Night and Fire

Tales of Long Since Past

I hesitate for a moment before deeming it fair enough to share. "I was born as the bastard son of an Illyrian camp lord. I lived with him, my step-mother, and two older half-brothers for eleven years. When I lived there, my step-mother locked me in a cell with no windows or light, I was allowed to go outside for one hour a day, and allowed to see my birth mother for an hour every week. 

I wasn't allowed to train with the other boys, or fly, even when my Illyrian instincts urged me to do so. When I was eight, my brothers decided it would be entertaining to see how well my Illyrian healing skill would mix with oil and fire." A harsh laugh, "My fathers warriors heard me screaming, and came quick enough to save me and my hands, but it was too late to stop the scarring." 

I look back up to her tear filled eyes. No pity or sorrow for me is held in her eyes though. Her eyes are filled with rage--a cold, frozen rage. A tear falls from her eye. A single tear is what she allowed herself. 

I wipe it away, and watch as her layers unravel before me, telling me the stories of all of her scars. 

-----

Nehemia's POV

A single tear falls from my cheek at the story of the horrible, cruel boys that scarred the intelligent shadow-singer before me. Fine, I think, I'll tell someone. Someone needs to know. 

I look down at my shirt, before looking back up at Azriel. He gives me a reassuring nod, supporting me, even though he doesn't know what he's supporting. I lift up my shirt, tossing the piece of fabric to the stone floor, the only thing covering me is the flimsy band around my chest. 

My abdomen is on full display, and I watch as he surveys the scars on my abdomen, his eyes darkening at the horrid marks. Thick, jagged lines cut across my stomach, my once smooth skin marred by scars. 

I turn around so that he can see my back, the whip marks permanently indented there. The one thing my mother passed down to me that I wasn't proud of. "They're ugly." I whisper. I know that I should wear them with pride like my mother. 

Wear them as badges of honor, for what I have overcome, the obstacles I have passed. But I wear them in shame. I can't compete with my mother. She's the fire breathing bitch queen. She's smart, and beautiful, and badass and I'm just...me. 

I hear Azriel growl from behind me, and feel the brush of fingertips against my back, the cold bite of the chilly night air, making me shiver. He traces my scars gently, nothing sexual about the touch. Just the sharing of our horrors, long since passed. 

"They're not ugly." He says finally. I pause, taking a breath before I tell him the story behind the scars now present along every inch of my body. 

"I was in the courtyard, just spending some time under the sun. The sun was always connected to my power; I felt safe underneath it's warm embrace. I felt pain flicker across my senses, so I grabbed the weapons that were strapped to me. I hadn't opened my eyes until then, my eyes are what tell me apart from other families. 

There's a poem that dates back to the first Ashryvers. Our eyes are famous, Ashryver eyes and golden hair usually tell us apart from others. 

The fairest eyes, 

from legends old

Of brightest blue, 

ringed with gold."

Azriel nods, and makes a motion with his hand to my hair, a silent question waiting for an explanation. "My father has silver hair; it's the tell tale of his house, Whitethorns."

He nods again, waiting for me to continue. So I do. "There was a man--male, there. There was a throbbing in my head, dulling my senses. I lashed out blindly, he wormed into my mind, and made me fall asleep. When I woke up I was in a cell, it was--cold. It was so, so cold, and dark. And.." Tears are streaming down my face, and a sob racks through my body, "He held me there for a month and a half, and tortured me." Another sob shudders through my body, and Az envelopes me in a warm hug. 

My cool skin is pressed against the front of his shirt, and my tears soak through his shirt and into his shoulder. We stayed like that for a while until the tears had stopped streaming down both of our faces, and we stood there in a comfortable silence. 

He pulled away from me, his eyes holding inexplicable anger. He blushes when he realized that I still wasn't wearing a shirt. He picked it up, handing it to me. He averts his gaze while I pull the top over my head, and I give him a weak chuckle. "Nothing you haven't seen before, I'm sure." I say. 

His cheeks go redder, his shadows whisking around him. Once I'm fully clothed again, we sit on the ground, under the stars, telling each other tales of long since past. 

-----

Word Count: ~1515~  (haha. I just edited so it's a little more than that, but whatever.)

Hey guys! I know it's been a couple of days since I updated, but I was working on a new story that I think you guys should definitely check out! It's called A Court of Iron and Shadows. 

It takes place after EOS, where Rowan and Aelin aren't mates. It says in the description that he doesn't exist, but I think I'll change it to he does exist, but they aren't mates so they are still carranam. She's still in Maeve's captivity when she portals herself into the middle of a high lord meeting. 

Anyways, I feel like people are going to be freaking out about the contents of this chapter, thinking that Az and Nehemia like each other, or are mates or something. 

Let me stop you right there. No, they are not mates. In this chapter it's supposed to be emotional support, and just them bonding over the horrors of their past. Their relationship is just as friends, and nothing more. 

Okay, now that I've cleared that up, I feel much better about this chapter. Sorry guys, this is kind of a filler chapter, I know it's not the best, but I really felt that Nehemia and Az had to bond. 

Anyways, if you haven't already, please go check out my new story A Court of Iron and Shadows! Love you guys!!

Love, 

Hannah Elizabeth Rose