Divided (Throne of Glass and A Court of Thorns and Roses Crossover)

Chapter 50

"No no no no no no," Aidan cried, cradling Azriel's head in her arms. "Wake up! You have to wake up!" 

The chaos of the battle subsided around her, Maeve's bloodsworn soldiers no longer trapped under orders they did not want to complete. Subconsciously, she processed the many people standing around them. A hand was warm against her shoulder as tears dripped down her face and onto Azriel's. 

"Please," Aidan whispered. "Please don't leave me." 

She shook him and held him for what seemed like hours, and the others walked off to help heal the wounded from both sides. The sun was finally setting in the distance, and the moon was rising in the east, alongside a familiar star. 

As she stared at it, it got larger and larger in the sky and closer to wear she was hunched on the ground, and Aidan felt the need to reach out and touch it. She placed a single finger on the the little orb, and it exploded into light all around her, momentarily blinding her. 

The orb grew bigger, remolding itself into the shape of person and then a woman. Aidan's eyes widened as the woman took a step toward her, she recognized her immediately. With silver hair that sparkled in the waning light, Aidan knew she was the same being that had given her the twin mirror. 

"Hello, child," she murmured and then looked down at Azriel. "Fate is a cruel and fickle Being."

A tear dropped out of Aidan's eye. 

"Do not cry child," she said. "You can bring him back." 

Aidan looked up at her sharply, "What do you mean?" 

"All you have to do is give him the light," she said as she began to dissipate. 

A smile played on her lips as she returned again to the small orb and floated off into the dusky sky. Aidan chewed on her lip as she contemplated the mysterious woman's cryptic meaning. She looked around, trying to find the light that she was talking about. Many of the wounded had left the field and the meadow was becoming abandoned. A set of Fae were putting out small fires with buckets of water, and a thought dawned her. 

Placing both of her hands on his chest, Aidan imagined herself pouring all of the light and fire she had in herself into his heart. She imagined his body filling with the warmth of it, expelling the darkness of death as it went. She imagined herself giving him every single drop of it, leaving none for herself. As the flame trickled away from her and into him, she finally felt the chill of the growing night. 

When the last drop of flame flowed from her hands into his heart, she removed them. Waiting. One minute. Two. The shadows that usually surrounded him had fled and color returned to his cheeks. She held his hand tightly. Three. She bit her lip, hoping she had done the right thing. Four. A searing pain shot through her hand, and she looked down at them, already blistering from a burn. Five. 

Azriel shot straight up, looking around in a daze, and then down at his own hands, which were consumed in flames. He looked up at her, eyes wide.

"What's going on?" he breathed. 

"I gave you the light," she said quietly, throwing her arms around him. 

"Stop! I don't want to burn you!" he exclaimed. 

"Focus on the flame. Imagine it going down," she said simply, and he did as she instructed. 

"How? Illyrians don't have traditional magic," he asked. 

"Illyrians don't, but I do. You are a part of me, and the flame is a part of me. Why shouldn't it all be together?" she shrugged. 

He grunted and got to his feet.