Velaris at Sundown

The worst part was your bond not entirely understanding the differences. It called to this past Azriel, unsure why there was no response. He would enter rooms, and the thread would glow, eager after so much isolation, but that warmth would deplete when Azriel had no flicker of the feeling cross his face. 

You were alone, but your body was tricking you. 

Three days after you’d lost him, Azriel sat with you on one of the porches of the Riverhouse. You’d had trouble in the House of Wind recently—too many reminders and wrong turns. Rhys and Feyre had been kind enough to let you stay with them despite your many objections. They thought some distance would be good, but Azriel clearly did not understand your reason for staying away. 

He stared incessantly. He focused and furrowed his brows and asked you questions as if you would elicit some memory that would prove he was right, that he was meant to be in this time and the answer was just lost in his mind. But you looked at him and knew that wasn’t true. You looked at him, and the bond chaffed. 

You couldn’t understand it. All of the effort he was putting into this did not make sense. 

After an entire day’s worth of questions, you voiced your confusion. “Why are you doing this?” you softly whispered, gaze out at the Sidra. You tucked the blanket Feyre had draped over you an hour ago closer to your body. “What purpose could this possibly serve?” 

“I want to remember,” Azriel responded, voice low and intense, arms resting on his thighs as he tried to engage you. 

You shook your head at nothing. “It’s not there, Azriel. You heard Rhys—your memories are not locked away, they don’t exist.” 

“They could.” 

“No, they couldn’t,” you finalized. You turned to look at him, finally. It hurt. “A few days ago, I was nothing more than Mor’s friend to you. Nothing has changed.” 

“Everything has changed,” Azriel refuted, expression pinched. “You are my mate. Everything has changed.” 

“I do not become your mate for another year, Azriel. We—we grow to know each other. We loved each other before the bond, and it took time. This sense of obligation you feel for me has only been brought on by the promise of a bond you don’t even feel.” 

“It is not a sense of obligation.” 

“Is it not? What else could it be? That first night, you wanted nothing to do with me. Now I’m suddenly the only important thing in this time. But that isn’t even true, is it?” 

Azriel’s face morphed into confusion. You weren’t being fair again. None of this was fair. You turned back to the Sidra, blanket falling into your lap. 

“We will find a way to get you back to your time,” you offered, softer. “This will all settle. It will all make sense again.” 

“And I’m just supposed to go back to a time before you?” 

“What?” 

“How am I meant to go back and pretend I don’t know about you? Pretend I don’t know that we are destined for this grand future together—where you would throw yourself into the mouth of the unknown just to ensure that I am safe? Where you look at me like—” 

You felt yourself fracture, clutching the blanket on your knees. The wool was in large, chunky knots, and it gave you something to press into. Tears were burning your eyes again. You were tired of crying. He sounded like your Azriel. 

“You don’t even know me,” you whispered, braving a look directly into his eyes. You found glassy hazel. 

“I want to.” 

“It doesn’t happen like this. You love me without knowing. You love me because you want to, not because of a bond.” 

Azriel hesitated, looking to the Sidra before hanging his head. His scarred hands interlaced between his knees, and you traced the patterns on his skin with your eyes. The sound of the water lapping against a far shore echoed against the slats of wood on your High Lady’s home. There was nothing Azriel could say to that. He knew about the bond. He knew that was irreversible. 

You spoke again. “It will be better for you to go back. You have things there that you love. It would make more sense for you.” 

“Right,” Azriel gruffly replied.

You sighed, the sound getting lost in the gentle lapping of water. You opened your mouth to speak again, maybe to offer another reassurance, another hard truth, but the door to the patio opened, and your attention was drawn away from your rambling. 

“Y/n? I was hoping to get your opinion on—” 

Azriel rose from his seat in an instant, his expression becoming open, his mouth parting. You looked over your shoulder at the change, both devastated and unsurprised to see Elain in the doorway with a bowl resting on her hip. Azriel stepped forward and reached out a hand, instinct driving him to do… something. You bit into your cheek, hard, and turned your chin down. 

“Oh,” Elain flushed. You saw her edge the bowl away in your peripheral. “Hello. I thought y/n was alone out here. I wanted her to—y/n, would you like to join me in the kitchen, maybe?” 

“Do you need help?” Azriel inquired, gaze still fixed on Elain. 

You tasted blood on your tongue and tried to relax your jaw. Pain felt better than crying. Your cheek continued to bleed.

“Well, no,” Elain edged out, speaking slowly. If you looked, you would have seen her tilting her head toward you in a meaningful way. “I was just wanting her opinion. We often bake together. I was making a tart.”

Azriel nodded, opening his stance until he was between you and Elain. You looked back when your name was called once more, this time falling from Elain’s lips with a hint of anguished sympathy. It was a mistake to look at Azriel, you knew that, but you couldn’t help it. A quick pass over his face found him analyzing every inch of Elain’s, lost in the sight of her. His hands twitched, and you wished you had missed that, too. 

“Come to the kitchen with me,” Elain prompted, tilting her head to catch your attention. “It’s getting too cold out here.” 

You swallowed and righted yourself, nodding jerkily before rising from the chair. You’d been sitting for too long, and your legs protested, but Azriel was still staring at Elain, and so you moved past the pain. Elain gave you a kind smile as the blanket bunched up in your seat; you focused on that as you tried to walk past Azriel. As his fingers circled your wrist and gave a gentle tug. 

Your eyes fluttered shut, but he tugged you again, and you had no choice but to turn and look at him. Conflict raged on his face. His fingers spasmed around your wrist and he looked angry and sad and rife with uncertainty. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t—” 

He couldn’t finish. He kept opening his mouth, his shadows pulsing out and then returning to a cling around his shoulders, but no more sound came out. You reached for his hand, unwinding his fingers until your wrist was bare. 

“There are things you love—people. None of them are me.” 

Azriel’s shoulders heaved as he took in your words. “I could love you.” 

And you believed he wanted to so badly. But not for the right reasons. He had jumped up when Elain entered, completely forgotten about you or how he had just begged you to give him a chance to stay. Azriel—this Azriel of the past—wanted a mate. He wanted sure love. What he’d had with Elain had always been rocky and uncertain, but that was something you both had come to terms with. Over time. Over months. 

“Our love has never worked that way.” 

Elain was waiting for you when you turned around. 

~~

“She isn’t going to like that.” 

“She isn’t exactly at liberty to make decisions about this right now.” 

“And we are just going to trust that she won’t follow you?” 

“She won’t know. We won’t tell her until after.” 

“Rhys, that isn’t entirely fair.” 

“Would you rather she be in danger?” 

You huffed out an exasperated breath, pushing open the door to the High Lord’s study. The three people in the room stood frozen, staring at your entrance with wide, unblinking eyes. 

“Done talking about me?” you accused, brow raised. “Or shall I leave while you discuss my mental state a little more?” 

Feyre was the first to break the silence. “It wasn’t like that,” she shook her head. “We were discussing possibilities.” 

“And realities,” Rhysand offered. “Like the one where you will put yourself in unnecessary danger to get Azriel back.” 

“Unnecessary,” you quipped back, stomping past Cassian to stand at the High Lord’s desk. “This is Azriel. How can—how can you call anything to do with this unnecessary?” 

“Hey, not what he meant,” Cassian calmed. He moved forward and set a placating hand on your shoulder, squeezing it. He looked over your head. “Just tell her the plan. Easier that way.” 

Rhysand sighed, itching his jaw. “I want to bring Az to the rift again, just him and me. There was nothing in his memory about the switch—only a bright light before he woke up on the border. I think if I were to get close enough, I might be able to feel Azriel—our Azriel’s—mind and reach out to him. Helion doesn’t have any information on what this could be. There’s no literature, and Amren is stumped, too. Proximity may be our only solution.” 

“Okay, fine,” you nodded, waving a hand in the air. “Let’s go then. I would be useful. If the bond started to feel closer, we would know it was really him.” 

Rhysand was already shaking his head. “Bring you to the thing you’ve said you want to jump into?” 

“Yes. Yes, Rhys. If this were Feyre, you would have already gone in. But you don’t have any restrictions, do you? You’re the High Lord, so you don’t have to listen to anyone but yourself. Other people are in danger, and it’s still your word—”

Cassain said your name gently, softly, shaking your shoulder and bringing you to reason. You knew, again, that you weren’t being fair. The second you caught even a glimpse of the bond, you would nosedive into that rift, and your family wanted you safe. But you didn’t care about safe. You didn’t care about precautions. 

“Let them go alone first,” Feyre spoke from the other side of the room. “Let them feel around. Once they have a better understanding, you can go. I promise you that as High Lady. I won’t let anyone stop you if you promise not to go alone.” 

You weighed your options, suddenly very aware of the several tactics your family could implement to keep you grounded. There was a very real possibility that they would lock you away to keep you from becoming a flight risk, and although you knew how to winnow, your magic was thready on bad days. And every day was a bad day recently. 

You caught Rhysand’s eyes. “You will tell me everything you find?” you probed. “Even if it’s not good news.”

A hint of surprise flickered on Rhysand’s face. He quickly glanced at Feyre before nodding. “Yes. Everything.” 

“And… if you reach him—you’ll tell him I love him?” 

Rhysand’s shoulders fell from their defensive posture. Cassian squeezed your shoulder once more. “Yes,” the High Lord nodded. “Of course I will.” 

“And tell him that I wanted to come, but you wouldn’t let me.” 

“Azriel would be irate with me if you were there, you know that.” 

You felt your mouth twitch into a fleeting smile, remembering the times Azriel had been irate with Rhysand. Several involved you in places you shouldn’t be, doing things that the Shadowsinger was yanking you away from in an instant. Your smile vanished as you remembered that the Azriel you had now had moved just as fast upon Elain entering a room. 

“Just… make sure he knows I’m here. Waiting for him.” 

“I’m sure he’s already painfully aware.” 

You moved quickly, whipping your head around to find Azriel now in the room. His expression was placated by the kind of calm he used after long missions, and you’d only seen that expression a few times. It usually dissolved the moment he saw you, his body melting into your greeting. But now, this Azriel was using it around you. Because of you. 

“Azriel,” Feyre called. “You—” 

“I was listening, yes.” The Shadowsinger finally tore his eyes from you. “When are we going?” 

You felt your body tense, fingers curling into your palms. 

“In a few hours, if you’re up for it. I need to inform Helion that we’ll be on the border, but that shouldn’t take long.”

“Anyone else going?” 

Something kept you glued to Azriel, taking in every twitch of his muscle, every blink. He looked younger, you thought. You hadn’t noticed before. There was more sleep pressed into the crevices of his face, less sun along his cheeks. Maybe you were imagining things; six years were nothing to fae. 

“No,” Rhysand responded, shuffling things around his desk. “Better for just us to go. Less noise and less worry.” 

Azriel swallowed. “Okay. Come get me when it’s time.” 

He turned, left the room, and you were following him out before you could stop yourself. You got to the hall, unsure where you were going or how long you would trail after him, but Azriel decided that for you. He stopped mid-way down the hall, his shoulders lowering just a fraction, his head shaking imperceptibly. 

“Do not ask me again. I don’t know if I can say no.” 

Your hand, which had been outstretched without your knowing, lowered to your side. “I wasn’t going to ask anything.” 

Your mate—soon-to-be-mate—turned his head just far enough to see you. “You think I do not know you, but I knew you were going to ask to come—for him. I know you enough in my bones to hear you ask even when you did not.” 

Your lashes fluttered, a feeling working up your spine and caving in your chest. You pressed your lips together and rolled your eyes up to the ceiling in a desperate attempt to quell the pressure. It did not work. 

“Azriel.” You addressed him with finality, sure that after this conversation, you would need to lock yourself in a room until you heard of their return. There was no other way to stop yourself from following them. 

Hazel eyes met yours then, head on and searching. 

“Be careful,” you urged. “Please. I can’t—” 

“Don’t worry.” A sad upturn of his mouth. “I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize this future.”