#heir

Azriel x reader

Summary: Elain whispers a name, and something deep inside Azriel stirs, a reaction rare and unsettling, one he cannot understand. The shadows echo it, and suddenly he knows he cannot ignore her.

Sweat rolled down Azriel’s temple and disappeared into the collar of his leathers. The wind screamed in his ears as he flew, wings cutting through the night. Cassian’s voice carried behind him, loud and exasperated.

“Slow down, shadows! You’re going to take out my wings trying to prove a point!”

Azriel ignored him. He angled higher where the air thinned and the stars stretched endless above the world.

Since the war with Hybern ended, sleep had been a stranger. Every time he closed his eyes something inside him stirred awake again, a tension with no name and no end. He knew that feeling. He had lived with it his entire life, but now it felt different. There was no war to fight, no enemy to hunt, no monster to kill. Only peace. And somehow that was worse.

Rhys and Feyre had found joy in rebuilding. Cassian and Nesta were mated, spending their days between sparring and loving each other so fiercely that everyone else learned to stay out of the way. Amren had settled with Varian in her own sharp and feral way. Even Elain had begun to find her footing again. She laughed more, sometimes even visited Lucien in the Day Court.

Everyone had someone.

Everyone except him.

He filled the quiet with work until Rhys forced him to rest. He helped Cassian train the priestesses, pushed himself harder, further, faster. He even let Gwyn’s bright humor pull him into friendship, though they both quickly realized that was all it would ever be.

So he trained alone. It was the only thing that quieted the noise in his mind.

“If you can’t keep up, just say it,” Azriel called over his shoulder, his voice even.

Cassian’s laugh echoed across the wind. “Please. You couldn’t lose me if you tried. You fly like an old man.”

Azriel’s mouth curved slightly. “And yet I’m still ahead of you.”

“You mean barely,” Cassian said, drawing level. “What are we doing, Az? You trying to outfly your thoughts again?”

Azriel didn’t answer. He tilted his wings and dropped into a dive. The wind howled. Cassian swore and followed, landing hard beside him on the balcony of the House of Wind.

Cassian flexed his wings, grinning. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

Azriel tugged his leathers tighter. “You talk too much.”

Cassian laughed, clapping him on the back. “And yet you keep me around. Must be love.”

“Or pity.”

Cassian’s grin widened. “I’ll take either.”

“Come on,” he said as they stepped inside. “Nesta’s still in the ring. She’ll say I’m avoiding her again.”

Nesta was, in fact, still training when they reached the courtyard. Her braid was loose and sweat gleamed along her neck as she corrected one of the priestesses’ stances. The air rang with the sound of steel and breath.

Cassian leaned against the railing, arms crossed, eyes soft with pride. “Look at them. I can barely keep up anymore.”

“She’s effective,” Azriel said, watching the sharpness in Nesta’s movements.

Cassian chuckled. “You mean terrifying and effective.”

Nesta turned toward them as if sensing their eyes. “You’re late,” she called, voice cool.

Cassian spread his hands. “Azriel needed air. I’m being supportive.”

“You’re being annoying,” she said.

“Same thing.”

Her eyes rolled skyward but her mouth twitched, a smile threatening before she turned back to the ring.

Azriel stayed a moment longer, watching the priestesses train. There was strength in the rhythm of their blades, quiet and deliberate. He admired it. They were rebuilding themselves piece by piece, just as he was trying to do.

Dinner that night was loud. Cassian’s laughter boomed, Mor’s stories filled the air, Feyre smiled softly beside Rhys as he watched her like she was the only thing that existed. Even Amren looked entertained, in her own cool and predatory way.

Azriel sat at his usual place across from Rhys, Elain beside him. Her presence was gentle, grounding.

Cassian was in the middle of another ridiculous story when Mor cut in. “That is not how it happened,” she said, laughing.

“You weren’t even there,” Cassian replied.

“I was the one who saved you,” she said.

“You distracted the wrong guard.”

“I distracted the right one,” Mor said. “He just didn’t survive it.”

Rhys chuckled quietly. “Remind me to never send the two of you on a diplomatic mission together.”

Amren lifted her glass. “Diplomacy is wasted on them.”

“Better than being boring,” Cassian muttered.

Feyre laughed softly and leaned against Rhys’s shoulder. The warmth of the room wrapped around them all.

Until Elain went still.

Her fork slipped from her hand and hit the plate with a sound that cut through the chatter.

“Elain?” Feyre asked, her voice careful.

Elain didn’t look at her. Her gaze had gone unfocused, lips parting as if she were listening to something none of them could hear.

“She ran,” Elain said quietly. “Long ago, before the courts were divided.”

The table went silent.

“She was meant to rule them all,” she continued, her voice distant. “But she hid. She hid so well that even the stars forgot her.”

Cassian straightened in his chair. Nesta froze.

“Elain,” Feyre said again, cautious and soft, “who are you talking about?”

Elain blinked, her voice trembling. “The heir. The last one. She’s alive.”

Then her eyes cleared. Confusion washed over her face. “I don’t know what I just said.”

No one spoke.

Dinner ended quietly.

Later, they gathered in Rhys’s office. The fire burned low, shadows stretching long across the marble floor.

Cassian paced, restless. “You can feel it. The human queens are whispering again. Spring is a mess. Autumn’s too quiet. If someone doesn’t take control soon, this peace will break.”

Feyre frowned. “You think we should be the ones to do that.”

Cassian glanced at Rhys. “You already lead, whether you admit it or not. Maybe Prythian needs that officially. One ruler. One command.”

Rhys leaned back in his chair, calm as ever. “Unity doesn’t come from a crown.”

Azriel stood near the window, watching the lights of Velaris flicker far below. His shadows curled along the glass. “He isn’t wrong,” he said. “Division has always been our weakness.”

Feyre’s gaze found him. “And you think one ruler would fix that?”

Azriel’s expression didn’t change. “Someone will try, eventually. Better it be someone we trust.”

Amren, who had been silent until then, made a low sound of amusement. “Perhaps that’s why Elain opened her pretty mouth tonight.”

Cassian turned. “You think she was seeing something real?”

Amren smiled, all teeth and shadows. “You’d be a fool to dismiss her visions.”

Rhys’s tone sharpened. “You know something.”

“I know many things,” she said lazily, turning her wine glass in her hand. “Some are better left sleeping.”

Mor crossed her arms. “You’re talking about the old stories again.”

Amren’s eyes gleamed. “Stories have roots. Sometimes they still breathe.”

Feyre tilted her head. “Do you remember the name?”

For a moment Amren’s expression shifted. The air seemed to still. Then she said, “Y/N.”

The name hung in the air like the echo of a bell.

Azriel froze. His heart stumbled once before steadying again. His shadows recoiled from the sound, then crept closer, restless and uncertain.

Feyre glanced around the room. “Who is that?”

Amren finished her wine and set the glass down. “Someone the world forgot,” she said quietly. “Perhaps wisely.” She paused at the door, the firelight catching the edge of her smile. “But not everything buried stays lost.”

And she was gone.

The room stayed silent long after the door closed.

Cassian’s usual humor was nowhere to be found. Rhys sat thoughtful and still, his eyes on the flames. Feyre’s hand was tight around his.

Azriel said nothing. The name echoed inside him, unfamiliar yet heavy, as if it belonged somewhere deep in his bones.

Heir, the trainer in Treviso, is the same Heir that teaches you the Assassin specialization in DAI as a rogue… my main Inky is a rogue and I didn't connect the dots until now🧍‍♀️

March to Camelot 2026: #2 Heir

I'm continuing with these, but I'm very much behind and none of the pictures I've done are particularly 'finished'. I'm just sketching... Number 4 is currently in the works; I still have to start on 5 and 6. The set palettes are a real struggle - I feel like I don't know how to use them and am just slapping colours on without understanding why.

March to Camelot: Heir

'Wrought by a queen for the hand of the chosen / From fish scale and currents and winter's reply / Brought from the deep by a prophet who knows / In the arms of the water again it will lie'

I've always been enchanted by Heather Dale's description of Excalibur. I leave it to the viewer to decide if the Faërie Runes say "Take Me Up" or "Cast Me Away".

Graphite and coloured pencils on plain paper (click for better quality).