Disclaimer: All but Lyra belong to Sarah J Maas

The crazy did start nearly as soon as the meeting had begun that day. After only a couple of minutes into it Nesta had been alerted by the Cauldron to the King drawing on its power. Lyra had never felt anything like it, the wave of horrid power that swept across the land, shaking the entire world.

Azriel had grabbed her, pulling her to him as it had raced over them, his arms around her and wings encircling her. Protecting her. She could still feel the heat of him, the way his arms felt wrapped around her.

The rest of the High Lords and their people had left soon after, declaring their loyalty before heading back to their cities. Things were put into motion then, becoming a blur of preparation and planning since their timetable had been moved forward.

Lyra knew the war had been coming, had been preparing for it, but it was here now and as she looked at the faces of her friends, she felt fear. That they would be hurt or taken… or killed.

After making plans for where to place the humans in the small bit of land below where the wall had been, they had come to the Illyrian war camp to gather the troops. It was a dreary, cold place and it was hard to imagine that it had produced the three men before her. The people were so similar to Cassian and Azriel, with their hazel eyes, tan skin and dark hair. But there was something harsh about them that didn't seem to have been passed on to her friends, despite their upbringing in these very camps.

She didn't like the way they were looking at Cassian and Azriel. Cassian had told her once, jokingly with a carefree smile on his face, that most of the Illyrian's still treated him as nothing more than a worthless bastard, despite his title of General. He had acted unfazed by it and maybe he was after centuries of the treatment, but the looks still made Lyra's heckles rise.

And the way they looked at Azriel… it was almost worse. Disgust, fear, hate. He stared them down, his face uncaring, almost challenging.

Rhysand and Cassian were giving orders, relaying what was expected of the Illyrians now that the Wall had been toppled. Lord Devlon, the man who seemed to be in charge at this camp, listened with a scowl, though he was smart enough not to argue. Despite how they looked at the three of them, they all seemed to know that these men's powers far outweighed any of theirs. By miles.

Feyre had her, Mor, Nesta and Elain hang back from the men, seeming to understand that it wasn't a time to challenge or push her command on these people at the moment. But even as they stood several feet back, keeping quiet to themselves, Devlon still looked them over, his hazel eyes cautious.

He had the smarts to at least give Feyre a slightly respectful scowl, but he barely seemed to tolerate Mor. Then his gaze found Lyra and Nesta and she saw his tan skin pale, lips curling as he took them in. "What are they?" He hissed, eyes flitting between the two of them. Like he couldn't figure out which was more of a threat.

"They are none of your concern." Cassian said, a deadly edge to his voice.

"Are they witches?" Devlon asked.

"Yes." Nesta answered, chin lifted as she gazed back at them and Lyra couldn't stop the snort that escaped her when the muscled, towering warriors actually flinched from them.

"She may act like one sometimes, but no." Cassian said quickly, looking slightly irritated by Nesta's answer and Lyra's soft laughter. "They are High Fae."

"They are no more High Fae than we are." Devlon snapped, shaking his head at them. There was a long pause, all eyes on them and Lyra squirmed, feeling slightly uncomfortable. He finally sighed, glaring between them. "Keep them away from the females and children."

Mor snorted this time, earning a glare from Devlon and a look of anger from several of the other Lords. Mor glared back and Lyra remembered when Mor had spoken of how much she hated this camp, the Lords here. Backwards, horrible idiots. She had called them.

Elain was revealed when Mor moved to level a dark glare at Devlon and his eyes traveled toward her, grunting when he caught sight of her. Lyra saw Nesta stiffen, looking toward them to monitor and make sure none of them dared to get close to her sister. Elain swallowed nervously, wrapping her cloak around herself before she looked away.

"Don't be afraid of them." Nesta whispered lowly, those blue grey eyes still staring at them darkly.

"Let's… find something to drink." Feyre said, reaching out and laying a hand on Lyra's arm, pushing her toward the tent that had been erected for them. Nesta looked as though she wanted to stay, to remain here to intimidate the Illyrians, but Feyre took her hand and pulled her. They headed toward the largest tent and Lyra raised a brow in surprise when she found how homely it looked inside.

"Feel like a Lannister in here." Lyra whispered and Mor shot her a quizzical look. "Royalty from a book series I read. And a TV show, though that one didn't end up as good." She said by way of explanation and Mor just chuckled as she always did when Lyra said something she didn't understand.

"Well," Mor said, sighing as she sat herself in a chair nearby. "Welcome to an Illyrian war camp, ladies. Try to keep your awe contained."

Lyra snorted, seating herself across from her and running a hand through her hair. Nesta had gone to the desk nearby, was looking over the maps. "What is the difference between a faerie and a witch?"

"Witches amass power beyond their natural reserve." Mor answered, leaning back in her chair, ankles crossing. "They use spells and archaic tools to harness more power to them than the Cauldron allotted and use it for whatever they desire, good or ill."

Elain slowly seated herself next to Mor, her face slightly pale as she looked over at the blonde next to her. "Will… will many of these soldiers die?"

"Yes." Nesta answered with that usual brutal honesty of hers, though Feyre flinched.

"Whenever you're ready," Mor said quickly, a soft smile on her face. "I'll glamour you."

"Will it hurt?" Elain asked, pulling her cloak around her a bit tighter. She was such a fragile, kind thing and Lyra wondered where she came from with Nesta being so vicious and Feyre so strong.

"It didn't when Tamlin glamoured your memories." Nesta pointed out, leaning against the desk as she studied her sister.

"No, it might… tingle." Mor assured her. "Just act as you would as a human."

"It's the same as I act now." Elain said simply, though she shifted nervously.

"Yes." Feyre said gently. "But… try to keep the vision talk… to yourself. While we're there. Unless it's something that you cant…"

"I can." Elain said, taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders. "I will."

"Deep breath."

Elain did and Lyra watched in fascination as Mor's power slid over her and as it did, Elain's soft glow dulled, her ears became curved, and though she remained beautiful, it became somehow… less. Not plain, Elain was too beautiful to ever be considered plain, but subdued.

She looked down at her own hands, taking in the difference there now. "I hadn't realized… how ordinary it looked."

"You're still lovely." Mor said, smiling at her gently.

"I supposed that war makes wanting things like that unimportant." Elain said, shrugging.

"Perhaps." Mor said after a beat. "But you should not let war steal it from you regardless."

Elain smiled at her, muttering a low 'thank you' before she slipped back into the seat again. Lyra watched her look to her iron ring, twisting it nervously as Mor walked toward the entrance, going to check if the men were almost finished with their unpleasant meeting. Feyre watched her sister, her face tight, worried.

"So, Mor's told me a bit of how it is for Fae woman… er, females," Lyra said to Elain and the middle sister lifted her eyes to Lyra's, though her fingers remained on her ring. "Life I mean. Is it as… formal for human woman?"

"It depends." Elain said, pausing to think. "If they are rich, there is more formality. They are expected to dress properly and plan parties and marry well."

"Hmm." Lyra nodded and she caught the slightly thankful look Feyre was giving her. "It sounds like how it used to be in my world. Several hundred years back."

"It is different in your… world?" Elain asked, curiosity sparking in her eyes. Nesta had also paused in her reading of the maps and instead now watched Lyra.

"In some places." Lyra answered, tapping her fingers thoughtfully on the table. "It depends a lot on where they live, their religion, their culture. But in a lot of the world women have more choices. We work, sometimes don't marry or have children, have the same rights as men. Well…" She paused, shrugging. "Even in the best places there is still some work to be done. But where I'm from, America, it's nothing like what you or Mor have described anymore."

"You worked?" Nesta asked, watching Lyra with new interest.

"Crappy minimum wage jobs. Uh… lower paying jobs. Like waiting on people or serving food." Lyra explained when Nesta raised a brow. "But yeah. To put myself through school though."

"You went to school? What kind?" Elain said, tilting her head.

"Yes. I was going to be a nurse. It's sort of like a healer." Lyra said and even Feyre was now watching her, her worry dying down and instead replaced by her own curiosity. "I was going to help abuse victims… advocate for them if they came to where we uh… took care of our wounded and sick."

"Like Mor does with the priestesses?" Feyre asked, studying Lyra thoughtfully. There was a gentleness to her eyes, understanding.

"In a way." Lyra said softly, giving the High Lady a sad smile. "I'd help them after it happened and later when they were going through the legal process of jailing the person who hurt them. In different ways. Our worlds a bit more… complicated in how it handles people who break our laws."

As she said the words, spoke of her old life, she realized there wasn't pain like the last time she had discussed this all those months ago at that dinner. It had changed for her, in just these few months. She didn't look back now with sadness, with heartache.

It wasn't her home anymore. The thought had a warmth spreading through Lyra's chest.

"That sounds like a sad job." Elain said softly, frowning slightly.

"But important." Feyre interjected and when Lyra looked at her, she saw she was smiling at her. "You know… you could still become a healer here. Train with Madja."

Lyra paused before she returned Feyre's smile. "I'd like that."

"We can speak with her… after." Feyre said, wavering just a bit. After the war.

If there was an after.

"When we get back." Lyra said and though fear trickled into her, she kept her resolve. They would get back.

She would do all she could to make sure of it.

Mor returned, her face stormy as she jerked her head toward the opening. "Rhys said they're finished. It's safe to come out now."

"Safe for poor little Devlon." Lyra muttered. To her surprise, Nesta gave a laugh as she followed after them and even Elain, still looking pale and nervous, gave a little smile. Elain swallowed, eyeing the Illyrian lords that still lingered nearby, though Nesta's smile was wiped from her face as she leveled that steely glare at them. Lyra swore one of them almost looked nervous and she fought back the laughter bubbling in her throat.

Feyre had gone to Rhysand, the two of them murmuring to each other as Cassian hovered near the lower troops, giving orders and watching as they began to gather everything they needed to head off to their first battle. And Azriel remained off to the side, still glaring out at any of the Illyrians that dared to look at him.

Lyra walked toward him, watching the shadows dance around his neck and wings. He glanced at her when she drew closer and though his shadows remained heavy and that dark look was still on his face, she saw him ease just a bit. "Do you think Devlon would piss himself if Nesta and I pretended to do a spell?" She whispered, and to her relief she saw his mask break for just a moment as he threw her a look of long-suffering annoyance, that same look he often gave Cassian and Mor when they acted up and left him to be serious before he schooled his face once more.

But then he looked over at the Lords that remained, including Devlon and Lyra couldn't stop the burst of laughter when he murmured a low, "Yes."

Some of the Lords and women around them looked up, surprised by her outburst, especially since it was around the stone faced, deadly Spymaster. She tried to school her face as he had when Cassian also turned, throwing her and Azriel an exasperated look and shook his head. But as she looked to Azriel, a blush across his tan cheeks, she couldn't help but smile when she saw his shadows had finally lightened.

After the shock of finding out that Jurian was their ally, her and the others had rushed to update their allies and armies to the new information of where to strike next. Azriel had disappeared after, first to warn Cassian and the Illyrians, then to dispatch the messages for Helion, Tarquin and Kallias and finally to scout ahead for the best advantage in where they were now going to meet Hybern.

After spending some time with Mor and Feyre, Lyra had slipped to her own tent to practice on drawing on the different aspects of her powers as she had been with Amren before the High Lord meeting. She had gotten better at separating it, focusing on either healing or the more destructive part for fighting. While she hoped that she would only need to heal, she knew the fight part was just as important. That it could save one of her family just as quickly as the healing could.

She still hoped that she would only be using that creation part.

Luckily that practice had worn her out enough to slip into sleep. It was filled with darkness and worry and fear, but at least she had slept.

When she woke, she found Mor and Feyre, who she would travel with as they went to meet Hybern's army for their surprise attack. As Lyra pulled herself out of her tent, dressed in her leathers and went to meet her friends, she was struck for a moment at how odd her life had become.

Just six months ago she had been nothing but a struggling college student, living a boring life in her tiny apartment.

And now…

Now she was helping to fight in Faerie wars with powerful, ancient enemies and evil. Now she had her family, her friends, and… and Azriel.

She had never felt for anyone the way she did for Azriel. She hadn't really had a relationship before, only allowing herself hook ups or friends with benefits. She hadn't allowed hardly anyone close enough to become anything more than that. Not until him.

He may not return her feelings but she had decided just being near him, having him as her friend would be enough for her. She could live with that, as long as she kept him in her life.

And as long as they both survived the war.

Mor greeted her with a tight, worried smile, dressed in her own leathers with her gleaming blonde hair tied back in a neat braid. Feyre was behind her, the same strained look on her own face.

"Ready?" Mor asked her as she tied her own hair back with a piece of leather and tossed her curls over her shoulder.

"I guess." Lyra said, offering her a strained smile. Understanding flitted in her eyes and when she extended her hand to Lyra, she squeezed her fingers when they made contact.

Then they were winnowing, over and over and over as they followed the hidden Illyrian army in the skies. Rhysand was among them, using that powerful well of his magic to cloak every aspect of their warriors.

Lyra's heart caught in her throat when they finally arrived, a trickle of panic running down her spine when she caught sight of the large mass of Hybern soldiers. The amount seemed never ending and it was just one part of it.

But their plan did work. Jurian's information had been correct and Lyra felt just a bit of relief when she saw the terror on Hybern's soldiers' faces as they were suddenly faced with both Illyrian's and Darkbringers alike. And from their advantage from coming from a hillside, it became obvious very quickly who had the upper hand.

Cassian, Rhysand and Azriel were all there, spread across the Illyrian front line with their armor and spears and shields. They were easy to spot, even a month the thousands of men by their helmets with black, sharp raven wings. Lyra worried for all of them, but she couldn't stop herself from keeping her sights on Azriel, her heart hammering in her chest the whole time.

Open warfare was like nothing she had ever seen. She'd watched in movies or TV shows but even that didn't come close to preparing her for the carnage and brutality and death. For the cries and roars of both pain and fighting. Luckily, thanks to Jurian's warning, many of the bodies that lay after their forces made their way through were Hybern soldiers, left to rot in the beating sun.

Cassian broke the army easily, sending the Illyrians to take on the untested nobles and it had spread panic just as they had been told it would. Most began to flee rather than face the General and his command.

All but one.

Lyra was transfixed upon her friend as he turned his sights on the Hybern commander and Mor grabbed for her, sucking in a breath and squeezing her hand as she realized what Cassian was about to do. They watched as he broke rank, running swiftly through the fray of soldiers and cut them each down before they even had a chance to try to fight against him. It was like he could read every one of them, knew their very thoughts and moved before they did and he cut them down with the knowledge.

He spun and lunged and killed his way toward that commander. Just like…

"It's like a dance." Feyre breathed and Lyra tore her eyes away for just a second to see Feyre's fingers also wrapped tightly through Mor's.

"For him that's what battle is. A symphony." Mor answered, her voice quiet as she kept her brown eyes on Cassian.

"Holy Mother." Feyre whispered as Cassian cut down a few soldiers that were stupid enough to try to stand against him.

And then the commander threw a spear at him, sent it sailing through the air toward Cassian. He braced, letting the spear catch in his shield before he cut away the shaft and continued forward. He found his own spear on the way and Lyra and Mor and Feyre and that hold damned field of soldiers watched as it struck down the commander and sent his body flying off the horse. The creature reared and fled, revealing the commander's body skewered on that spear.

Cassian reached him then and he lifted his sword, the metal glinting off the sun before it plunged into the commander, ending him.

It was done after that. They fled right into Tarquin's waiting army, ended up surrounded and there was no coming back from being captured on all sides.

"We don't need to see this." Mor whispered, her grip loosening as she gently pulled them away. Lyra was confused for a moment but then realized that those left wouldn't be left to survive. She turned away, forcing herself to keep her gaze forward, even as she heard the soldiers struggling, gurgling and them fall dead.

In the hours after, she didn't see Cassian, Azriel or Rhysand, though she heard plenty of talk about them as the warriors around them moved their camp at the edge of the battlefield. It had been cleared of any bodies thanks to Rhysand, but blood and gore remained behind, mixing into the dirt and mud.

Lyra helped the others cut out bandages around the campfire and heard murmurs from the various Illyrians that walked around them of how Cassian had fought in that battle. Despite how those Lords had treated him at camp, despite how they still viewed him, it seemed they couldn't help but be in awe of Cassian. Lyra couldn't blame them, even in her inexperience, Lyra knew that Cassian was cut from a different cloth. He was so far above the rest of them it was almost laughable.

She saw Nesta listening, though her face gave nothing away as she cut those strips of cloth. She had not watched the battle and had instead remained in the tent with Elain since the middle sister was still suffering from what had happened with her fiancé. Ex-fiancé, Lyra supposed. But Nesta had rushed out when she had heard it ended, eyes searching and Lyra knew she had looked only for Cassian.

Lyra caught sight of Azriel for the first time that night, his helmet gone though his armor remained. She stood, unable to stop herself from heading toward him even though he was still speaking with Rhysand. She needed to see him, to see with her own eyes that he wasn't harmed. That he was okay.

Azriel's eyes snapped up, connecting with hers and she felt her stomach flutter when those hazel eyes softened. Rhys glanced back at her, quieting as she drew close and offered her a smile. "Lyra." He greeted, dipping his head to her. She nodded back, but looked back toward Azriel, relief filling her when she saw he was unharmed other than minor cuts and scrapes. "Report back to Cassian after." Rhys said to Azriel, clapping his brother on the arm before he turned and headed for his mate.

"After?" She asked, scanning that beautiful face and frowning when she caught sight of a rather jagged cut that ran down his cheek and below his jaw. It was nasty, but she it looked to be the worst of what he suffered.

"My scouts and I will search for the remainder of his army and try to find out where he plans to hit next." He answered, pushing his sweaty, black hair away from his face.

"Now?" She asked, chest constricting painfully. He had barely rested, barely regathered himself.

"Yes." He said simply, but his eyes softened as he took in her concern.

Lyra sighed and she closed her eyes for a brief moment, brushing against that flare of light within her. It had grown easy now, even with her cage still around it and she took just a tiny bit, the tips of her two fingers glowing softly with it. The healing part of her gifts were warm, welcoming and she found them easy to draw up. Azriel studied them, his brows furrowing in confusion before she touched his jaw gently and her fingers ran down that cut. It repaired itself, just like those bloody slashed from the Scorpion, until it was gone completely.

"Just be careful." She said as the glow extinguished, like a flame blown out and she lowered her hand. But Azriel caught it in his scarred fingers, curling around hers gently and this thumb ran along her knuckles. Her heart caught, fluttering in her chest as he squeezed her hand.

"I will." He assured her, his voice a low whisper before his shadows drew close and in a hiss of wind and darkness, he was gone.