ââââ> an Azriel x female reader fanfic
> There will only be smut when it is stated at the start of a chapter.
summary: You, the Spymaster of the Day Court, have been feeling a tug in your chest towards the North ever since the War with Hybern; are you ready to find out what is waiting for you there?
â The sun will always rise again.â
You were born in the remote, sun-drenched fringes of the Day Court, within the high-walled Gilded Canyons. Your people, the Lightdancers, were ancient High Fae who didn't just wield lightâthey lived in a state of symbiosis with it.
While the rest of Prythian feared the dark, the Lightdancers were hunted because their magic made it impossible for anyone to hide a lie.
When you were barely fiftyâa mere child by Fae standardsâa lingering faction of Hybern loyalists, seeking to blind the Day Courtâs future, raided your village. They sought to snuff out the "Living Beacons." You survived only because your mother pushed you into a crevice of white quartz.
As the darkness of the raiders' magic descended, you felt a tiny, frantic warmth against your cheek. It was your first ever Spark.
Not a servant, but a tiny, orb-like fragment of consciousness that shimmered with pure white light. It didn't hide you in shadow; it bent the light around you until you were nothing more than a refraction, a trick of the eye.
You were the only one left. For decades, you lived as a ghost of the canyons, dancing through the sunbeams with your growing family of orbs, surviving on wild fruit and the warmth of the sun.
Helion, the young and vibrant High Lord of the Day Court at that time, was known for his obsession with lost lore. During an expedition to the Gilded Canyons to study ancient solar ley lines, he didn't find ruinsâhe found a girl.
He saw a woman in tattered silks, surrounded by a dozen floating, humming orbs of light that seemed to be playing a game of tag with her. Helion, the Spell-Cleaver, recognized the magic instantly. He didn't approach her as a hunter, but as a peer. He sat in the sun for three days, reading aloud from his journals, until your curiositiesâand your orbsâled you to sit beside him.
He didn't just take you in; he gave you a purpose. He brought you to the Thousand-Pillar Palace, where for the first time, you had enough silk to move in and enough libraries to understand what you were.
There was someâŚromance between Helion and you, as bright and intense as a midday sun. You were a match of intellect and power. Helion was captivated by your ability to see across leagues through your "friends," and you were captivated by his brilliance.
It was during this eraâcenturies agoâthat Helion personally inked the tattoo on your chest. He used an enchanted ink infused with crushed sunstone. It wasn't a mark of ownership, but a tether.
It ensured that even if you were trapped in the deepest dark, you would always have a spark of the Day Courtâs heart beating against your own skin.
However, as the decades passed, the "fire" of your romance settled into something much deeper and more permanent: a profound, platonic soul-bond.
You realized your love was better suited for the council room than the bedroom. You transitioned from lovers to the closest of confidantes, becoming the foundation of the Day Courtâs stability.
While the other Courts looked to the Night Courtâs shadows with fear, you taught Helion that the most dangerous secrets are the ones people think are safe in the light.
You revolutionized the Day Courtâs intelligence network. You didn't send hooded figures into alleys; you sent "drifting motes of dust" into high-society ballrooms. Your sparks sat on chandeliers, hid in the reflection of wine glasses, and hovered in the open air, invisible to those who weren't looking for them.
You became the Lightdancer, the Spymaster who managed the Day Courtâs affairs with a smile and a silk gown.
By the time Amarantha rose to power, you were the invisible hand keeping the Day Courtâs libraries hidden and its people fed while Helion was forced into the Mountain.
You were the one who stayed behind, your orbs dimming in the oppressive dark, waiting for the day the sun would finally return to Prythian.
The eras of Amaranthaâs reign and the War with Hybern were the two crucibles that forged you from a scholar-dancer into the formidable Spymaster you are today. While others fought with steel and shadow, you fought with the preservation of truth and the speed of light.
When the High Lords were summoned and subsequently imprisoned by Amarantha, the Day Courtâthe seat of Prythianâs history and knowledgeâbecame a prime target. With Helion trapped in that dark, subterranean hell, the "Thousand-Pillar Palace" stood silent.
You refused to go to the Mountain. Instead, you invoked an ancient protocol of the Lightdancers: The Solar Veil. While Amaranthaâs emissaries and Hybernâs looters came to strip the Day Court of its spells and treasures, you moved through the palace like a ghost. You used your sparks to create optical illusions, making the most valuable wings of the Great Library appear as nothing more than solid, seamless marble walls.
This was your greatest personal struggle. Without Helionâs presence to anchor the Courtâs magic, and with the sky perpetually choked by Amarantha's gloom, your sparks grew sluggish.
They turned from brilliant white to a sickly, flickering grey.
You spent those 49 years in a state of constant sensory deprivation. You attempted to send your orbs into the Mountain to find Helion, but the sheer density of the dark magic there acted like a vacuum.
Every time a spark crossed the threshold of the Mountain, it winked outâand you felt the "death" of each friend as a sharp, cold prick in your heart. You learned then the limit of your power: Light cannot exist where there is no hope to feed it.
When the curse broke and the sun finally hit the Day Court again, you didnât rest. You spent weeks "rechargingâ your orbs in the high-noon heat, preparing for the conflict you knew was coming.
During and before the final battles against Hybernâs forces, you realized that the biggest disadvantage of the allied Fae armies was communication. Messengers were being shot down, and winnowing was too exhausting for constant tactical updates.
You took to the frontlines alongside Helion. You stood atop the highest vantage points, silks snapping in the wind, and released thousands of tiny sparks. They looked like a cloud of glowing embers drifting over the battlefield.
You tethered a spark to every commanderâRhysand, Azriel, Cassian, Tarquin, and the other High Lords. By whispering into your "Master Orb," your voice traveled through the light waves, emerging from the sparks at the commanders' ears instantly.
You could see what every spark saw. In the heat of the battle, you would relay movements to Helion: âHybernâs right flank is buckling. Send the Pegasus cavalry now."
The battlefield of the Summer Court was a symphony of screaming steel and crashing waves, but atop a jagged cliff overlooking the fray, you were conducting a very different kind of orchestra.
Helion stood beside you, his amber eyes glowing with pride. "You're sure about this? Some of them have... volatile tempers."
"Theyâll live," you had murmured, your hands moving in a graceful, circular motion. From your palms, dozens of tiny, brilliant white sparks erupted like a firework held in slow motion. "Go, my friends. Find the crowns."
Cassian was the first to react. He was mid-swing, decapitating a Hybern scout, when a marble-sized orb of pure light zipped under his helm and lodged itself firmly against his ear canal.
"Gah! Bug! Iâve got a glowing bug in my ear!" Cassian had roared, nearly dropping his Siphon-shield as he started digging a frantic finger into his ear. "Az! Azriel, get it out! Itâs vibrating!"
Azriel, shadows already swirling in defense, had paused as a second spark hovered inches from his own face, seemingly waiting for permission. He didn't swat it; he felt the peculiar, warm hum of itâa frequency that made his shadows go uncharacteristically still.
A mile away, Varian had had his khopesh at the throat of a spark that was trying to land on Tarquin.
"Move and Iâll melt you," Varian had hissed at the orb.
"Varian, wait," Tarquin commanded, tilting his head as the spark successfully tethered to his ear. "Itâs... singing. It tastes like citrus and old parchment."
In the Winter Court camp, Kallias had frozen the air around his head into a defensive ice-shell, but the spark simply winnowed through the ice, nesting in his hair. "Viviane, get the salt," he had muttered, sounding deeply tired. "The Summer Courtâs magic is hallucinating again."
Thesan was politely trying to reason with his spark. "Excuse me, little light? I am trying to coordinate a healing ward. If you could perhaps move to my shoulder?"
And then there was Tamlin. He had been in beast-form, golden fur bristling, snapping his jaws at a spark that kept dodging his teeth with playful agility. He had let out a frustrated, earth-shaking growl that translated roughly to: Get this firefly away from me before I tear the sky down. He let out a low, warning growl that vibrated in his chest. "If this is a trick, Rhysand, Iâllâ"
"Itâs not me," Rhysandâs voice carried over the wind, though he looked just as baffled.
Finally, there was the Autumn Court. Beron stood in his tent, snarling at his generals, completely ignored.
A single, exceptionally bright spark was currently nestled comfortably in the high collar of Erisâs tunic, pulsing with a steady, rhythmic light.
Your voice had whispered specifically into Erisâs ear, skipping Beron entirely.
"And I prefer to speak to the person actually holding the leash, Prince Eris.â
Erisâs lips twitched into the smallest, most dangerous smirk of the war. He looked toward the ridge where a golden figure stood against the sun. He didn't know who you were, but he decided, right then and there, that he liked you.
Suddenly, a clear, calm, and slightly amused female voice had rang out inside all of their heads at onceâvibrating through the sparks with the clarity of a bell.
"Gentlemen, if youâre finished attempting to murder my friends, we have a war to win."
The High Lords all froze in unison.
"Who is this?" Tarquin demanded of the empty air. "Identify yourself.â
âI am the Spymaster of the Day Court," the voice had continued, laced with a hint of dry amusement. "If you can hear me, it means you are currently part of the Light Network. Lord Beron has been excluded for... security reasons. Eris, try to keep your father from doing anything exceptionally stupid."
Erisâs laugh echoed through the spark. "No promises, Spymaster."
âGeneral Cassian, please stop hitting your ear. You're giving my sentinel a headache." You sighed, amused.
Cassianâs hand dropped, his face turning a vibrant shade of red. "It started it," he muttered.
"High Lord Tarquin, Hybernâs ships are flanking your left. High Lord Kallias, the ice wards are holding, but you have a breach at the southern wall. Tamlinâstop growling and look at the ridge. There are archers."
Rhysand, who had been watching his own spark with intense fascination, let out a low, smooth chuckle. "Helion, you magnificent bastard. You finally let her out of the library."
Helionâs voice joined the network, sounding smug. "She was bored, Rhysand. And honestly, watching you lot try to fight a war without a proper radio was becoming painful to witness."
"Focus," your voice had snapped back, though the "smile" in your tone was evident. "I am your eyes and ears now. If you die, my sparks die, and they are far too pretty to waste on your incompetence. Now, shall we win this war?"
From that moment on, the Allied Lords didn't just fight; they moved as one. And while the world marveled at the tactical brilliance of the Day Court, Azriel stayed silent, his shadows leaning closer to the tiny white orb in his ear, listening to the heartbeat of the woman he hadn't even met yet.
During the final push, you pushed your magic beyond its limits. To illuminate a hidden fleet of Hybern ships moving under a cloak of magical darkness, you flared your entire being. You became a second sun for five minutes, blinding the enemy and allowing the Day Courtâs fire-wielders to incinerate the vessels.
When the light faded, you had collapsed. You suffered from Sun-Blindness for three days following the warâtotal, terrifying darkness. Helion stayed by your side, holding your hand in the infirmary, until the first sliver of gold returned to your vision.
By the time the war ended, you had earned the respect of every High Lord. They had all heard your voice in their ears during their darkest moments.
Now, with the world rebuilding and waiting for the threat that is Koschei, you remain Helion's right hand, your tattoo a constant reminder that even after the longest eclipse, the sun always returns.
Today, the air shimmered, and with a sudden crack of displaced wind, Morrigan appeared. She didnât look like a warrior today; she looked like a woman who had escaped. She was already laughing before she fully materialized, her red silk dress a vibrant contrast to the Day Courtâs gold.
"If I stay in the Night Court one more day without seeing the sun, I think I might actually turn into a bat," Mor declared, lounging immediately onto a chaise.
You didn't stop your movement, your body flowing into a deep arch, a quiet and distance music playing. "Helion is in the library, Mor. But you knew that. You always know exactly when heâs neck-deep in research and looking for a distraction."
"Oh, Iâll distract him later," Mor winked, reaching for a carafe of chilled wine. One of your sparks drifted over, hovering near Mor's glass and illuminating the liquid with a soft, prismatic glow. Mor poked at it playfully. "Honestly, Y/N, these things are far too charming to be spies. How does anyone take you seriously when youâre surrounded by glowing bubbles?"
"Thatâs the secret," you straightened, your silks settling around your legs. You whistled softly, and the spark zipped back to your shoulder. "People tell the most scandalous things to a room they think is empty. They donât notice a bit of dust caught in a sunbeam."
"Speaking of scandalous..."
A second, heavier presence manifested. Rhysand stepped out from the shadows of the archway, his dark wings tucked tight, his violet eyes dancing with their usual, infuriating mischief.
"I heard my name being invoked," Rhysand said, leaning against a pillar. He looked at you, his gaze tracking the three orbs spinning around your head. "Or perhaps it was just the sound of the Day Courtâs most dangerous weapon doing her morning yoga."
"High Lord," you inclined your head, though your smile was sharp. "Youâre late. Helion hates it when people are late to discuss trade routes. It makes him... talkative."
"I was waylaid by a very persistent nightmare," Rhys said, though his eyes drifted to the spark on your shoulder. He reached out a finger, and the sparkâusually friendlyâzipped back, hiding in the folds of your hair. Rhys raised an eyebrow, giving an amused and devastating smirk. "Still haven't taught them to like the Night, I see."
"They don't like what they can't understand, Rhysand," you replied, crossing your arms. "Your shadows are... dense. My friends prefer clarity."
Rhysandâs expression softened into something more contemplative, a look you only saw when he wasn't performing for the other Courts. "You know, Y/N, I have a brother. Not by blood, but by choice. Heâs my Spymaster. Heâs spent five centuries listening to the wind and the darkness."
"Iâve heard the rumors," you said lightly. "The Shadowsinger. A bit gloomy for my taste, isn't he?"
"Gloomy? Perhaps," Rhys stepped closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial velvet. "But he is quite literally the other half of the world's song. Iâve often wondered what would happen if I brought him here. If your little sparks would try to light him up, or if his shadows would finally find something worth holding onto."
You felt a strange, inexplicable shiver race down your spineâa pull at the center of your chest, right where your tattoo rested. You shook it off with a laugh. "Don't bother, Rhys. I have enough trouble keeping Helionâs secrets. I don't need to be chasing a brooding Night Court male through the darkness."
Mor stood up, tossing a grape at Rhysandâs head. "Leave her alone, Rhys. Sheâs far too bright for your lot. Besides, if those two ever met, the sheer intensity of the 'Spymaster energy' would probably collapse the Hewn City."
Rhysand caught the grape in mid-air, a slow, knowing smirk spreading across his face. "Maybe. But I think it would be a very interesting collision. Until next time, Lightdancer."
You straightened as Rhysand winnowed away to talk to Helion, your sparks zipping playfully toward Mor, circling her head like a crown of living diamonds.
Mor grinned, leaning against a sun-warmed pillar. "Night Court has run out of people I actually want to talk to. Come on, Y/N. Spend the day with me. The libraries can survive without you for twelve hours."
The day was a blur of the Day Court's finest luxuries. You lounged by the reflecting pools, the water shimmering with the light you subconsciously coaxed from the air. You drank chilled nectar and shared pieces of gossip that only two women in your positions could knowâof Erisâs latest posturing in Autumn, the new High Lady you havenât met yet and her legendary sister the Made Lady Death.
But as the sun began to dip, casting long, violet shadows across the terrace, Morâs tone shifted.
"Come to Velaris, love," Mor said, her gaze fixed on the horizon. "Not for a summit. Not for a meeting of High Lords. Just... come home with me. Meet the rest of them. Meet Cassian and Azriel and Feyre. Youâve spent five centuries looking at the world through light orbs; itâs time you saw the City of Starlight with your own eyes."
Your heart gave a strange, frantic leapâa sensation like a spark hitting water. You felt the tattoo on your chest thrum, a ghostly warmth spreading toward your collarbone. You masked it with a practiced, neutral expression.
"Iâll think about it, Mor," you said softly. "The Day Court doesn't exactly run itself."
"Helion would push you out the door himself if he knew you were hesitating," Mor challenged, standing up and brushing off her dress. "The invitation stands. Don't make me wait another century."
Later that evening, the palace was quiet, illuminated only by the soft glow of enchanted lamps and your drifting sparks. You found Helion in the Great Library, surrounded by towering stacks of ancient scrolls, his golden skin glowing in the lamplight.
"She asked you to go, didn't she?" Helion asked without looking up, his voice echoing in the vast space.
You leaned against the edge of his mahogany desk. "Is it that obvious?"
"Youâve been vibrating with a very specific kind of energy since she left," Helion smirked, finally setting down his quill. He walked over, placing a steady, brotherly hand on your shoulder. "Darling, you managed this Court while I was at Under the Mountain. You fought a war at my side. You have earned a week in a city that actually knows how to throw a party."
"Itâs not the party I'm worried about," you admitted, your voice dropping. "Itâs the... the pull, Helion. Since the war ended, every time I look North, I feel like I'm missing a limb. Iâm afraid of what Iâll find there."
Helionâs expression softened, his thumb brushing the edge of the tattoo he had inked so long ago. "Then find it. If there is something in the Night Court that is calling to the Lightdancer of Day, I want to know what it is. And if you don't like what you find? You can always dance your way back home to me."
You looked at your sparks, which were currently huddled together on a nearby bookshelf, glowing with a bright, expectant white. They were excited, as if they knew your life would never be the same once you went to the City of Starlight. You took a deep breath, the scent of jasmine and sun-warmed stone filling your lungs one last time before you made your choice.
"Tell the messengers to prepare a winnowing coordinate," you said, a sharp, excited spark finally lighting up your eyes. "Iâm going to Velaris."
Thank you so much for reading this! I thought the concept of something the opposite of Azriel would be really interesting so I created the Lightdancers, I hope you liked it!
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