories in his mind told him otherwise. He had done terrible things, things that he could never undo. How could someone like that be good enough for anyone?
*Alright,* he finally agreed weakly. *Find me a house,* he told the shadows, as he closed his eyes.
*A house? What kind of house?* the shadows gave back, sounding surprised.
*A house,* he repeated. *A home. Somewhere in Velaris. Find me a home.* Something that could just be his.
A home. The idea sent a flutter through his stomach. He had never…never truly had a home. Had something that could just be his and nobody else’s. Just…a place that was his, where he could be whoever he wanted, where he was accepted and loved...it was appealing. Maybe even more than just appealing.
He closed his eyes, picturing it in his mind. A cozy little house, just large enough for himself. Warm and cozy and filled with light.
*That’s what a male needs to take a wife after all, right?* He asked, a flicker of uncertainty crossed his face. Was that what he should want? What he was supposed to want? He had never really thought about getting married before. But now, at the mention of it, he couldn't help but feel a pang of longing. A wife...a family...love and companionship. It all sounded so…so nice.
*You want to get married, Master?* the shadows asked curioulsy. *To whom?*
*You pick,* he told the shadows. They swarmed out in pure excitment. Azriel couldn’t even remmeebr the last time they had been so excited.
He couldn't help but chuckle at their reaction. Maybe they would do a better job than him. At least they could probably sieve out females that were in a romantic relationship or preferred females themselves.
*Find me somebody that I could make happy. Somebody that….Somebody that could want me.* Some long-suffering female for whom Azriel could maybe try to be enough. Somebody that would love him.
*What should she look like?* they asked seriously.
*I don’t care. Find me somebody that loves me and she’ll be the most beautiful female to me anyway.*