Elain woke to the most beautiful sight she had ever seen in her short life.
More beautiful than any sunset, or rose petal, or even her beloved nephew Nyx—
The sight of Azriel, peacefully asleep.
The dark circles she had noticed beneath his eyes when he held her close yesterday morning, winnowing them to the continent, had faded overnight. He was still sleeping, breathing cedar and mist into her very bones, her own lips only inches from his. His hands were tucked beneath the side of his head like a little child. She guessed that they had fallen asleep like that, facing one another without touching, and she realized that it had been one of the most restful sleep in many weeks. Maybe even many years.
Her eyes scanned his dark skin and short black hair, almost glowing in the morning sunlight. The onyx tattoos curled across his chest, up his neck toward his head. Long lashes rested on his high cheekbones, his lips pursed, perfectly shaped against his sharp jaw. Elain felt that she could stare at the Shadowsinger for the rest of her life, his shadows awakening and floating above them both, a soft company that never caused her to fear.
Because to her, those shadows were not darkness or mystery: they were Azriel.
Pure and perfect.
She sensed him stirring and flipped onto her back, narrowly avoiding his gaze as he awoke. "Good morning." She whispered, clutching the sheet to her body, urging her heaving chest to calm.
"Good morning." He replied quietly, not looking in her direction.
Azriel's morning voice was low and scratchy, and Elain nearly felt her eyes roll to the back of her skull from the luster of it caressing against her mind. He drew his hand to rub his forehead and sat up, swinging his long legs off the bed and turning his back and wings toward her. She released her caught breath and slipped from the covers, her feet touching the cold ground.
"Oh!" She started, pulling her feet back onto the bed, and almost falling backward onto the quilts.
The Shadowsinger glanced toward her, and leaned down, rummaging through one of their worn leather bags. He picked up a pair of folded wool stockings and came toward her, lowering to the squeaky floorboards on one knee, taking her small foot to his hand. Elain fought the memories of the last time he had kneeled before her, focusing instead on Azriel's scarred hands holding her foot, tugging the stocking on gently before he grabbed her other foot and repeated the action.
His hands lingered then, almost for a moment too long, holding her ankle, his thumb grazing across her skin, his eyes fastened to her foot. Elain felt her heartrate flutter, their breathing the only sound filling the room. Looking up toward her, Azriel gazed at her for another moment, until Elain looked away, covering her mouth and releasing a cough, severing the gaze.
"I haven't awoken to cold floors since we lived in the cottage. My sisters and I shared a bed. We were very poor back then, and—" She felt herself rambling, keenly aware of the fact that Azriel had yet to release her ankle. "Uhm, is your headache gone? Did you sleep okay?" She felt his scarred thumb caress her skin slightly, causing a ripple of goosebumps to sweep up her leg.
Her eyes flicked back toward his, and he opened his mouth, as if to speak before he seemed to change his mind. Releasing her ankle, he drew to his full height, his wings brushing against the ceiling.
"Let's go." Azriel's low voice rumbled through the space as he turned away from her, exiting the room. "I'll be waiting for you outside. Take your time." He called over his shoulder, swiping up his leathers and knives as he left, pulling the door closed behind him.
Elain sighed, rising from the bed, her feet now protected from the cold wooden floor by the warm stockings. She chose a beige cotton A-line skirt, belted at her waist and short enough for comfortable walking, just grazing the tops of her leather laced boots. She pulled on a dark red knit sweater, rolled down the neck and tugged the sleeves down. Adjusting the waistband of her skirt, Elain fastened her leather belt, being careful to make sure she didn't snag her long curls in the band. Completing the outfit, she laced a tight bustier vest the same material as the skirt over her sweater.
She fussed with her skin for a moment before heaving a sigh. She was taking way too long on her appearance, and for what?
They were on a mission in the human lands.
She wasn't going to be seeing anyone other than Azriel all day.
But some part of her acknowledged that it was precisely BECAUSE she would be seeing no one other than Azriel, that she was fussing so much with her appearance. Even if he didn't seem to want to talk to her.
Sighing again, she turned from the small mirror and shook her head, trying to free herself from the silly thoughts.
This was going to be a long few days.
ﾟ☆: *.☽ ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── ☽ .* :☆ﾟ
Azriel sat on the cold boulder, watching as Elain paced back and forth in the clearing.
The air was brusque, and he was grateful she seemed warm enough in the clothes they had brought. He leaned forward, holding his head by his hands resting on his knees. She looked so damn cute today. Her curly hair was tied back, falling to the waist of her little outfit. The leather boots tied up past the bottom of her skirt, and he found himself wondering how high up her legs they laced... her thighs perhaps? That soft skin...
Fucking hells.
He needed to get it together.
He stood up, casting a glance toward Elain before striding into the dark forest. "Scream if you need me." He tossed the words over his shoulder, leaving behind most of his shadows to keep her company. He decided to circle her clearing, keeping to the dark underbrush of the pine trees, just out of range of her, but still able to sense her with his shadows.
Azriel walked through the forest, his wings held loosely behind him as he felt his mind swirling mechanically through his life since the Archeron sisters had come to join their family. Feyre had saved his brother, joining the Inner Circle and leaving not just her human home, but also her home with Tamlin. And then there was the war. Azriel warmly remembered the courage Elain had, to open her home to them, even when she still wore that damn iron engagement band.
Stepping around some tall grasses, he wended through the trees, still able to see her red sweater and golden brown curls peeking out from the clearing, his shadows covering the ground around her as she paced, her eyes opening and closing. He could watch her for hours... days... years? Just existing... being so fucking perfect.
His mind flickered to the King of Hybern's throne room. The Cauldron. Azriel hadn't even been lucid when Elain and Nesta had been dumped in the cauldron... when Lucien had claimed her. He sometimes wondered what would have happened if he had been the first to lay eyes upon the fae Elain instead of the fox... if he had been fully present when she turned.
Because quite honestly, he didn't see that much of a difference between how Cassian and Rhys felt toward their mates, and how Az felt toward Elain.
Just the idea of Elain even close to a threat caused him to almost transform into a being of pure destruction and lethal force. Whenever he had found her in danger, Azriel had felt as though he was the pure essence of Amren's legendary power, reincarnated in his male body; malice, destruction, judgment, and fury. Any obstacle, any threat to her... whether it was Hybern, the Cauldron, river water, or even a fucking foolish mate... whatever the threat was, to her safety, or even to her happiness... it would meet the wrath of the Shadowsinger.
And sometimes he could not understand the emotions.
Because he had loved in his long lifetime: Az loved his family, he loved his friends... hells... he had loved Mor for hundreds of years even.
But there was a clear distinction. Because although he desired to protect his friends and family... The knowledge of them being in danger never caused him to phase into a creature of pure irrational hysteria and despair.... Not in the way he transformed when it was Elain who was in the throes of the enemy.
When Gwyn, Emerie, and Nesta had been dumped in the Rite, Cassian had been out of his mind during their mission spying on Eris. Azriel had felt terrible for the females, but it was so different from his mated brother who seemed as if his very soul was being sucked from his body.
The thought of Elain being dumped in the Rite... he paused his walk, glancing over at her, so innocent and sweet, her curls bouncing with her steps, doe eyes squeezed shut and fists balled; trying and trying to induce a vision... he felt the acute realization fall over him that if it was Elain who had been dumped in the Rite, Azriel would have flattened all of Ramiel, becoming the essence of malicious violence itself, murdering and maiming any Illyrian who so much as looked at her the wrong way.
His siphons began to glow amongst the dark trees, his magic building just at the thought of her in danger, and he forced himself to keep walking, pushing the thoughts away and grounding himself in reality.
He had just never experienced these emotions in this way before.
Because when Mor was fighting in the battle of Adriata, or any one of the other battles they had faced, Azriel had been able to focus on his own tasks and mission, trusting and leaving her to fight for herself. But with Elain, he was unable to release her to the void of danger. It wasn't a matter of competence so much as it was a matter of pure desire to protect her; as if he was protecting a piece of himself. It felt like if she was to die, half of him was going to die as well.
His mind flashed back to his brothers; the aroma of their mating bonds tanging the air whenever he was near them. Even between Elain and Vanserra, the acrid scent would burn his nostrils, an irritating reminder of their biological connection.
Sighing, he stopped walking, glancing over at Elain, who was still pacing, no visions to report. The sun was setting and he wanted her to rest. It was time to head back to the inn.
ﾟ☆: *.☽ ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── ☽ .* :☆ﾟ
Elain slumped into the padded velvet seat, her hand wrapped around the warm cup of tea, staring out at the dark forest beyond the foggy window pane. Azriel and Elain had returned from another unfruitful day of seeking Koschei, and they had eaten a silent dinner in the pub attached to the inn, which had since emptied out. She realized she was unwilling to budge from her seat, intent on nursing her tea and disappointment rather than face the awkward sleeping arrangements waiting for her in their room.
Sighing, she brought the chamomile to her lips, reflecting on the exhausting day spent in the forest.
Elain had nearly worn a new trail through her spot in that meadow, pacing back and forth in concentration, desperately reaching for a strand of communication between her and Koschei. But she had yet to lure even a whisper from the death God, and she was beginning to feel like it would be better to just throw herself into his damn lake instead of returning to Patras empty-handed.
Because she was sick of it.
She was sick of being the most pampered yet most useless member of the Inner Circle. She was sick of everyone coddling her, trying to stop her from helping, trying to keep her safe all the time like she was a child... she just wanted to be like her sisters.
Elain let out a verbal scoff, slamming her tea cup onto the mahogany table. "Powerful Made-Fae my ass." She muttered, her eyes dark and narrow matching the deep frown on her lips.
"Don't be hard on yourself." Azriel's low voice rumbled across the mahogany table, and Elain shot her eyes up in surprise, staring up at him, nearly dropping her teacup.
Although he was an impactful and disarming presence, she had nearly forgotten Azriel was there, keeping her company, sitting silently across from her on a bench. He was leaned forward on his elbows, his wings tucked behind him, apparently watching her mental breakdown happen in real time.
She winced at his words, rolling her eyes and swirling her teacup. "Easy for you to say. Everyone already knows that you're good at what you do. They respect you." She frowned again.
"Elain, I'm five hundred years older than you." Azriel's voice was laced with a chuckle. "When I was your age, I was still figuring out my place."
She let out a scoff, her eyes flashing up toward the Shadowsinger. "But Azriel, you had defeated Ramiel by my age! AND become the High Lord's right hand."
He raised a brow toward her, cocking his head at an angle. "I've never told you those stories."
She sat back in the booth, turning her face out the window, watching the last bits of the sun drop below the forest canopy. "Mor told me one time."
Her face flushed as she recalled the party at the river mansion, before the females had fallen into fits of hysteria over wingspans, Elain had gently asked Mor about the Illyrians and their histories. Particularly one Illyrian of special interest, but he didn't need to know that.
Shaking her head of the memory and changing the subject, she pouted again, pushing her tea away from her and crossing her arms. "I just don't want to fail."
"We can't force Koschei to communicate with you. And quite frankly, I'm happy as hells he hasn't." Azriel's voice was resolute. "Didn't you just say in the vineyard that your visions are spontaneous? It was just a hunch from Rhys to send us here. Just a test to see if we could gain anything to help Vassa. No one expects you to—"
"And that's the problem!" Elain interrupted, her voice flaring with frustration. "No one expects anything of me." She dropped her head into her hands, staring down at her empty tea cup.
Azriel heaved a sigh, rising from his bench and swiping away her empty tea cup. She looked up as he straightened to his full height, his wings bumping against the antler chandeliers decorating the old pub. He sauntered across the creaking cedar floors, depositing her dishes in the sink, and leaned over the bar, grabbing a sparkling bottle of amber liquid.
Turning to face her, his mouth spread into a devilish grin, he cocked his head at her. "If you're going to pout, I'm going to drink."
She laughed, despite herself, and raised her hand, beckoning him to get her a glass as well. The Shadowsinger obliged, taking two crystal glasses from the bar and pouring them both a shot. He stopped at the edge of the table, handing her the glass, his eyes soft.
"Not all of us need to be warriors or Valkyries or High Lords or even great magicians in order to bring value." He leaned down, his hands on the table, drawing his face close to hers, his eyes sparkling with emotion. "Because, what is all this fighting for anyway?" She stared back at him, furrowing her brows.
He pushed off the table, sliding onto the bench across from her, swirling the drink, his voice suddenly rough. "I fight and torture and spy, and do whatever the hells else is required of me because I want to protect the good things. I want to save the beautiful things, like Velaris... like my family.... Like you."
He kept his eyes trained on his glass as her heart fluttered. "I fight to defend those who are weaker and those who cannot fight back. But I also fight to save and preserve what is pure and what is innocent."
Elain felt a tear rise to her lid as his words fell over her, filling her very soul. "So Elain, my sweet flower girl: never feel bad that our family wants to protect you. Because it is faeries like you that motivate us to fight as hard as we do."
The tear began to fall from her lid, and she quickly drew the crystal glass to her lips, downing the shot, and wiping her face with her other hand. She let out a breath, sighed, and returned the glass to the table.
"Thank you."
He tipped his head toward her, a smile filling his eyes.
ﾟ☆: *.☽ ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── ☽ .* :☆ﾟ
Azriel poured Elain another shot of whiskey.
The pub had emptied out, and they were the last two patrons, only the lanterns lighting the dim space. He had wanted to head back to the rooms a while ago, but Elain seemed to be avoiding the subject of their sleeping plans.
"You know..." She broke the silence, Azriel's eyes dragging up toward hers. "I'm not totally useless. I did stab the King of Hybern in the neck with Truth Teller."
"Exactly! Now tell me, what's useless about that?" He smiled, raising his glass over the mahogany table toward her. "Cheers to stabbing assholes in the neck!"
She laughed, bumping her drink into his before dropping the entire shot down her throat, wincing from the burn of the alcohol. "Truth Teller was the real hero that day."
Her eyes were warm toward his, and he smiled again, nodding his head toward her as she continued speaking. "I haven't told you this, but I used to play a game with my friends called Truth Teller. We would sneak out of society parties together, swiping a bottle of wine... back when I was human." Elain coughed slightly, a smile forming on her lips as her eyes traveled to the cedar ceilings, recalling the memories.
Azriel looked at her, raising a brow playfully, inviting her to continue. "And how do you play this game?"
Her eyes shot to his, a playful glimmer edging her lashes. "Truth Teller is just what it sounds like. One person asks a question, and you can either take a shot and tell the truth, or you can take two shots and refuse to answer."
Azriel chuckled, drawing his glass to his lips. "But if you take two shots for every refused question, won't the truth come out eventually anyway?"
"That's why it's called Truth Teller!" Elain cried, laughing and slamming her hands down on the table, wiggling her brows at his.
The Shadowsinger felt a wave of relief fall across his soul, seeing her so happy and laughing after the stressful day of disappointment. Why not keep the fun going? It couldn't hurt to indulge a bit of nonsense on this failed spy mission... not if it meant seeing her smile again.
Pouring a shot into his glass, he placed it between his hands and raised his brows to her. "How about we play right now? I challenge you, Elain, to a round of Truth Teller." She beamed at him, her brow raising as she glanced down toward the whiskey glass in his hands.
"Hmmm... alright." She smiled, looking up at the ceiling for a moment before her eyes flashed toward him. "Let's start off easy. What's your favorite color?"
"Blue." Azriel answered, downing the shot and shaking his siphon at her. "Obviously. Color of the sky when I'm flying through the Night Court. But I've recently taken an affinity for peach." He added with a small smile, recalling her favored choice of gown.
She began to blush, and Azriel poured her a shot, pushing the glass across the table. "What is the story behind the song you sing to Nyx in the gardens all the time?" Elain cocked her head as he began humming the tune. "The one with the fishes and ships..." He implored, leaning slightly toward her.
"Oh!" She began to nod, humming along with him and breaking out into the lyrics. "Though the fae may spirit me away, my heart belongs to yours my Lord, through valleys and whips and fishes and ships, I'll sing myself to shore..."
Azriel laughed, humming along with her beautiful soprano voice, her singing illuminating the dark pub all around them.
"That is actually a good memory with my late mother." She answered quietly, and Azriel's mind flashed back to her words from the vineyard, that her mother was a worse version of Nesta on a bad day. "She would sing it to us sometimes before bed. On the nights after her parties, she would come to wish us goodnight and sing that song."
He nodded, raptly hanging on her every word, hungry for more information about Elain, as he always was. But she had completed her answer, downing the shot placed before her, grabbing the bottle, and pouring another glass.
"My turn." She smiled, sliding the glass across the table toward him. "What activity makes you the happiest?"
Azriel lowered his lids, a sly smile turning the corner of his lips as Elain blushed bright red. "Not including THAT kind of activity." She looked away, her shy smile facing the window as he swigged the glass and slammed it on the mahogany table.
"Flying." Azriel's wings expanded instinctively as she looked back toward I'm, nodding, her expression urging him to say more. "Specifically, flying with my brothers or flying when the sun is rising or setting; up in the sky, just me and the clouds. Sometimes at night under the stars."
Elain's eyes were glowing, following his description as her face lit up. "That sounds magnificent."
He nodded, scanning her beautiful halo of curls, noticing her hand reaching toward the end of her braided hair, winding and twirling the curls around her thumb and forefinger, considering his words. Azriel wondered if she was imagining what it would be like to fly with him.
Breaking her reverie, Elain looked over, a smile dancing across her lips. "Your turn Shadowsinger." She cocked her head and raised her eyebrow. "By the way... you still owe me a song. I've got the tattoo to prove it."
He poured a shot of whiskey into the glass they had been sharing and slid it back toward her. "Oh yeah? Where is it?"
Elain's face flushed again, her hand drawing away from her braid and to her chest. "You know damn well where that tattoo is." She exclaimed, her eyes sparkling as he glanced toward her breasts. "Come on, a real question."
"Fine. Why are you still courting that asshole?" Azriel couldn't help but growl the words at her.
Elain stared at him, taking the shot placed before her, but then without another word, and without looking at him, she poured a second shot and downed that one as well.
He raised a brow at her and reached for the glass, swiping it away. "No answer huh? Alright. Rules are rules. Your turn."
She paused for a moment, before asking her question, grabbing the bottle and pouring his shot for him. "Why did you give my necklace away to another female?" She placed the glass on the table and slid it toward him, her eyes downcast as she asked a second question quietly. "Did I mean nothing to you?"
Elain's words settled heavily in the dark pub, and Azriel felt his heart begin to race, her eyes laced with hurt. He downed the offered glass, and then reached his scarred hands across the table, taking her perfect fingers in his palms.
"I gave it away because you mean SO MUCH to me. I couldn't keep it on my nightstand, burning a hole into my brain. And I couldn't throw it away because it felt like throwing a piece of you away." He saw her eyes soften. "So the next best thing was to give it a new home."
Elain drew her hands from his, dabbing the corner of her eye slightly. "That's actually ve— very sweet." Her voice had turned slightly emotional, slurring from the whiskey, and Azriel leaned and angled his face down toward her, looking closely at her lashes.
"Elain, are you crying?" His voice was gentle as he reached toward her hands again.
"No!" She huffed and pouted, wiping her bottom lid and reaching for the bottle of whiskey, pouring another shot and downing the dark liquid. "It's your turn now."
And without missing a beat, he felt his defenses fall, the next question springing out of him like a dart.
"Why did you kiss me in the garden before leaving for Patras?" Azriel asked, narrowing his eyes and watching her mind spin, hoping above hope that she would not reach for the glass a second time.
"I kissed you because..." she raised her face to his, "I saw you, and it felt like I just had to— I had to... stake my claim or something. Seeing the necklace on Mor... it felt like I was losing you, but I never really had you in the first place." Her cheeks were completely rosy, her eyes wide as she gazed toward him, the whiskey no doubt swirling her vision.
He nodded. "Understandable."
"So why DIDN'T you kiss me on Solstice?" She shot back, cocking her head and pushing the bottle toward him.
Azriel took a swig right from the bottle, and considered repeating the action, but decided against it. "Rhys told me not to."
She drew away, pushing into the velvet booth behind her, sitting up straight. "When?"
"As I was pulling your perfect face toward my lips."
She let out a gasp. "That bastard!"
"Elain!" Azriel threw his head back, clutching his stomach as the laughter poured out, filling the quiet pub as she crossed her arms and huffed.
"Well... he is!" She blew a strand of hair from her face, frowning and muttering to herself. "I wanted that kiss."
"Hmm." He leaned back, crossing his arms, trying to think of his next question, or in fact, any type of sentence to string together for her.
But it was Elain who broke the silence, rising from the bench, her movements jaunty from the whiskey, as she gazed toward him, trailing a hand on the mahogany table, coming around the edge toward him. "Azriel..."
"Ah, ah, ah," he tutted toward her shaking his head lightly. "It's still my turn sweetheart." He smiled, leaning forward to grab his whiskey, tossing her a cocky grin.
Ignoring him, she drew closer, rounding the table until she was sitting on the bench next to him, her knee pressed up against his thigh. The scent of honey and jasmine began to overwhelm him, as she leaned in, her hand reaching for his leg.
"Is it true," Elain's voice was a whisper, her lips drawing toward his neck. "That you have the largest wingspan?" And then her face broke out into a wicked grin.
"Elain Archeron, why I never— " He raised a palm to his chest, mock offense dripping from his open mouth as he leaned away from her, sliding down the bench, creating distance.
She drew back as well, swiping the whiskey bottle from him and raising her palm. "It's an innocent question!"
"Well in that case..." He leaned toward her, his hand grasping the wooden bench, his face only inches away from her lips. "Would you like to find out for yourself?"