ACOTAR one shots, imagines and short stories

Part 2 - The Spymaster's Apprentice (Azriel x OC)

Word count: 3048

Characters: Azriel and Elara (OC)

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"She's dying," his voice was a panicked whisper.

His mother reached them, her hands already moving to assess Elara's wound. "Bring her inside," she instructed, her tone calm but urgent. "Quickly."

Without hesitation, Azriel scooped Elara into his arms and followed his mother into the cottage. Every step felt like an eternity, his heart pounding with a fear he couldn't shake. Inside, the warmth of the hearth and the scent of herbs surrounded them, a stark contrast to the cold dread gnawing at him. He carefully laid Elara on the large wooden table in the centre of the room, his hands trembling as they lingered on her for a moment longer than necessary before he forced himself to step back.

His mother wasted no time, her years of seclusion not dulling the healer's instincts that guided her now. She examined Elara's wound with a practiced eye, her movements swift and precise as she gathered supplies. The arrow, lodged deep in Elara's side, was removed with unerring skill. Azriel flinched as it was pulled free, the sight of blood soaking into the bandages his mother quickly applied sending a fresh wave of fear through him.

"Hold this," she instructed, guiding Azriel's hands to press against the wound. Her voice was steady, though edged with urgency. He obeyed, but his hands were shaking, his grip almost too tight, as if by sheer force alone he could stop the blood from flowing. The tension in the room was palpable, every second stretching out as his mother fought to stabilise Elara.

Azriel's eyes darted from the wound to his mother's face, searching for any sign of hope, of reassurance. But there was none. Elara's face was ashen, her breathing shallow, and each laboured breath sent a spike of helplessness through him. When her eyes fluttered open briefly, filled with pain and confusion, she found his gaze and a flicker of something softer passed between them.

"Azriel..." she breathed, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"I'm here," he said, his voice tight, strained with the effort to remain calm. He squeezed her hand, but it felt like a feeble gesture against the enormity of what was happening. "You're safe now."

A faint smile touched her lips before she slipped back into unconsciousness, her body going limp under his touch. Azriel's breath caught in his throat, and he looked to his mother, silently pleading for reassurance.

"She's strong," his mother said softly, her hands moving with practiced care as she bound the wound. "But she needs rest, and time. The arrow was poisoned—it will take all of my skills to purge it."

Poison. The word sent a wave of cold fear crashing through him, threatening to drown him. He had faced countless dangers, countless enemies, but this was different. This was a battle he couldn't fight, a foe he couldn't strike down with his blades. He was powerless, reduced to watching as the woman he cared about lay on the edge of death, her fate in the hands of his mother and forces he couldn't control.

The frustration of his helplessness twisted inside him, a knot of anxiety tightening with each passing second. His instincts screamed at him to do something, anything, but there was nothing he could do. No enemy to fight, no strategy to employ. Just the endless waiting, the endless hoping that she would pull through.

As his mother continued her work, Azriel stood by, feeling the weight of his own uselessness pressing down on him. Every breath Elara took, every slight movement, was a fragile thread connecting her to life, and he felt like he was watching it fray, unable to stop it from snapping.