What Stays In The Winter Court

by Betsy17744

Summary:

When a scouting mission goes awry, Eris Vanserra is left with no choice but to place his vulnerabilities into the marred hands of the one male who hates him most—the spymaster of the Night Court. In turn, Azriel must face something he can not ignore; something that threatens the balance between both Night and Autumn forever.

Chapter 1: 1

Azriel really should have predicted this.

Ice, as sharp and as swift as daggers, came falling down on them out of nowhere. At first they'd said nothing, just kept ambling on with their journey. Then, when it had become impossible to ignore, Azriel had reluctantly admitted that they should find shelter.

The they being himself: and Eris Vanserra. 

He hadn't volunteered to go on this trip. His brother had summoned him to his office early one morning, his brows furrowed with something between tiredness and annoyance. Rhys had been run ragged recently caring for his young infant son and his mate—Azriel's High Lady—who'd recently caught a rare fae illness, and was bed-bound for the time being.

"I'm sorry Az," he'd said. "It's an ask, but I need you to go with Eris to visit the border of Winter. Kallias called in an old agreement."

What he hadn't said—but meant—was that Kallias was using the Night Court's resources as part of compensation for the incident Under the Mountain several years back. Azriel would have been fine with it. If he could take a burden off his brother's shoulders he'd be content to lend his expertise. It wasn't even a difficult scouting mission. Only, because they were following the border between both Winter and Autumn, a representative of the Autumn Court had to come along as well, to make sure there was no outsider court scheming. 

It was just his luck he'd wound up with the Autumn heir. 

He didn't know whether Eris was here unwillingly or of his own free volition, but as he looked at the male now, his hair plastered to his face from sleet, he'd have guessed the former. 

Eris Vanserra did not seem to be a fan of the cold. 

"We can take cover in one of the caves," Azriel said, although he wasn't happy about it. This side of Winter was full of mostly mountains and forest, so there was a large network of caves near where they were hiking. But Azriel was already itching to finish this mission and return to Velaris. He didn't want to spend a night out here with Eris Vanserra—of all people. 

Eris' usual smirk had faded, replaced with a doused expression. "Fine, Shadowsinger," he sighed, none of his usual bite evident in his tone. "So long as it's dry."

Azriel clenched his jaw and set off up an elevated section of the terrain, tucking his wings close into his body as he endured the onslaught. Although he was a born and bred Illyrian, the miserable weather being an accepted part of his homeland, it was nothing like the frigidity of this court. He couldn't imagine flying through this pass, not unless he wanted ice to sever his vision or—mother forbid—cut into the sensitive membrane of his wings. He shuddered at the mere thought, and he felt them twitch as though in response. 

He glanced behind him. Eris' face was turned from Azriel, but he saw the Autumn heir hunched over slightly, arms crossed as he made the short trek up the rocks. He didn't appear to be faring well, even in the thicker coat he'd brought with him. Although, for once, Eris wasn't complaining, so maybe Azriel should've considered the silence a good thing.

Only, he wasn't feeling much of anything but the compelling urge to seek shelter, and swiftly. 

The sleet started to come down harder, and the two fae males picked up the pace, in search of a nearby cave. Every now and then, Eris would lag just a bit too far behind and Azriel would have to wait for him to catch up. Not that it bothered him, he told himself. It was not concerning him in the slightest, how Eris would lean against a boulder every now and then in rest, how his breaths weren't even, how his skin had turned an alarming shade of white. 

They kept walking. It was maybe just under an hour until his shadows alerted him to a small cave, it's entrance tight enough Azriel could tell it would keep most of the bad weather out, even if he'd probably have to squeeze his wings in tight to fit.

Eris stepped in first and Azriel followed behind. "This dry enough for you, Prince?" He asked, gesturing at the dark interior. 

Eris said nothing. 

Azriel set their bags down, and rifled through them for his stuff. They did have a few twigs collected they could use to try and light a fire, but Azriel wasn't especially willing to have one on, in case they attracted any wild winter-court creatures. Aside from that, they also, thankfully, had some packaged foods, including meat, which should last through the night and then some. 

Azriel turned to Eris, who'd slumped down against the cave wall, staring at the space across from him. It was... unsettling, to Azriel, how quiet he was being. Since they'd begun their trip from the western side of the border, Eris had seemingly made it his mission to rile Azriel, testing his typically impeccable patience. No one raised his hackles as much as the male before him. The male who'd become subdued ever since the storm struck. 

He was sulking, most likely. The autumn brat was probably so unused to being out in the cold, working as a courtly figure instead of a warrior such as himself. Maybe he was annoyed his hair was no longer its usual, immaculate style. 

Still, something about the way Eris was staring blankly, all withdrawn and half-responsive, unsettled him. 

"We can't light a fire," Azriel said, just to fill the silence. "It's not worth the risk. We'll stay here until the storm clears."

Eris' eyes drifted up to Azriel before returning to the wall. "Fine," he murmured. Azriel didn't miss the trembling of his hands, clutched in his lap. 

Maybe they should light one. Azriel would be fine either way—he'd slept in far worse conditions than a relatively sheltered cave during an ice storm. But he thought that maybe he should keep one going, if only to have the Autumn male not in a near catatonic state. Or… shivering. 

He was just starting to pull out the dried sticks and ask Eris to use his flames to light them when he found the male had already settled down into his own blankets. When had he even reached for them? His back was turned, facing the cave wall. Azriel couldn't see his face, only the slow movements of his chest as he drifted into a slumber. 

An irrational anger bubbled up in Azriel at the sight. What was he even concerned about? Eris was fine. He put his bag back down and begun placing his own blankets against the opposite wall. 

It took him a while to settle. The storm outside was loud, although dulled slightly from the thickness of the walls. Azriel kept glancing over at the other male, who'd seemingly fallen sleep, no other noises coming from him. 

He knew he should too. He wanted to get back to the Night Court within the next few days, report back to Rhys and rest.

But it took him a long time to fall into any sort of slumber that night. 

 

---

 

He didn't know what time it was when he awoke. Late, definitely. Not yet light enough for him to get up. 

Blinking his eyes open, he could just make out the shape of Eris across the cave. He'd shifted in his sleep, so he was facing Azriel. Although it was dark, Azriel could see the sloping curve of his nose, the closed lids of his eyes. 

Something was... off. He couldn't quite place his finger on it, but he figured it must have woken him. The sleet was still coming down hard, but nothing seemed to be obviously different. 

A shadow coiled around his ear, brushing against the side of his face. 

Go to him, Azriel thought; willing the shadow to travel to the other side of the cave. 

There was no hesitation in the shadow's movement. Like a snake, the tendrils of darkness slipped across the stone floor and came up to curl around Eris' wrist. 

Slow, it whispered, pulsing in time with what he assumed was Eris' heartbeat. Autumn is not well. 

He could see now what he didn't minutes before. The pallid complexion, a quiet, almost imperceptible rattle as Eris breathed. 

The shadow began to move again, before Azriel could draw it back. It went up to Eris' face, pulling back a section of his copper hair. Cold, it whispered. Autumn is cold.

Azriel shifted, a tension forming in his stomach. 

Eris was sick? 

He slowly sat up. 

It was highly unusual for fae to become ill. Although Feyre had caught a sickness recently, she was an odd exception. Sickness was more a myth than anything, apart from occasionally in young children. However, under certain amounts of physical and emotional stress the body could extract sickness and disease. 

Azriel moved over until he was next to the Autumn heir, assessing him up close. He could hear it more clearly—the laboured breaths, see the slight parting of Eris' mouth as he struggled to inhale oxygen. The male's eyelids were also fluttering and it took an irritatingly large amount of restraint not to trace his fingers over them. 

"Eris," he murmured. "Wake up."

He gained no reaction from the male, not even with his sensitive fae hearing. Azriel would have usually felt irritation come up to the surface, at how even in sleep the male could still somehow be so dismissive. 

But Azriel knew that if Eris were his usual self, he'd have awoken, throwing an insult Azriel's way. Something along the lines of "If I’d known you’d be hovering at sunrise, I’d have frozen myself solid hours ago."

Eris would have probably come up with something smarter than that. He almost wanted to hear Eris insult him.  

The unnecessary thought had Azriel clenching his jaw. Eris was probably fine. His body wasn't used to the temperature difference and he was simply adjusting.

His shadows seemed to disagree, hissing their discontent and brushing up against Eris as though to protect him. Azriel traced a featherlight touch against Eris' neck, ignoring the tightness that formed in his chest at the coolness of his skin, at Eris' lack of response to the vulnerability of his position.  

It was fine. 

He'd be fine. 

Azriel hesitated before retreating, keeping an eye on the eldest Vanserra son as he sunk back down into his blankets. He watched him for several minutes, eyeing the rise and fall of the male's chest. 

He wasn’t reassuring himself.  

 

 

Azriel’s next few hours were a restless, hazy blur; most of the night spent listening to the sounds of the howling wind whistling through the cracks of the cave roof. He drifted in and out of a half state of consciousness, not able to properly get to sleep. 

It was a small, afraid sound that had him awake again. 

He’d always hated that sound. It was one he used to make routinely as a young child, cowering in a dingy cellar as he was left alone in the dark. 

A whimper. 

He shot up, his shadows writhing around him like a group of disturbed serpents. 

Eris was still, left exactly as he had been when Azriel last checked on him. Maybe he looked a bit paler, although that might have been the low light from the moon. 

He made that noise again. 

It was so… childish, that sound. Full of fear, it burrowed under his skin, sparking every primal instinct within Azriel. 

He inhaled a sharp breath before moving quickly over to Eris. The Autumn Heir mumbled something under his breath, too quiet for Azriel to hear it. His eyelids were flickering rapidly. 

“Eris,” Azriel hissed. “Eris, wake up.” 

A sheen of sweat lined the male’s forehead, the scent sour and cloying in Azriel’s nostrils. “Eris!”

The male suddenly began hyperventilating, his breaths coming out rapidly, wheezing. 

Azriel began to shake him. “Eris. Wake up, it’s a dream. Eris!”

A heaving breath and then the male’s eyes were wide open, his pupils so dilated Azriel only saw black. 

And then he was choking, sputtering breaths echoing against the walls of the cave as Azriel sat back, staring at him. 

“W-what—“ he wheezed. 

Azriel let him get more air into his lungs, let his breathing slow to a less rapid rate before saying anything. 

“You were dreaming,” he said roughly, Eris’ eyes snapping over to him. “I… I woke you up.” 

The two of them said nothing for a long minute, only stared at one another. Like they were at a sort of stand-still. 

“How very heroic of you,” Eris eventually rasped, his voice hoarse but mouth still twisted into a half-sneer. “Is this what the Night Court’s spymasters are trained to do then?”

It was a poor jab, and they both knew it. “You could barely breathe,” Azriel muttered.

“I’m sure you would have liked to see me suffocate,” Eris said between coughs, shivering. “I bet you'd find some satisfaction from it.”

“You’re freezing.”

Eris blinked, slowly, like his brain was taking an extra moment to function. 

Azriel scooted forward, inspecting the blankets Eris had wrapped over him. Underneath, he spotted the coat Eris had worn the other day, most likely still damp. “You should at least change,” he said. “You’re already sick.” 

“You’re not my nursemaid, Shadowsinger,” Eris spat. 

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his side. Why did he always have to be so difficult? 

Eris turned on his side, the trembles he was clearly trying to suppress evident. He was being ridiculous. He was going to slow them both down if he was too busy shivering. 

Azriel turned away from the male, shaking his head. Whatever. If he wanted to be difficult, then fine. It was his problem, not Azriel’s.

And yet when Azriel turned over to fall asleep, he struggled.

 

---

 

They didn’t say anything to each other the next morning. Not when they were packing up the last of their belongings to leave, not when Azriel was checking their map to make sure they would be heading in the right direction.  

The point of this mission was to check out a reported disturbance near to one of the few villages in this part of Winter. It was heavily isolated from the rest of the court and therefore cut off from a lot of the more protected areas nearer to the capital city. It also meant that reaching said village was difficult, dangerous and long, especially since Kallias had forbidden winnowing—or in Azriel’s case—shadow-walking. It was a safety measure, since the terrain was so unstable. Unless they were familiar with the land, winnowing could prove near-fatal. 

So, Azriel had to try and figure out the best path they could take.

Not that Eris had been any help in that. 

Whilst Azriel had changed just after Eris had gone to sleep last night, Eris’ clothes from the night before were still on. Azriel had just stared at the male in incredulity. Was he doing this because Azriel told him he should do otherwise just yesterday? Because if so, the male was more prideful, more arrogant than Azriel had thought, cutting his nose off despite his face. 

Eris was still racked with trembles. He was doing a remarkably good job of masking it, but Azriel saw right through it. 

And yet, they moved on, starting the rest of their journey through the mountain pass, not saying a damn word to one another. 

It was a long day, made longer by snow and ice in their tracks. They’d been lucky, for the storm to have stopped before they both awoke that morning. However, the tracks seemed to be twice as dangerous as they were before, and every step they took was careful. 

As the day wore on, Azriel noticed the autumn male lagging behind once again. Azriel could hear the stuttered breaths from behind him, that set him on edge. The male would have to stop every now and then, to catch his breath, to pull his still most likely sodden coat tighter to his chest when a chilled gust of air ran through him. 

It grated on Azriel. Every mile they took. 

Eventually, he broke. 

“You know,” he muttered, looking ahead of them in a pretense of focusing on the road. “If you had just changed, like any normal male would, you wouldn’t be sick right now.”

“I am not“ — a cough — “sick.” The irony of that statement wasn’t lost on Azriel.

“Right,” Azriel huffed, without amusement. “Not sick.” He fixed his gaze on a large boulder ahead, trying to keep down his anger. He heard Eris’ footsteps slow, and then come to a halt altogether and Azriel felt like all round snarling.

“Keep up,” he said tightly. “We’re not stopping.”

A step in the thick snow. And then another. “We’re not all” — Eris was full on wheezing now — “built like. Illyrian. Fucking. War brutes.” The last of that sentence were spat out not in hatred, but in pain, like Eris’ throat had seized.

Azriel scoffed. “You can’t even fucking speak.”

No response. 

Azriel’s hands curled into fists in his coat pockets. “What, not even going to argue back? Are you still not sick or just fucking stupid?”

Eris didn’t answer. 

Azriel’s steps slowed, although he tried not to make it too obvious. He was just about to say something again, just to get something back from the other male, when he heard it:

A choking, brittle cough, followed by a wet-sounding one that didn’t end. 

As it kept going, Azriel whirled, eyes wide as he took in the sight of the now kneeling Autumn Prince, hunched over in the snow as he tried to regain air. His hand was braced on one knee, and he was coughing so hard into his glove the male’s eyes were watering in exertion. 

Azriel’s heart kicked into action. “Eris—“

The male gasped, but still managed to choke out an, “I’m fine.” 

Azriel moved, but then Eris had straightened, slowly standing up. 

He was good for a moment, until his entire face went grey and his legs gave out beneath him, Eris letting out a small, surprised sound as fell. 

Just as Azriel sprinted to reach him before he hit ground, something inside of him in that moment… snapped. 

It was like a burst of energy, of warmth—like brilliant sunlight. His knees dropped into the thick snow, arms moving around to catch Eris. The dead-weight in his arms made that thing—that tether—pull taut, so tightly he couldn’t breathe. 

By the cauldron.

Cradling the male to his chest, Eris’ body limp, his skin ice-cold and lips tinted blue, all Azriel could do was send a desperate plea to the mother. 

Why did his mate have to be Eris Vanserra?

Chapter 2: 2

Summary:

Azriel looks after Eris while he comes to some harsh realisations

Notes:

I just realised it’s been *checks* several weeks since I last posted, instead of the few days I originally intended. I am very sorry about that I’m a liar (aha), but I hope this chapter somewhat makes up for it. Thank you so much for all the lovely comments from last chapter, it makes my day reading them :)

Also TW for this chapter—there’s discussion/implications of rape and sexual assault near the end, so just be mindful

Everywhere, all around him, the cold seeped in. Biting, suffocating.

Excruciating. 

It was nothing like he'd ever known. He had been forged from flames—ones that could tear forests down in their wake, that licked against surfaces and destroyed in crackles and snaps. Wild and volatile.

This was unfamiliar. 

This, was unbearable. 

He tried to recall that warmth to him, to tug on that familiar chord of energy deep inside that would release that power—that would chase off the chill.

But it wouldn't answer him.

He'd rather die in a blazing, raging inferno than this ice prison, but as much as he tried, it was broken.

It was like something had snapped. Something vital. 

He needed it back 

---

 

Azriel had lit a fire, in the end. 

He'd not given it a second thought as he pulled Eris into the next cave he could find. It took a bit longer than it usually would have to light it, since one arm was having to hold the other male upright, but he managed.

Winter Court creatures be damned; he was keeping that fire. 

He undressed Eris quickly, efficiently—tugging off the wet clothes he'd been so stubborn to not remove. Then every piece of clothing, every blanket, all the furs and dry items he owned were draped over the male, in a desperate effort to retain heat. 

His shadows kept vigil, spreading out so they covered the walls, the entrance—closing off the world so that only the two of them remained. 

And then Azriel had waited. Sitting beside Eris, he just... watched, his mind an endless stream of energy. 

This male before him, one that took pleasure in antagonising him at every turn, one who had chased his High Lady within this very court, who'd bound her by his own power. 

The same male who had stood and watched as Mor bled out on that border that fateful day, who had only stared as he winnowed her to safety. 

His mate. 

It felt like a cruel joke. 

He let out a long, shuddering breath, running a frenzied hand through his hair. 

Eris Vanserra was his mate. Of everyone in this world, this was the one he was fated to be with.

He couldn't even laugh. 

Since the bond snapped on his end, it became something he could not ignore. Not just the physical sensation of it, of that tether that connected the two of them, chafing slightly at the weak state his mate was currently in. No—he couldn't ignore it because the one thing he had wished for, had prayed to the mother for century after century had finally come to fruition, only to come to pass—whilst spitting directly into his face. 

This was what he deserved. 

Not beautiful, alluring Mor, who he'd pined for over centuries. 

Not the sweet, charming Elain, whose doe-like eyes could make anyone feel lost in, whose gentle kindness was so enchanting he couldn't help but be pulled in. 

No. The mother deemed this male the only one he was worthy of being with. This arrogant, sly princeling, who hated him just as much as Azriel hated him back.

A low moan caught Azriel's attention, his gaze flicking to the autumn male instantaneously, despite his wishes. He was shifting underneath the blankets, clearly uncomfortable. Azriel cursed, moving over to adjust them.

"It's gone..." Eris croaked. "...He... he took it from me... took it—" Eris grasped the furs, his grip surprisingly strong as Azriel tried to keep him still, inspecting for frostbite or something other than the raging case of hypothermia he'd managed to catch. 

"Mustn't... mustn't see it. She can't—"

Eris was delirious, his words slurring into the next and making next to no sense. Azriel sent a group of his shadows to go to him, to try and hold him down so his movements wouldn't further harm himself. 

They attached themselves to his pulse points, gentle and inquisitive. They'd always been... odd, when presented with Eris. He'd never known why, had only found it irritating. But now... with the knowledge that Eris was his mate... 

So much about his powers as a Shadowsinger was still unknown. Perhaps they could sense a mating bond, before even the wielder themself could. It was an unsettling thought. 

Eris let out another wheezing cough, one that had Azriel's newfound instincts rise to the surface, the need to help, defend, protect—welling up until they overwhelmed him.

Mate. Our mate is hurt.

It was constant, his shadow's whisperings of it over and over until Azriel thought he'd go mad.

Gods. How would he explain this to the rest of his family? He tucked a fur under Eris' neck, forcing his airway to open more. To Rhys?

He could picture his brother's face clearly in his mind, the disappointment for him, the sadness. The pity. 

Gods, he could not bear the pity. 

Time passed. Slowly. It felt like every minute was an hour, each second an excruciating torment. He needed to be done with this mission, but more urgently he needed Eris to be well again. 

To satisfy the mate bond only. Nothing else. 

A night passed. Azriel remained on watch, ensuring Eris remained breathing—as fragile as that seemed to be. He was still freezing. In fact, he seemed to somehow be getting worse. 

Azriel had seen it in soldiers before. In the coldest weeks of winter, when young, poor warriors were forced to sleep outside on scraps and huddle together for warmth. The excluded ones—the ones who didn't fit into the easy path of brotherhood—were the ones who would grow wracked with shivers, whose bodies would eventually succumb to the frozen conditions.

He'd hear their rattling breaths at night, the audible sounds of jaws chattering in the darkness. That sound still stuck with him, even centuries later.

As Eris' body temperature reached a dangerous low, and no amount of fuelling the fire helped change it, Azriel decided to take a more... old fashioned, approach. 

He took his shirt off, then peeled off the rest of his layers as quickly as he could. He swore softly as the chilled air touched his bare skin, but quietly pulled back the covers around Eris, just enough for him to slip in next to him. 

An old trick. He'd only witnessed it a handful of times within Windhaven's camps, but body heat was one of the more effective ways of conserving warmth. 

Eris' entire body was freezing. Azriel hissed at the shock, the chill so stark it was painful as skin touched skin. But he moved, close, until his limbs were wrapped around the other male, as close as he could make it whilst simultaneously tucking the furs and assortments around them both. 

He could feel Eris' soft breaths against his chest; the only warmth the male gave off, and only indicator other than his weak heartbeat and the new bond he was even alive.

He moved his hands, to hold Eris around his back. His fingers reached, around, bracketing him in...

Until it felt a mar on skin, familiar to him as the web of shadows around them. 

Scar tissue.

He swallowed, leaning forward. 

And almost growled.

Eris' entire back was littered in jagged, uneven stripes—a grotesque display of brutality that made him see red. 

Someone—and, oh, could Azriel guess who that miserable bastard was—had taken what was mostly like a whip or a similar instrument, to Eris' back. Over and over again. 

He just stared. Nothing in the world could have prepared him for this. 

He looked closer. Some of those... some of them looked almost fresh. Which should have been impossible, since Azriel had been with him for just over a week, and nothing had happened to them in that time.

If those still red—now scabbing over—wounds he glimpsed were on Eris' body after that amount of time, something had to be extremely wrong for them to not have yet healed.

Eris began to shift, as though he could sense Azriel's thoughts, his aggravation. 

He mumbled something. Then his eyelids were fluttering open. 

Azriel reigned it all in—kept himself under the control only five centuries worth of patience could give him and set his face to careful neutrality as Eris stirred. 

"What."  

It was barely more than a breath. But the stiffening of his body, the leaning backward and the widening of the male's eyes told Azriel of his panic. 

"Stay still," he said through gritted teeth.

"What," Eris croaked. "Are you... doing?"

"You fell," he bit out. "Remember? In the snow." 

They shifted, and Eris' eyes glazed over, like he was trying to think back. Azriel couldn't tell if he remembered or not because his expression wouldn't give it away. "Where are we?" 

"A cave."

Eris blinked slowly, than let out a low exhale as the fire’s glow caught his eye. “You... you made a fire." He said, disbelief thick in his tone.

Azriel didn’t answer, focusing on adjusting the blankets once again, instead of having to look into the intense gaze of the autumn male. They stayed in silence for several long minutes, as Eris regained some more lucidity, observing their surroundings. He shut his eyes a moment, letting out a small sound that indicated he was in pain but was trying to hide it.

"Where?" Azriel asked. 

Eris shook his head. 

"Where?" He pressed.

It was almost a full minute later when he answered: “Neck." 

He sounded miserable.

Azriel reached around, cupping the back of Eris' neck as he lifted the makeshift pillow underneath him, setting Eris back down gently. Neither could look the other in the eye during the exchange.

Azriel wondered how it could ever work. This mating bond. How they could ever—if either of them even wished it—reconcile. It had been a long, grudge-filled five centuries, and Azriel wasn't sure how or even if he wanted to break that.

This bond could ruin them—in a whole multitude of ways. If word of it got out to the rest of the courts, it could cause a whole political mess. 

Eris didn't even know. And Azriel didn’t think he wanted to tell him. 

If he could pretend it wasn't there, maybe nothing would have to change. 

"Why are you—" Eris let out another wretched cough, making Azriel's heart rate pick up. Some of the shadows that were on the walls of the cave branched off, even as Azriel willed them to stay. Eris' coughs rattled, echoing harshly against the walls of the cave as his traitorous shadows brushed up against them. Eris' eyes widened at the sight, and Azriel braced himself for a harsh rejection—for him to recoil.

"What are they doing?" He asked.

Azriel clenched his jaw. One of his shadows, one he recognised as being a particular pest, came all the way around to Eris' jaw, caressing the underside of it as Eris let out an involuntary shiver.

He barked out a singular, wheezing laugh, eyes flicking down as the shadow retracted slightly, as though surprised from the reaction it had received.

"Is this your doing, Singer?" Eris asked, but the teasing that would have normally been in his tone was gone. "Or is it its own?"

Azriel let out a low growl. "They are a nuisance," he grumbled.

"Hm." Now he sounded amused. 

Strange. No one had ever been... comfortable, around his shadows. Even his own family seemed slightly disturbed by their presence, to the point where Azriel would have to keep them reigned in when he was around them.

They didn't seem to especially like anyone else either. They would always shy from his brothers. From Mor. 

Mor had never liked them. 

But Eris, in a gesture Azriel never could have predicted, reached up, keeping his hand against Azriel's chest. The shadow moved, slowly, tentatively. 

It curled over Eris' wrist, as light as a feather. Eris only watched, in rapt curiosity—and with more lucidity than he'd seen from him in hours—as the shadow became bolder in it's exploration, lightly tugging at his wrist, his fingers, clearly pleased by the positive attention.

"It sort of reminds me of a hound," he said quietly. Azriel's brows furrowed, tilting his head down to watch the male's expression.

"In what way?”

"It doesn't matter," Eris said abruptly.

The air shifted, suddenly charged with tension.

They remained in silence for several long minutes, not looking away from the other, as if in some silent stand off. Azriel didn’t really know what it was.

He wanted to hate that that thing within him, that chord between their souls, sung its contentment at their close proximity. He wanted to hate that he was shackled to the one male he would have never chosen to be with, who he could never be with. 

But that small, yet loud part of himself, the part that had craved the unconditional support and love of another his whole life, it held on. Even though it was this male that it was latching onto. Even though it would never work. 

"Why are you doing this?" It was those words from Eris, spoken so softly, that seemed to break the spell. 

"…Doing what?" He murmured.

"Helping." 

Azriel's eyes looked down at the male beside him. "In case you were unaware,” Azriel muttered. “We are supposed to be scouting the border, not holed up in a cave. It’s not my fault you decided to make yourself sick.” 

Eris’ jaw clenched. “You know nothing.” 

“Don’t I?” Azriel asked, a low, bitter laugh leaving his throat even if it left him with a bad taste in his mouth. “Because you were the one who refused to change out of your wet clothes when we are travelling through freezing conditions. And for what, your own pride?” Eris’ eyelids began to shut with each word he spoke, but Azriel didn’t stop. 

“In case you were not aware,” he hissed. “I would like this to be over with already. I would like to be able to go home, to my own court instead of being stuck here with you.” 

The words struck, and Azriel saw it in the way Eris stiffened. He felt the bond’s tug of guilt immediately after, hated it for making him care.

“Do you not think,” Eris said, after some time, “that I wish to be back in my own court just as much as you?”

Azriel’s brow furrowed, his eyes sliding down to the pale line of Eris’ throat. Eris’ face had taken on an expression Azriel couldn’t quite describe; his eyes downcast, and his hands curled to fists against his chest. 

“My father,” Eris said quietly. “Wishes for another heir.” 

The words hung heavy in the air.

Beron Vanserra was the sire to six sons, not including Lucien Vanserra—who was actually the High Lord of Day’s son. It was a secret he’d learned several years ago, when Rhys had privately confided in him about Feyre’s discovery.

But six children, in the world of the fae, was a miracle. The Lady of Autumn, Bedelia, whose name had always been overshadowed from her role as Beron’s wife, came from a bloodline that was known for their high fertility. Beron Vanserra had claimed her the minute he could. 

But a seventh child? 

“My mother…” Eris turned his face away, voice breaking. “Is tired.”

The vulnerability in his tone, the sadness and guilt, it shocked Azriel, deep to his core. It resonated within him, as another male who had been forced helpless to watch his mother abused by the hands of his father.

“She cannot… another babe would—“ Eris shook his head, letting out a long breath. “I don’t know where this sudden desire of my fathers has come from. Perhaps he wishes to have a female, to use as a pawn later down the line.” He let a humourless laugh.

“But… my mother came to me, to tell me her desires. And she so rarely does that these days.” Eris shook his head again, some painful emotion swirling in his eyes.

Azriel found himself inadvertently pulling the male a little closer. “Yet my father… continued his advances. And I tried to stop him, although I knew what would happen. Attempting to stop my father is…” 

Azriel’s mind conjured the image of the scars on Eris’ back, and suddenly a thought struck Azriel—that perhaps Eris had been unwilling to change because Azriel would see them. Would see the carnage his father had wrecked upon him. 

He could be wrong of course but… it nagged.

He hadn’t realised his hands had reached around him, to carefully trace around the raw skin until Eris’ entire posture stiffened, his eyes widening.

Azriel froze. 

“Don’t—“ 

Azriel took his hand back, quickly. 

Eris let out a long breath. A weak hand reached up to run over his face. 

“Don’t touch me there.”

The rawness in his tone had everything inside Azriel keening.

The glazed over look in Eris’ eyes confirmed it all to Azriel anyway, about the punishment his own father had inflicted upon his son.

“He had me dosed with faebane,” Eris murmured. 

Which was why they hadn’t yet healed. 

Why he had probably become ill in the first place.

“Eris,” he said roughly. “I—”

“I don’t want to hear it from you.”

He turned his head away, as Azriel’s entire mind seemed to reshift itself, to accommodate the new information he’d gained of the male before him.

But Eris turned fully over, facing away from him, bringing those scars into full view. Azriel didn’t know if it was a gesture of trust, if it was a harsh rejection or something in between the two—but Azriel shuffled forward, curling his arms back over the male as they both stayed quiet, attempting, yet failing, to succumb to sleep. 

Notes:

oh azriel...

thank you for reading!