#acomas

If the "3 Brothers x 3 Sisters" trope isn't your thing, then ACOTAR might not be the series for you. SJM’s narrative patterns are undeniable. When you break it down, the architecture of the sisters' stories is perfectly symmetrical:

1. Feyre & Rhysand

Role: High Lady + High Lord (Rulers)

The Trio Friendship: Feyre + Mor + Amren (The Ruling Women of the IC)

Dynamic: Feyre rules with the Ruler. They represent the Political Authority of the Night Court.

2. Nesta & Cassian

Role: Warrior + General

The Trio Friendship: Nesta + Gwyn + Emerie (The Valkyries)

Dynamic: Nesta fights with the General. They represent the Military Strength of the Night Court.

Next in line:

3. Elain & Azriel

Role: Seer + Spymaster

The Trio Friendship: Elain + Nuala + Cerridwen (The Spies/Wraiths)

Dynamic: Elain spies with the Spymaster. They represent the Intelligence Unit of the Night Court.

Why Elain is the Ultimate Spy: While everyone thought Elain was just baking with Nuala and Cerridwen (Azriel’s direct subordinates), she was likely training in stealth. he he he

Azriel: Gathers intel through Shadows (Hearing, infiltrating, moving unseen).

Elain: Gathers intel through Sight (Seeing the future, truth, and the hidden).

Nuala & Cerridwen: Gather intel by Blending In (Wraiths/Invisible servants).

The Foreshadowing is Loud:

In ACOSF, Nesta is startled because she didn't hear Elain approach at all. Her immediate thought: "Is Azriel training her? Or are Nuala and Cerridwen?"

Feyre explicitly tells Azriel that Elain is better at secret-keeping than him.

Elain gifting Azriel headache powder implies she notices things others don't.

azriel x rhysand’s sister [ y/n ]

synopsis : y/n is lost and finds herself on the roof where the sight of blood triggers memories long thought forgotten

warnings : trauma, blood, slight gore, ptsd, dagger-use, fluff, cursing

word count : 2,561

notes : OK IM SO SORRY ITS BEEN A WHILE SINCE IVE POSTED, but here's the next chapter :)) also idk how good the fluff in this chapter is bc I've never exactly written it so if you have any problems with it, just comment how i can improve. this is also barely edited bc I've been writing for hours now and i don't feel like fixing stuff. also I'm sorry this is a bit short

You were lost. That part was apparent. It had been a few weeks since that dinner and you’d been avoiding everybody. Of course, it wasn’t easy to dodge people trapped in a room, so you had begged for days with Mor, asking her to let you walk around the house.

“I need to walk,” you had said, adding a slight whine to your voice, hoping it would get annoying to the point where Mor would just give in. “Just for an hour or two, I need to exercise.”

“You can walk just fine in here,” Mor had contradicted, sweeping an arm around her to gesture at the cramped room. “So much room.”

You raised an eyebrow, kicking a chair next to the bed, just to prove that there was something everywhere. “There’s actually no room. Let’s see how well you do in confinement.”

Mor sighed deeply, standing up from the bed and giving you a pointed glance. “I’ll talk to Rhys, see what I can do.” You had nodded enthusiastically, but dropped the fake manner as soon as Mor left the room.

Rhysand had agreed apparently, because the next day, Mor had opened the door, gesturing you outside, and trailed you as you walked around the house. At the time, you had paid barely any attention to your surroundings, just trying to lose Mor, but she followed close behind. A week later, here you were, freedom to walk around the house given to you as a courtesy. You turned the corner, hoping to bump into someone, just so you could ask where you were. The entire purpose of these walks was to scope the area so if—when you had slaughtered the High Lord, you could make a quick exit. A couple more twists and turns led you straight to a stairway, leading up to another level probably. With no other choice, you climbed the stairs, but when you opened the grand double doors, expecting to find more hallways, you found yourself on the roof.

You froze as you realized there were around two dozen other fae surrounding you. Your eyes darted around the large, open space, taking in the stone floor and the short walls that encircled the border of the roof. Your eyes immediately caught on the rack of swords and daggers lined up against the sides. You took another step onto the roof and was met with the sound of clashing metal. Hooded females, cloaked females, and females in leathers were scattered around the roof deck, holding longswords and swinging them against each other.

Training, you realized. 

All the females moved with perfect precision, dancing around each other and stabbing with their weapons. Watching them, in the back, two Illyrian males kept a close eye on the females and barked commands for arms to be straightened or legs to be stabilized. Every once in a while, one of them would walk towards a female and politely fix an arm or leg position.

A blade glinted against the morning sun and the swing went awry. The blade sliced one of the females’ arm and there was a distinct curse from the two males in the back.

You felt your legs lock up and the heavy, metal scent of blood drifted your way. Your eyes focused on the large cut, the redness of the blood making your head spin.

One of the Illyrians—Cassian—jogged up to the female with a roll of bandages and immediately started wrapping her arm. You clenched your fist, feeling your airway close up and you closed your eyes on instinct. Wrong move.

Images started to form in the darkness behind your eyelids and you shivered as they cleared and the colors sharpened.

You were looking down at your hands, fresh blood gushing from the multitude of wounds inflicted by the blade in the King’s hand. You were shaking as your King made another step towards you, the dagger angled toward your heart.

“Do you remember now?” he had said. “Or do I need to make you remember some more?”

“N-no, please! I c-can’t remember! I don’t know w-what you’re talking about!” you stuttered, watching the weapon dip with every one of the King’s steps.

“Try harder,” he had said with a sinister smile, slowly bringing the blade to your upper arm—the only unmarred spot on your arms now—and dragged the dagger across your skin. Blood followed immediately after the blade left its mark and the stinging pain came soon after. You gritted your teeth and heard the King laugh faintly, delighting in your pain.

You snapped your eyes wide open, your breaths coming in faster now. When had that happened? you wondered. You dropped your gaze to your arms now, finding no trace of the punishment. The King had never slit your arms, the worst punishment he had inflicted on you being the whipping you had gotten after returning from the Continent late and with no new information. But he had never taken a blade to you.

What was that then? you asked yourself. Your mind making things up?

I don’t know! you wanted to shout, but you didn’t exactly believe that. You rubbed your arms hard, trying to get rid of the cold metal feeling of the dagger dragging over your skin. But your mind wouldn’t let you forget.

Your breaths came in faster and faster, the air barely making it into your lungs before being pushed out again. Your vision swam and your head hurt. You wrapped your arms tightly over yourself, trying to get some warmth into your body, but the stinging pain multiplied tenfold and you felt it all over your body—the burning fire and a sharp stabbing.

You clenched your eyes closed and shivered, letting the calming darkness from the staircase envelop you and soothe your pain. You called for the cloud of night and a cool tingling started along your back. You released a small breath and opened your eyes slowly.

Endless darkness graced you and you watched as a muddied figure approached you, his distorted edges blending in with the night sky.

You sucked in a breath as his silhouette cleared up and the distinct outline of the King was before you. Two more figures appeared behind him, their smoky bodies seemingly drifting towards each other. They stopped at your side, each of them placing a burning, hot finger on either of your temples.

“Clear her mind,” the king told the twin figures and they nodded obediently before a sharp push shattered your mental walls and two presences clouded your mind. Their fingers burned hotter, the fire searing your very soul and you smothered a handful of screams, biting your cheeks to prevent any sound from escaping your mouth.

You could hear the smirk in his voice as the King stepped closer and directly into your face. “You will be a good spy for me, won’t you?”

“She will be once we erase all her memories,” one of the twins said, their androgynous voice drifting through your head and wiped away entirely.

“No, don’t wipe them all. Hide them. If the High Lord ever comes looking for her, we need her to be responsive in a way, just so the High Lord knows that we have his daughter and not some glamoured female.”

The fire in your head reared as the twins forced every one of your memories into a small box. It was near bursting when the last of your memories were crammed inside. A small trigger could cause the entire chest to explode, you thought before the words were washed away as well. 

The twins slammed the box shut tightly, the reverberations echoing through your head and the sparks of fire that followed making you release a pain-filled grunt.

Where your limbs were once free to move, you found them bound tightly with wisps of light. The binds flashed brightly and your eyes stung.

“Now, let’s see if she’s mine,” the King cackled. “Let’s make some more memories, shall we?” He lifted an iron poker that seemed to materialize out of thin air. He waved it around in the fire of your mind and jammed it straight into your heart and only then did you release all the screams that had been building within you, letting the fire that spread in your body take control.

“y/n,” you heard through the fiery pain. Two hands landed on your shoulder and you flinched back, remembering the twin hands burning your temples.

“y/n.” You kept your hands pinned to your sides, clenched into fists. “y/n.” There was a sudden blue glow, the faint light struggling to make itself be seen in the suffocating darkness. Six more blue lights flickered on, the seven stones scattered over scaly black leather.

“y/n,” Azriel repeated again, his concerned eyes boring into your own. “Are you okay?” You shuddered against his stare. You wrapped your hand around his left forearm and felt his icy cold skin. You were burning.

“Water,” you rasped, feeling the fire sear your throat. You tugged lightly on his arm for him to start walking, but made no move yourself. When Azriel saw you couldn’t take a step on your own, he wrapped an arm around your waist and made you lean all your weight onto him. He half carried, half dragged you down the stairs, walking through the halls to get to the kitchen. Azriel gently helped you onto a stool and propped you against the marble counter before quickly filling a glass of water.

He offered it to you and you took it with shaky hands before taking a tentative sip.

“Are you okay?” he asked again, leaning against the counter beside you.

You nodded as you quickly gulped down the rest of the water, feeling the fire rear up and fight against the liquid. You motioned for more water and he quickly obliged, a full glass set before you within seconds. You downed that cup and the fire receded slightly. Azriel kept refilling the glass and you practically inhaled the liquid as the water calmed the burning. After about ten glasses, the fire became a dull sting and you slumped further onto the counter.

Azriel walked around you and took the stool next to you, seeming to hesitate before asking, “What happened?” You contemplated your answer for a while, but what had happened was none of his business, so you responded with the only logical answer you could think of, “Nothing.”

He didn’t seem to believe you, naturally, but he didn’t push it. Both of you stayed silent for a few more minutes, the calm that came with it pushing the lingering tendrils of darkness away.

The clear mind allowed you to think more clearly and you studied Azriel’s features. His eyes were the clearest hazel color, the hints of amber standing out in the morning light. His facial structures were angular and sharp, lips slightly parted as he stared back at you. With all his features combined, they created an absolute masterpiece. And what seemingly was the first time, you thought, *Azriel is handsome*.

When his wandering eyes met yours, you dropped your gaze to the empty glass sitting on the counter beside you. You cringed inwardly as you realized you all but commanded the Shadowsinger to fill you glass after glass of water.

“Sorry,” you muttered, throat still slightly sore.

“For what?” he asked gently.

“For making you pour me water for about ten minutes straight,” you answered.

The corner of his lips pulled upward, “It was my pleasure.” Amusement glittered in his eyes, but he sobered up quickly when he remembered the reason for the water. “Are you sure you’re okay? You were screaming and—”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’m okay,” you interrupted. His eyebrows furrowed in concern, but you ignored that.

“Do you need more water?” he asked. You lifted your gaze again to meet his and stared into its deep hazel color for a few seconds before shaking your head.

He paused again, taking you in. “What were you doing on the roof?”

It seemed like weeks ago since you’d been wandering the halls of the House of Wind. “I got lost, that’s all.”

“Do you need help getting back to your room?” he asked, and his offer was so sincere it hit something within you. He was being kind. Too kind. Your mind sharpened and you realized how close you and Azriel were. Your faces were only inches apart, both of you leaning toward each other on the countertop. You quickly withdrew yourself as you re-sorted your thoughts. You seemed to remember how Azriel and his brothers had interrogated you in their dungeon, but then you remembered the faint memory of the King, Brannagh, and Dagdan hovering over you and wiping your memories—or rather, hiding them.

You stood up on shaky legs, but when Azriel reached out to help steady you, you snapped, “I can help myself, thank you very much. I don’t need help from an Illyrian bastard.” Before you could regret your words, you stormed out of the room quickly, not caring that you had no idea how to get back to your room. You would figure it out eventually. Just like you would figure out the mess of your mind.

+ + +

azriel’s pov

He watched you stomp away, your steps too weak and too light to carry any anger. He had thought, maybe just for a few seconds, that you were actually opening up to him and he would have his friend back, but just as fast as that thought had come, it had been dissipated quickly when you had jerked back and stormed out.

He watched your figure disappear around the corner and his shadows drifting around the house, as usual, searching for any type of threat—even more at attention after your arrival—caught up on some of the words you were muttering as you left.

“Fuck my mind,” you were saying. His shadows curled over his ear and relayed some more sentences that they could catch flowing out of your mouth, whispering in your melodic voice.

“Stupid memories, why do they have to come back *now*. I’m completely fine with hating Azriel.”

“I don’t need this right now. I’m supposed to be focusing on my mission, not wondering about some fucking memory from centuries ago.”

Azriel scattered his shadows around the house, looking for Rhysand and when one shadow drifted back carrying his location, he ran to his brother’s office and barged in through the door where Rhysand was hovering over some paperwork.

“Rhys, y/n remembers,” he said in a rush, breathing a little heavy from the seven flights up, taken within seconds.

His High Lord stood up quickly and walked around the desk to stand directly in front of Azriel.

“What do you mean ‘remembers’?” Rhysand asked, trying to keep the hope from leaking into his voice.

“y/n. She remembered some memories of hers from before Hybern—” he said, cutting himself off before realizing you had never actually said such a thing. They were definitely memory relapses, but maybe not from before her ‘death’.

“What are you saying?” Rhys asked.

“I’m saying, there’s a chance—we have a chance. We might be able to get y/n back,” Azriel breathed, and this time, Rhys didn’t hold back. The hope shone in his star-flecked eyes and it lightened both of their hearts.

→ chapter 5 || violet dreams masterlist || complete masterlist

1. How gavriel and aedion 's mother fell in love

2. Dorian and Manon life after koa

3. whether elide found any power. And lorcan as a dad.

4. Aedion as evangeline's dad