[Author's Note: So I decided that from now on I'm going to put link to music that helps me into mood as I write every chapter. Feel free to listen to them as you read on. Let me know what you think! Happy Reading]

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“Azriel. Im Arwen. Telin le thaed. Lasto beth nín. Tolo dan nan galad.”

She reached out for his life essence and was utterly shocked at the snap in which Azriel’s fëa and her own locked against each other. Though it was a good news that she was able to tether his fëa to hers, Arwen was still pretty much blown by the sheer force of how easy it was for her to establish a temporary soul tie between them.

Without the others knowing, Arwen now stood with each of her feet between two realms. In the soul realm, she fought against the darkness that stuck against Azriel’s. The leech, she would call them, was adamant on not letting go of Azriel’s fëa like a damned parasite to the soul. It fought against Arwen’s fëa as she worked to separate him and the leech, while at the same time trying to pull Azriel under. Her hold on Azriel’s fëa remained strong. Despite his helplessness against the leech, the Shadowsinger did have a strong will to live.

Arwen was quite baffled at first with the predicament that she found Azriel in, but it wasn’t new to her. A hex placed against a wound was rare and the patient must be treated simultaneously, both soul and body—fëa and hröa.

On the outside, the anxious Shadowsinger’s family members only saw how she treated his hröa. Her healer’s hand worked diligently against the wound on Azriel’s right wing. There was no blood coming out of it like an usual mortal wound, but the gash was opened wide, yellowish as if of infection while the veins around it turned black from the spreading poison.

“High Lady.”

Feyre was startled when she was being called. She got to Arwen’s side, watching her carefully. The High Lady of the Night Court saw how the high fae, though seemed like she was working on Azriel’s wound, she also had a faraway look in her azure eyes. And the sheer power that backed those deep blue was almost undetected. Feyre couldn’t put her finger on it, but it reminded her of Amren’s eyes.

“Can I trust you to look into my mind without venturing too far deep in it?”

“Anything. I’m at your disposal.”

Arwen nodded and lowered her mind shield, shoving the memory she wanted Feyre to see forward.

“Do you see the plant? It’s called Athelas. Remember the distinct smell it gives.”

Feyre saw the memory clear inside Arwen’s mind. She felt with her senses how the weed felt in her hands. The color. The tiny white flowers that dotted it. The tangy, bitter but slightly sweet smell that it gave as Arwen inhaled its fragrance in her memory.

There were other things inside Arwen’s memory. But unlike the last time Feyre found herself in the Hybern’s Heiress mind, this time she felt something wicked lurking behind. Whatever else was going on with the healer right now, Feyre didn’t understand and chose to actually heed Arwen’s warning and not cross the inner barrier of her mind to find out.

Suddenly Feyre felt herself being shoved out of Arwen’s mind forcefully. Not out of self defense, but rather to keep her out of trouble. Feyre blinked and found Arwen looking at her with that distant, almost detached gaze. “Find it in my shop. Quickly.”

The urgency lying behind those short, clipped words made Feyre nodded without any hesitation nor questioning. The High Lady rushed out of the room and out of the estate before winnowing herself out to Arwen’s shop.

***

Azriel was still unconscious and would remain so for a few days, but he was stabilized.

For now.

Arwen had severed the soultie between them the moment she managed to rid him of that leeching hex. Her hands gently worked the soft, warm towel against Azriel’s wings to clean his wounds further. During the treatment, his wound had started to spurt an insane amount of blood. Though his friends were alarmed, Arwen reassured them that it was a good thing. It means that the poison was now able to be slowly flushed out of his system. She instructed Madja, the appointed healer of Rhysand’s household, on how to care for Azriel.

“Keep your eyes on him. Change the bandage every three hours, and if he ever wakes up, even for just a minute, make him chew on the Athelas plant.”

Feyre glanced at the weed that she had brought from Arwen’s shop, quickly recognizing it as the plant that the Suriel once told her to make Rhysand chew once he too, had been on the verge of death by ash arrows wound. Feyre didn’t give much thought about it until now, but the deceivingly useless looking weed actually held some sort of potent healing properties.

“On behalf of my court,” Rhysand began as he noticed Arwen throwing a slightly concerned look towards Az, “Thank you. For saving Azriel. I am forever indebted to you.”

Arwen, though still couldn’t quite forget the resentment she still held against the High Lord of the Night Court, chose to put it aside. “Do not thank me yet. We still have to see if he lives through the night. Only then he would be out of trouble,” she answered honestly.

Rhysand nodded. “We’ll take care of him.”

“Find me if anything changes. Meanwhile…”

Arwen anxiously look out the glass window. The sun had reached its highest peak. So many things to do. The people who still needed her help. Some are still dying too, though it was not as severe as what ailed Azriel. And then there was Thamrin.

“Excuse me,” she muttered before slipping out of the room to find Thamrin. She found him asleep on Elaine’s lap, the female gently stroking her son’s hair.

The little boy hadn’t slept enough since Arwen woke him abruptly in the middle of the night of the attack. He hadn’t eaten anything either. Guilt made its way to her chest as she saw her son.

“I’m sorry for troubling you,” she managed, looking somewhat solemn as she approached the softly snoring Thamrin.

“Oh no! Not at all. He is lovely, though I think he is exhausted.”

“Thank you for looking out for him,” she answered as she gently took Tham from Elaine’s lap.

If she was to help the people of Velaris she must have someone to take care of Tham. But Arwen hadn’t heard nor seen Raisa and her daughter Tamina. Didn’t even know if they were unharmed. She could take Tham home, but where is home? Their tiny little house had been razed to the ground from of the attack. Her shop, she thought, could be used as a temporary shelter. But Arwen couldn’t just leave Thamrin alone—

“Let him stay here,” offered Rhysand. Arwen immediately checked if she somehow had her mindshield down, but to her relief found it perfectly intact. Whatever notion the High Lord had when he offered that help, he must had taken that information from her expression instead. “He will be cared for while you’re away. I’m pretty sure your baby sitter is going to be hard to find in this mess.”

“The estate is the safest place in all Velaris,” added Morrigan with a soft smile, knowing this will comfort Arwen.

“We have experience caring for Illyrian babies,” Amren blurted, causing both Rhysand and Cassian to gave her a look, while Mor and Feyre threw a snicker towards each other.

Seemed that their spirit had been lifted. It slightly warmed Arwen’s heart. She nodded. “Thank you so much. I am most grateful.”

Arwen planted a soft kiss on Thamrin’s temple, careful to not wake him as she reluctantly handed over the boy to Morrigan’s waiting arms. Arwen was wary. But as these people had trusted Azriel under her care, she too would have to learn to trust them with her son.

With a reassuring smile from the High Lady, Arwen excused herself and hurried towards the Town House.

Despite the city being in the clear, some of its residents still stayed behind in Town House. Maybe out of fear of leaving the safety of the wards inside the Town House, or because their wounded couldn’t actually be moved anywhere else.

The moment she arrived, some High Fae and faeries alike had run towards her, begging her to treat their injured relatives or family members. Many people talked at the same time, some cried as they fought for her service. Great was the need of healers among them as in all war. But there were so few healers that could be found. Or left alive, for that matter.

Amidst the cries for help, Arwen had to carefully choose who to help. Many were in pain. But her first priority was the ones being in the danger of dying first.

Again, her skill took her over and she entered into that flowing state where she focused on the task at hand. She worked tirelessly, hopping from one patient to another. While she worked she noticed Rhysand and his court members flew about, doing whatever they could in their power to help their people. With their magic, Arwen hoped the city of Velaris would soon return to its normalcy.

She followed a faerie named Ressina who led her towards a mystery fae who was in need of her immediate attention. When Arwen saw who laid on the makeshift bed on the floor, bruised and beaten, her heart went to her throat.

“Raisa!” she gasped, her friend’s name like a prayer in her voice as she studied the way the ash blade embedded in her abdomen while her guts hanging out of her stomach. Arwen took her cold, clammy hand in hers, wondering where Tamina was as she looked at Raisa’s face. “Hang on for me. Everything will be alright.”

Arwen was about to start her work, pressing a new cloth against the oozing wound on Raisa’s stomach. The faerie groaned from the intense pain and began crying, shaking her hands vigorously.

“I have to—”

“Please,” she begged Arwen through her pain, “No more.”

Raisa fixed her bleak steely eyes towards Arwen. Constant flow of silent tears wetted the greenish skin of her cheek as she sobbed, Arwen realized, both in pain and grieve.

“My daughter. T-they took my daughter,” she managed with trembling lips.

That sweet little girl that had been her son’s best friend. Gone.

Emotion threatened to prick at Arwen’s eyes.

“Those g-goddamned creature ripped h-her from my a-arms,” Raisa said through gritted teeth, hatred and pain tangible in her voice. The faerie wept bitterly, the anguish in her cries made Arwen’s eyes glazed with unshed tears.

“I am terribly sorry,” Arwen replied with the gentlest voice she could muster, “But right now let me help you. I can save you.”

“No.”

Arwen and the other faerie, Ressina, shared a worried, alarmed look.

“Raisa—”

“Do one… one last thing for m—” the faerie began to choke on her own blood, a red flag that Arwen didn’t miss. She adjusted Raisa’s head to clear her airway.

“Don’t speak anymore, Raisa. Save your strength—”

Another anguished weeping shook Raisa, and Arwen was having a trouble to keep her professional facade at work. Time was of essence. Even then, she listened to Raisa, though she was tempted to not listen to her and just do all she can to save her friend.

“Let me die with my daughter,” she pleaded, “P-please.”

A tear fell from Arwen’s eyes.

“What about me, Raisa?” she managed with a pleading tone, “You’re my only friend. What would I do without you?” she managed a small, wistful smile at her. But any lightness that Arwen attempted was feeble against the darkness and void that had now festered in the heart of the kind faerie.

“I can’t live… without h-her.”

The dying faerie wept. Arwen had lost her calm demeanor as tears slipped down her face in an endless torrent. When will this pain pass? She wondered.

A seizure suddenly hit Raisa. The faerie’s eyes lolled back as tremor surged through her.

“Hold her!” ordered Arwen to Ressina. Ressina did as she was told, and two other high fae that had seen it had volunteered to help too. One of them gave Arwen more clothes to press against the severely bleeding wound.

It took Arwen a while to stabilize her—barely. Raisa was running out of time. Now drifting unconscious and back again, Raisa looked through her heavy lid.

“Let… me… go.”

“No—” Arwen began to choke as she began to prepare her tools with shaky hands, determined to save her.

“My daughter… Don’t t-take me away… from her.”

Arwen could no longer hold the sob that wrecked her chest. She understood Raisa. She too, would chose death anytime rather than having to live without her son, for he was the only reason she lived.

Another short seizure hit Raisa. She began to coughed up blood—too much blood. Arwen rarely panicked, but now she was. Her friend now had next to no more strength left to talk. But the pleading in her eyes remained.

Even, even if by some miracle Arwen could save her, Raisa would be just like an empty vessel on this earth. Alive, but not truly living. With a heavy heart, she nodded. Arwen stroke her hair back gently, forcing a smile to her friend.

“Cauldron save you,” Arwen began chanted that parting prayer to her friend. “Mother holds you. Pass through the gates… and smell that immortal land of milk and honey.”

Pain. It was pain and agony that wrecked her chest as she reluctantly let her friend into the cold embrace of Death.

“Fear no evil. Feel no pain.”

The strain on Raisa’s pale face lessened as she turned her gaze towards the darkening sky of Velaris. Peace washed over her face, and at that moment, pain seemed to leave her.

“Go,” she chanted while tightening her hold on Raisa’s hand, as if to hold her a little longer to the living world, “…and enter eternity.”

Arwen watched as her dear friend let out her last breath, eyes glazed as they gazed emptily to the sky. Whatever noises around her seemed muted. Not even one person tried to get Arwen’s attention even as she idly gazed at Raisa’s cold, lifeless face. Arwen very gently shook her friend’s shoulder.

“Raisa?”

Realizing she had now passed from this world, Arwen buried her face on the neck of her dead friend and wailed.

Cassian and Feyre was there, pausing their work and watched silently from a distance just as the rest of the people nearby. It was the hard truth of war; one that everyone who lived must face, even the immortals:

Death is the way of the flesh.

Arwen, not nearly even done mourning for her friend, had noticed the fell silence. Many still wounded. Many still required her service. Taking a deep, shaky breath, she finally removed herself from Raisa’s neck. With one last gentle caress on her cheek, Arwen muttered her farewell in a gentle voice.

“Namárië,” Arwen bid Raisa goodbye, before covering her dead body under the cloak that Arwen had worn since last night.

With red, swollen eyes still haunted by loss and grief, Arwen looked at Ressina, who now had stared at her with an equal amount of tears wetting her cheek.

“Next patient,” she muttered with a steady, collected voice.

Suddenly people began to talk at the same time again, pointing towards their injured ones. Arwen stumbled on her feet as she went through the crowd, to her next patient.

This time, she was determined to save them.

***

[Author’s Note: Namárië is actually a goodbye phrase not in Sindarin, but in Quenya, but still elvish nonetheless. So what do you think of the chapter? Leave your thoughts at the comments (I’m dying to hear your feedback) and don’t forget to vote and add this story to your reading list if you enjoyed the story! Thank you again for all of you who have read and leaving comments! Until the next update! ❤️]