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fieldofdaisiies · 1 year

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Azriel x Reader | A Court of Shadows & Dragons pt. 2

type: fluff-ish warning(s): none actually, violence towards the end word count: 3.8k words summary/request: As it has been requested, here is part two of ACOSAD, thank you for the love you have shown my story. And also a big thank you to @moonlightazriel for helping me with all the info about house of dragons, because I still have not seen it. Oh and I made a change in the tense it is written in.

Azriel fully settles down behind you, his strong thighs caging you in, his solid chest pressing against your back. You shift slightly, adjusting to him and drawing something like a silent growl from the male behind you. Although it makes you chuckle you also feel your toes curl at the rawness of that noise.

You glimpse over your shoulder, the corner of your mouth moving up. “Everything’s alright?”

The male with the shadows clears his throat, his gaze lifting to yours. “Everything’s perfect,” he says, offering you a small smile.

“Well, then, hands on my waist or arms around my waist.”

The male seems irritated for a moment, his brow arching. “You have to hold on, Lord Azriel. We are going to ride over hilly landscape to reach the Emerald Plains. I don’t want you to fall off.” It hits Azriel then that you are actually a princess and he…he takes some time to react. Clearing his throat again, this time louder, Azriel does as being told. His–Gods and Dragons, his scarred hands move to your waist, fingers curling ever so slightly. You shudder at the thought of what might have happened to him. It looks like he has been burned, or has burned himself. You cannot quite imagine the pain and you really want to ask what has happened, but then…it would be impolite, way too intrusive. Maybe you would ask later?

“That is alright, your…majesty?” Azriel fetches you back, and you need a short moment to ponder over what he has asked you.

And then–has he just called you your majesty? A fairly loud giggle leaves you and you bow your head. “Perfect. But please, it is Y/N. And if you insist on being formal then call me Lady Y/N or princess, but please don’t call me your majesty.”

Pink splotches appear on the male’s cheeks and he inclines his head, a tint of embarrassment lacing his features. “It is too formal,” you quickly add, hoping to ease some of his sudden tension.

Clicking you tongue you signal your horse to get going, falling into line with whom Azriel recognises as the male who has opened the gates for him, Cass and Nes. Speaking of those to, they are right behind the two of you, Cassian looking slightly scared and holding onto his mate for dear life.

“Lady Y/N, may I ask, do you also use the dragons to travel?” Nesta asks rather out of the blue, directing her horse to walk a little faster. You look at her over your shoulder.

“Yes. But only a few of us. It is actually just my family that uses them to travel. You…it is a bit complicated.” You smile at her, her expression all curious and impressed. So you continue, “We are bonded to them somehow. It happens at birth. And when you are bonded to a dragon you will also be allowed to ride them. They won’t allow anyone else to mount them and take them for a flight. They are highly majestic creatures and very loyal to the crown and obviously their bonded fae.”

“Now I am impressed,” Nesta mumbles, eyes wide open. Cassian hums in agreement, his hands tightly holding onto Nesta’s.

A warm chuckle leaves you, but it quickly dies down.

“Y/N!”

Your head snaps to the side at the sudden sharp voice piercing through the otherwise calm landscape. “Yes, my dearest brother?” you say in a slightly mocking voice that has the corner of Azriel’s mouth tip up. So this male is your brother, Azriel thinks to himself, wondering how such a male of such a height and cruel facade could be related to the lovely being that is you. The shadowsinger has no time to ponder for long when the male’s deadpan meets the him.

"Are you comfortable with him touching you?"

"I offered it, Aerond. So calm down.” “Y/N, you know about—“ “My purity. Of course. I won’t lose my virginity from a male sitting behind me on a horse. Unless—is that how it works? Is that how babies are made? Is that how—" “That is not funny, Y/N,” Aerond snarls, his gazes angry, his posture stiff.

“Oh, I find it highly amusing, brother. But enlighten me then? How does one lose her virginity if not like that?" Azriel can hardly contain his own laughter. He bites the inside of his cheeks, holding back to not have to become friend's with your brother's fist. That large male is scary and nearly a foot taller than Azriel, and although the Illyrian is a skilled warrior he knows he might lose this fight. And losing is something Azriel will never allow nor accept. So better not start a fight with that male in the first place.

“Ask you handmaidens at home, Y/N, but I know that you have a thing for those smutty books, so I believe you already know the answer to it.” Snorting, Aerond softly hits the side of his boot against his horse, making it move faster.

Turning your head slightly you roll your eyes, a blush creeping from your cleavage up to your face. Azriel chuckles lowly behind you, the sound so lovely, so raw, so natural. You like it. Actually you love it, it might become one of your favourite sounds.

The further you head out into the open landscape the cooler the wind gets and the more snow covers the landscape. On your own accord, you shift closer to the male, finding shelter in the warmth of his large frame.

There is no avoiding your scent. Azriel tries no to relish in it too long, in the scent —the earthy, woodsy smell— of your shampoo. He draws in a slow breath glancing past your shoulder, the horse steadily moving underneath the two of your.

“What is Prythian like, Lord Azriel?” The question comes rather out of the blue and startles our shadowsinger just a tiny bit as he has once again been slightly captured by your beauty, your smell and hasn’t been paying a lot of attention. Azriel clears his throat, palms turning just a tint sweaty.

“Azriel, also just Azriel for you. I am no lord,” he then finally says and it makes you turn your head. You glimpse at him over your shoulder, arching a brow. “You are no lord? You seemed like one, so well-mannered and polite,” you say and feel heat creep into your cheeks. A beautiful smile blooms on Azriel's face and he bows his head slightly. “I feel honoured to recieve such a compliment. Thank you, but it is true, I am no lord.”

Smiling, your turn back to the road, marvelling into the soft press of his thighs against your hips. “So what is it like? Prythian?”

“Ah, yes, right,” Azriel says and pauses for a moment, like he is deliberating what exactly to tell you and how. “Prythian is…alright. But I come from the Night Court. The most beautiful court in all of the continent. There are other courts, like Day, Summer, Dawn. They stand for different things and have or have not changes in seasons and so on…” You love how he babbles, his voice so beguiling to listen to. The slight rasp to it, the deep tenor, is like music in your ears. If he was a singer, you thought, you could listen to his music for hours. You don't want him to stop talking, wanting to know more about the country in the ocean so very far away.

“Enlighten me, please, what this all means.”

Azriel hums and you feel his fingertips press firmer into your hips. You like this feeling.

And so Azriel does. He tells you about the different courts, going very much into detail, and placing a big focus on explaining everything about the famous Night Court, his home. You love how soft his voice is when talking about his home, how in awe he sounds and how full of excitement he is to share this with you. Later he also asks you to tell him about Valyria and you do.

“My father and mother died around half a century ago, my brother, as he is the oldest out of us three and obviously the strongest, ascended the throne and that is mostly it,” you finish with your story. Azriel seems absolutely flabbergasted about everything you have told him, admiration lacing his features when he regards you silently from behind.

“Where do you shadows actually come from? The swirls around your body? Only if I may ask of course,” you say in a calm voice, peeking over your shoulder. Azriel is already looking at you, a faint pinkish tone blooming high on his cheeks when you catch him looking at you.

His hand gives your waist a barely-there squeeze when he inclines his head, eyes aglow and his shadows coming alive around his body. They start swirling, stretching out, somehow like they are happy that you finally asked about them.

“I am a shadowsinger,” Azriel says. “Through the shadows I can hear and feel what others might not notice.” Your mouth forms an O while your eyes widen and you stare at him. “Well, tell me then. What am I feeling right now?” You roll your shoulders back, hands still tightly holding onto the reigns when you crane your neck. Azriel’s breath stops for a moment, his eyes fully focused on yours. You are the most beautiful female in the entire world, he is sure about that. And you are smart. And kind. And speak your mind when you feel like it. You are—

“Is there something on my face?” You fetch the shadowsinger, that has been caught in utter admiration, back to reality. Your grin widens when you see the slight embarrassment creep into his features and he gives his head a tiny shake. “No, nothing. I am sorry.” “Don’t apologise. I feel…flattered. Males normally don’t look at me like that.” Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes, it is sad somehow. “That I cannot imagine. You are…very beautiful,” Azriel says, gathering all confidence he has, his heart pounding in his throat, his skin prickling and a bit of cold sweat building up on the back of his neck. Colour fills your cheeks your cheeks when you lower your gaze, looking at your horses mane. You draw in a shaky breath and giggle softly. “Thank you so much,” you whisper, unable to avoid the silly grin from spreading over your whole face. You don’t know if he does it deliberately or not, but Azriel moves closer and a shudder courses through your body at the solid press against your back.

“To be honest most males are afraid to even glance at me since they know my brothers and know that they would probably slice their chests open if looking at me for too long.”

You turn back to Azriel, wanting to see his expression, but it has gone back to unreadable, indifferent almost.

“You appreciate that but sometimes you feel like you are a little too over-protected,” Azriel says, matter of fact, his gaze momentarily dropping to your lips. Your mouth gapes and you furrow your brows.

“That is what my shadows told me.” The corner of Azriel’s lips tips up, placing a lazy smirk on his face. But it vanishes quickly, turning into a soft smile.

“Yes, yes, that is what I am feeling. Exactly this. I am impressed,” you breathe, eyes trailing over Azriel’s face.

You continue to talk a little about the upcoming war as well as the sword you are looking for. YOu yourself have obviously heard about the legends and stories surrounding the sword, but have never believed it would be somewhere here.

The air gets even colder the further you travel, now heading towards the big Forest of Despair. You don’t really know who has given the forest that name and why is it called like that. You have only ever been here twice in your life, have always avoided it. You lean closer to Azriel, inhaling deeply when you glance at the large, almost black trees towering in front of you.

“The Forest of Despair,” you inform the shadowsinger behind you. “We have to ride through it. Hopefully without a stop. Then come the Emerald Plains which are—“

You cut yourself of. The Emerald Plains, as beautiful as the name is, where territory that was technically not part of the kingdom, so the king had no power over it. It separated from the kingdom ages ago due to uproars from the people living there. Now it was mostly used for illegal businesses as the no law would account for that place.

You swallow the lump in your throat, knuckles turning white from how tightly you hold onto the reigns. “We have to be careful there. Really careful.” “Why is this place dangerous?” a female voice asks behind you. Nesta and Cassian, Azriel’s companions, fall in line with you. The latter looks rather pale, maybe even a bit green-ish and you get the impression that riding was the preferred way of transportation for the general.

“It is no longer, or rather since around two centuries, under the rule of the kingdom. They separated and now this area knows no law. We just have to be careful. It is still morning so maybe we are lucky and not too many people are around.”

The large trees slowly cage you in, making it even cooler now that they block the sunlight. The Forest of Despair is just a small forest, so will manage to ride through it within around twenty minutes. The leaves are a dark brown, almost black, hanging low. Not only are their trees with leaves, there also pines tries, the needles covering the dirty ground.

“It is rumored that some lesser fae live here. Tiny mischievous fairies,” you say to Azriel in a whisper, not wanting to draw attention to you. “No one has ever seen them, but there are rumors and legends.” Azriel hums in acknowledgment and looks around in the forest, his gaze momentarily meeting Cassian and Nesta’s who look equally uneasy. It is so dark, so cold, so…odd in this forest. It looks like all life has been sucked from this place and Azriel can hardly imagine that this is not the most dangerous part of the journey.

Your body goes rigid when you spot the end of the forest in the distance. It is just a white spot, telling you that the outside is also covered in snow again. It is obviously not the snow that scares you, but what you will meet there. Your muscles stiffen, your breath getting stuck in your throat.

Azriel notices it, his arm sliding around your middle, almost like he is trying to protect you from whatever lurks behind the darkness of those trees. But then his gaze follows yours and he also looks at the white hole in the the distance between the large black trees. He leans in, brushing the hair from your shoulder, his nose touching you neck. “The Emerald Plains?” His close proximity, his raspy voice, how his nose touched yours, it does something to you. And although it feels very wrong and odd in this moment, your toes curl and heat feels your lower belly. Your breath his ragged when you bow your head, unable to speak. Azriel leans back, his thumb smoothing over your hipbone, sending a bolt of awareness through your whole body.

As much as you want to stop this moment right there, freeze it and never leave it, there is no avoiding that you slowly reach the end of the forest.

A horse neighs loudly and it is Aerond who holds up his hand, a large sword tightly clasped in it. “Weapons at the ready!” he orders. “We don’t know what expects us out there. Get in formation. No matter what happens, Y/N, is and will be protected at any moment. And yes, lovely sister, I know you can protect yourself, but you are still the princess of this kingdom. So, her life before ours.”

You heart clenches at that because you know they are dead serious. But you want let them spill blood for you. You will fight and protect yourself if necessary and you will also fight and protect the others, if necessary. You push your coat pack, hand sliding over your thigh to free the dagger strapped to it. It is made of… “Shadowstone,” you breathe and lean into Azriel. “Shadowstone, what a coincidence, huh?”

A low rumble leaves Azriel. his eyes trained on the onyx dagger in your hand that has one diamond at the back–it has the same colour as his siphons. He is has no time to answer properly though.

The moment sunlight falls over you again, your eyes burning when they get in contact with the bright white of the landscape, shouts and screams holler from all around you. Some voices belong to your own people, but most of the growls come from other people. Those people, you wouldn’t have wanted to meet. Azriel draws his own hunting knife simultaneously to you lifting your dagger in front of your body. Nesta and Cassian do just the same, both clasping their swords tightly in their hands, ready to fight. But the attack does not come immediately.

“Look at what he have here. Prince Scarface of Vallyria and our glorious, untouched maiden Princess of Vallyria.”

You don’t recognise the voice, have no face to it, until a tall male with a bold head steps forward, sneering. You still don’t know his name, but you know that you have seen him before.

“Get out of the way, Torgan,” Aerond snarls, pivoting towards him. “Tell your males to get lost. We just want to pass. We mean no harm.” Laughter erupts all around you which has cold sweat break out on the back of your neck.

“The crown means now harm. Did you hear this friends?” Shouts and growls fill the otherwise so silent Emerald Plains. This place was not under Valyrian reign and gods, this scared you so much. No matter what those males and females would do to you, they would not face any consequences.

“She is still as prude and untouched as a few years ago?” His gaze moves to yours, tongue poking out of his mouth to lick over his lips. You sit up straight, your chin held high, looking down on him.

“Be careful how you speak about the Princess of Valyria.” You startle, not having expected him to speak up. Not having expected his voice to be so loud, so powerful, so full of rage. On your own accord, your hand moves over Azriel’s squeezing. The male called Torgan laughs, loud and vicious, and does not even pay attention to Azriel before looking back at your brother. “She got herself a protector now, huh?” he sneeres, shoving his sword into the snow-covered ground in front of him. “Look, Aerond, we are not here to chit-chat, you know what we want.” “And we cannot give that to you. You wanted separation, you wanted to be free of the crown and without being under the rule of the crown you want get what you are asking for.”

Targon’s mouth forms a straight line, his shoulders and chest rising with a deep inhale. “Wrong,” he says, matter-of-fact, “we always get what we want. Attack!”

Swords are drawn, shouts and growls are released. You jump of your horses, Azriel, Nesta, Cassian doing as all of you, ready to fight off each and everyone who comes at you. You duck under one males arm, sliding your foot out to make him fall before thrusting your dagger into his chest. Blood leaks from his mouth when you face yet another attacker, his face making contact with your dagger rather quickly and then another male is met with the kick of your foot.

But there are too many of them. You are only a good dozen of people, and they are…they must be close to fifty people.

Your heart beats frantically against your rib cage, anguish and fear filling your entire system. But also rage and fury. A dash of adrenaline rushes through your body when you manage to fight of yet another person. You have also already taken some blows, your upper lips is cut, your left eye probably soon brushing as an elbow has made contact with it. There is also a small sash below your ribcage, but you try to not pay too much attention to it.

While fighting you always try to keep and eye on Azriel and Aerond, not wanting to lose them out of sight. A hand fists the hair at the back of your head, yanking you backwards and into a hard chest. You cry out when sharp pain explodes in your rib cage, knowing that the attacker that had probably broken some ribs. Azriel, distracted by your scream, does not see who is coming for him. He does not notice the sword coming down on him, slicing through his right wing. The scream of utter and pure pain that leaves him is no longer fae nor mortal, it is something primal and it is something you have never heard before. Your heart cracks, your vision going blurry when you shove the male away, heading for the fallen Illyrian warrior.

And just when you think that everything is lost, a large shadows falls over you. The flapping of leathery wings in the sky above you drowns out all the other noises, their roaring buzzing in your ear. Your slam down on the ground next to Azriel, cradling his head in your palms. Your gaze lifts to the sky where your dragon, his large wings blocking the sun, sends a flash over fire right over a good dozen of those who are attacking you. “Vermithor,” you breathe, hope blossoming in your chest. You dragon’s brothers and sisters are in tow, flying lowly and eliminating everything in the wake of their fire. “Stay with me, Azriel,” you breathe when a low groan draws your attention back to the male in your arms. “Stay with me. We can fix this. It is just your wing, we will heal this. But stay with me.”

Azriel blinks one eye open, dipping his chin slowly. “I’ll try my best,” he mumbles, his fingers curling towards his palm. A loud roar fills the sky above you when a big blow of fire parts your dragons lips, and in its wake turning every living being into dust.

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