Intangible - An ACOTAR story

Twenty-one: Stay

Ellius couldn't believe it. This might actually work. He and Azriel stood in the centre of the forest clearing, a swirling net of the latter's shadows surrounding them on all sides. The idea was that, if something went wrong, the swirling darkness should be able to subdue Ellius' own power before he could do any damage. He was sceptical, but the prospect of control, the hope blazing inside him, nothing could dampen it at that moment.

"I'm ready when you are," Azriel said, face a mask of concentration.

"Let's do this." Ellius locked gazes with the other Shadowsinger, then turned his thoughts inward. He let the voices in his mind grow louder and louder until he was almost certain they were speaking aloud.

"Tired, weakling?"

"Give up! You will never be stronger than us!"

"You cannot win!"

"I know," he whispered, not sure if the words were spoken or not. "And that's why I'm not going to fight you anymore." He let himself drift. The real world disappeared, and he was left with the swirling darkness and his own, troubled memories. The feeling of splinters in his small hands as he chopped wood outside the Hybern landowner's house. The unfamiliar weight of his first, small sword and the jarring impact of steel on steel. Then the smell of blood. His first assignment. Then the next and the next and the next. The jeering faces of the king's soldiers. The king himself, with his cold, dead eyes and harsh voice. Rough sheets and tearstained pillows and the pain he could bare to feel no longer.

Ellius almost recoiled, but he pushed on, down into the depths of his mind. He tried to let go.

His wings, too weak, too tired to fly. The new whisps of darkness, slowly forming around him and the day when the king realised his vile fingers could no longer touch Ellius. He was no longer there. Not really. The victory had been short lived, though. Next came his time under the mountain. More blood, more darkness, and no control. His own mind turning against him. The cursed shadows speaking to him. Controlling him. Then there was a light. A small spark of hope he clung to with everything he had. The high lord of the night court, his secret, and Feyre Cursebreaker. He could've asked for help. Could've escaped then, but the high lord of spring found the book, and he was back in the shadow's control.

Too much hopelessness. This was too much. He couldn't do this. Couldn't surrender to this.

"Ellius!" Az's voice cut into his thoughts. "Breathe. The pain does not own you, remember. It doesn't control you." The same words he'd spoken two weeks ago. Azriel was right. This pain would no longer control him. He was here. In the night court, with people who cared about him and with a chance to break free. He could do this.

"It does not own me," he muttered, then louder. "You do not own me!" Ellius filled his mind with every moment since he'd found Azriel in the forest. Gwyn and Balthazar and their card games. The warm bed and delicious food at the house, feyre and Rhysand's kindess, little Nyx's joy, flying above Velaris in a sea of stars, and Azriel. A shadowsinger. Someone like him, who made him smile. Someone he trusted and who trusted him. Cared about him. Accepted him.

The voices, the hissing, hateful whispers he'd endured for so many years, stopped. Ellius held his breath. Silence.

"Smoky?" Again, Azriel's voice. He retreated from his mind, letting the world wrap around his senses once again. Azriel's shadowy dome was gone. Spears of golden sunset permeated the clearing. A bird sang a bright, haunting tune from a tree in the distance, and the Sidra bubbled and gurgled along behind him like a happy child.

"Smoky? Did it... did it work?" Ellius nodded, lost for words as he savoured the faint, soft rustling of the leaves and grasses. The distant noises from the city. His own breathing. Az grinned, and the male's joy for him brought tears to Ellius' eyes.