Shadowsinger

Chapter 35

This one is short, I didn't want to rush the next one, so I'm doing it as it's own chapter so it doesn't get too long, hope you all had a great holiday! xx

*****

Gwyn had slept deeper than she had for years, wrapped in Azriel's arms, shielded by his wings, her breathing easier than she remembered, her heart lighter. There was no clear way to explain it, but she'd felt something at Catrin's grave, not an emotion, and she hadn't seen anything, but she'd sensed some sort of presence while Azriel had spoken. A phantom scent had almost filled the air, there, and yet not, hers, and yet different. In some form, Catrin had been there, and she had helped Gwyn to let go, to take the next step towards truly healing. It still hurt, would continue to do so for some time, but the ache was less, the sadness of loss rather than the deep hurt of denial.

She sighed, picturing her sister among the females training before her, her smile widening when Nesta tapped her shoulder,

"Where did you go?"

"I'm here," Nesta raised an eyebrow, "Yesterday," she took a deep breath, but it wasn't fear now, the fear that she was somehow replacing her sister had gone, she just wanted to choose her words, "Azriel took me to see my sister's grave, I think you would have liked her, all of you," Nesta smiled, but allowed Gwyn to speak the words she needed to, "I'd like you and Emerie to come next time, I would have asked yesterday, but I needed to just see her first. It was a visit long overdue, I was just thinking about her," Nesta gently brushed Gwyn's hair back, "You don't have to say anything, I just wanted to tell you,"

"Thank you, I'd be honored to come with you next time, day or night,"

"Thank you." Gwyn leaned against her friend, took one final breath, and as she exhaled, she let go, drew her mind back to the present. "I was thinking," she started, and Nesta hummed to say she was listening, "Have we thought about how the medics will function on a battlefield? Who will lead them? Will they act as one unit, or several smaller ones?"

"You know what," Nesta laughed, "I have no idea, but I'd bet my sword that Cass has had some thoughts,"

"One of those rare occasions," Gwyn teased, laughing when Nesta shoved her lightly,

"Only I'm allowed to bully my mate, pick on your own," she chuckled, and Gwyn's gaze immediately snapped to Azriel, coaching a pair of females as they sparred. Nesta hadn't realized what she'd said, not really, but she couldn't imagine herself with anyone else, so maybe it didn't matter that there was no bond, that maybe he wasn't her mate, or maybe he was, and she didn't know. But it didn't matter, she had chosen him, and nothing would change that. 

"Have you seen Laylah recently?" Gwyn asked, tearing her gaze back to Nesta,

"Not really, why?" 

"She really impressed me the other day, she's skilled, but not arrogant and she supports the others. I would have no hesitation about suggesting her to lead them, at least with support that is." Nesta glanced around, and Gwyn pointed to where the Illyrian female was sitting with several others, reviewing different herbs and remedies with Madja and Elain. She was leading the others, offering little hints to help them if needed, and it was natural, almost as if she didn't realize she was doing it.

"I'll keep an eye out for her," Nesta mused, but broke off as the door opened and a red-faced Morrigan rushed in. Almost quicker than Gwyn could think, Emerie was there, standing beside the blonde female, speaking quickly and quietly to her. She stood, quietly crossing to hear the conversation,

"No, I'm fine," Mor panted, "We just got a report in, the rebels have landed, just an advance force, but they're marching on a small Illyrian village. They came from Montesere, no idea if there's any sort of alliance." Mor paused for a moment to catch her breath, gaze fixed on Azriel, "There's only females and children, and those who can't fight in that village, it was supposed to be out of the way, they'll be slaughtered,"

"Rhys?" Cassian's voice was like ice, 

"Knows, he's gathering the Darkbringers, we need division one and two of the legion,"

"Five minutes," Cassian promised, gripping Azriel's arms as they vanished,

"We'll come too," Laylah,

"No." Nesta shook her head, "You're not ready,"

"Not to fight," Laylah amended, "For after, they'll be casualties, we can help,"

"Okay," Gwyn halted to argument before it started, "Get your kit together, meet here, five minutes," without halting, she turned to Mor, "Can you winnow?"

"Yes,"

"Go to the library, get any of the priestesses who want to fight and bring them here, I'd like them to get some experience before all-out war," Mor nodded wordlessly, vanishing a heartbeat later. "Let's defend our home."

*****

The wind whipped around her face as Elain stared at the expanse of empty ground, the village not two hundred metres behind the lines, then scanned the tents behind her. Small. The camp was so small. It didn't need to be any larger, not when this was supposed to be just a skirmish, but she couldn't shake the feeling that had her running through the plans every few heartbeats. The rebels would be able to take to the skies, Amren had no spell to stop them yet, but the two divisions of the Illyrian legion would outnumber them, just. She didn't fully understand everything that had been said, but she knew how vital this battle was. If they lost, it would be the beginning of the end, if they won, Nesta had said that they could strike at the heart of the rebellion, and Gwyn hoped that it might turn the Illyrian rebels against the human Queens, or at least mistrust them. Elain had no idea if she was right, but she trusted them, they would win this, and the sinking feeling in her stomach would go away.

"Elain?" Feyre, "Are you alright?"

"Just thinking, the waiting is making me nervous,"

"You and me both, do you want to get out of the cold? This wind is going straight through me," Elain shook her head, 

"You go," the cold was helping to focus her mind, and the edges of her vision were darkening already, she didn't want Feyre there, in case she collapsed. She drew in a breath of chilled mountain air, and her mind slipped from the would-be battlefield, slipped from the present.

She was in the sky, no, she was the sky. There was a battle, flashes of red, blue and green filled the air, streaking across the sky in all directions as Illyrians fought hand to hand, siphon to siphon. She couldn't move, couldn't look around, couldn't recognize where she was from this glimpse alone. The scene changed, showing her glimpses of individuals in the sky and on the ground, mud and blood streaked the faces of every warrior she saw, every healer desperately dragging the wounded off the battlefield. They were right in the thick of it and still coming back each time she noted with some sense of pride for the unit she'd helped to form. She could claim no credit in training them, but she still felt attached to them.

The pride turned to ice in her blood when the vision refocused on one warrior fighting alone in the sky, she couldn't see who it was, but from the flashes of blue around him, the way the darkness seemed to shield him, there was no doubt. Azriel was fighting alone, and she tried to scream, tried to warn him about the warrior behind him, the sword brandished high, aimed at Azriel's wings. The world shifted, and Azriel was falling, falling, falling. He righted himself before he hit the ground, but a cloud of dust still filled the air around him, and he didn't get up.

Elain screamed, out loud, and blinked hard to regain her sight. Something was wrong, she'd moved, where was she? Where was she? Where was-

Her vision cleared to reveal the inside of her tent, she was sitting on her bedroll, Feyre crouched beside her,

"Elain? What happened?"

"A vision," she whispered, "Listen to me, Feyre, Azriel must not fight tomorrow,"

"What did you see?"

"Do you understand? If Azriel fights, he will die. I saw him fall." Elain glanced around her, hoping to find the shadowsinger so that she could warn him herself, but her gaze fixed on Gwyn. Her face had paled, her breaths shallower than usual,

"He won't stand by," she whispered,

"You have to make him, tie him to your bed if necessary, but do not let him fight."

"I can't stop him," Gwyn admitted, "If he wants to fight, and he does, then he will."

"Then he will die."