Gwyneth Berdara - Blog Posts

Missed Chances and Stolen Glances

Part 1 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: Here I am, back again with a new work instead of finishing my WIPs 🥰 anyways I hope you enjoy! Also I know this fic is gonna have so many classic and overused tropes 😭 don’t come at me ok? I wanted to portray Azriel’s father here as cruelly as possible while also keeping him compliant to how bad parents can be in our world. This is just my interpretation of how Az’s father would look like in a modern AU!

Summary: Az is failing high school Spanish, and he desperately needs to get his grades up in order to graduate. He manages to conveniently find a tutor a couple of years younger than him, but there's no way he'll fall for her. Right?

Word Count: 1444

“Scattered ‘cross my family line,

I’m so good at telling lies”

~ Family Line, Conan Gray

Az ran a hand through his already messy hair, groaning. What the hell? How had he failed his Spanish test again?

“So, what’d you get?” His friend asked, leaning down to get a glimpse of his test. Quickly snatching it off the table before his buddy could get a look, he scowled up at him. “Piss off, Cassian.” He’d always been too nosy for his own good, and Azriel knew it was bound to land him in trouble. 

“Not in the mood, huh?” Cassian inquired. Azriel didn’t even bother responding, only flipping him off as he grumbled internally. 

I swear to god Azriel, if you fail one more test, you’re not playing on the basketball team this semester, his father had chided when he’d flunked chemistry. He couldn’t stop playing basketball. He simply couldn’t. He was well on his way to getting a scholarship from one of his top sports universities, and even his middle-aged, cranky father could see that this was the opportunity of a lifetime. 

How was Azriel going to break the news to his father this time? Truth be told, he couldn’t give a rat’s ass about Spanish, but he needed to continue playing basketball, and right now, that was the same thing. 

Shoving the paper into his backpack, not caring if it got crumpled or ripped or utterly destroyed, he dragged himself home without so much as a goodbye to his friends. 

✦ ✦ ✦

Standing outside his father’s study, he stared at the mahogany door and the gold engraving in neat, elegant letters. Mr. Ellison. 

He’d been standing here for the past five minutes, not being able to work up the courage. Useless coward, he chided himself. Absolutely pathetic. 

Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself, and knocked twice. The sound echoed all around the marble lobby, and did nothing to ease his nerves. 

“Come in,” boomed his father’s voice from the other side. Slowly pushing the door open, he slipped inside. He was trapped in his father’s lair.  Nothing and no one was saving him now. 

✦ ✦ ✦

“Father,” he started, voice devoid of emotion. His father merely nodded, brow slightly furrowed as he perused what seemed to be vital documents. With no further directions, Azriel took a seat across from him in one of the plush burgundy armchairs, the sheer size of them dwarfing him despite his considerable height. 

He supposed it was another one of his father's tactics, to have over-the-top, extravagant furniture that caused nothing but discomfort to the client. It would make it so that they’d want to leave as quickly as possible and give him additional time to exploit loopholes in their statements and contracts. At least that was what he told himself, because there was no other explanation for his father's ghastly interior décor choices. 

“Well? You came to see me for a reason, didn’t you?” His father barked out. Impatient, ruthless man. “Yes. I…do you remember our deal about me being kicked off the team if I failed another test?” He asked sheepishly and immediately realised how stupid of a question that was. Of course he remembers. His father was never one to forget, especially not when it came to the deals he made. He prided himself on it, flaunting his ‘greatest quality’, as he so happened to call it, like a badge of honour. 

Azriel’s statement seemed to catch his father’s attention, and he paused, staring at the paper as he contemplated…whatever it was selfish, old, stuck-up businessmen contemplated. His eyes narrowed, lips pursing. The only way Azriel could make out his clear displeasure was because he’d been forced to learn how to read the man like a book his entire life. Mood swings and bouts of anger were more common than was healthy, but he’d learned to live with it. Stay out of his way, and wait until the dust settles, his mother had told him before she’d died. Cancer, he remembered. 

Indeed, he couldn’t remember much of his mother at all, seeing as she’d passed when he’d been around six and had only begun to understand the world and its fleeting mechanisms, the slippery nature of some people. What he did remember was the hospital visits and the long discussions with the doctors late into the night. His father was never present for those, instead choosing to work late because of whatever pressing issue there had been at the office that he simply had to take care of. He hadn’t cared for her treatment, delaying it until she was practically begging to be taken to the hospital. He hadn’t even shed a tear at her funeral, only been his somber, distant, aloof self that had made Azriel hate him even more than the day of his mother’s death. 

His father’s sigh brought him back to the present and he could see how irritated he was as he rested his forehead on his index finger and thumb. “Please don’t tell me you failed yet another test?” Azriel opted to stay silent, only placing the ruined test paper on his pristine, polished desk. His father’s eyes flicked down to read the number on the paper, marked in red ink, and then looked straight at Azriel. Avoiding his piercing gaze that would make even the bravest uneasy, he looked down at his lap and his folded hands. “You know what this means,” continued his father. “I’ll have a talk with your coach. You’re benched. Until you get those grades up boy, you won’t be seeing a basketball, let alone touching one.”

“Yes father,” he said solemnly, even as his heart plummeted. He knew what was coming, he knew it, but it still hurt to hear it said out loud. 

As he made to leave, his father called, “When’s your next progress report coming?” He turned, facing him fully, and answered, “Not until March, father.” Why the hell was he asking about these things like he gave a damn? He merely hummed to indicate that he’d heard, then inquired, “And how are all your other subjects coming along? Any more that you’re on the verge of failing?” Without waiting for a reply, he ploughed on, “Or rather, let me phrase the question differently. Are there any subjects that you’re actually passing, boy? Any real chance that you’ll graduate at all?”

He was seething. He wouldn’t have been surprised if actual steam was coming out of his ears, because this was an entirely new level. Indifference he could handle, could handle being treated like he was invisible or that he didn’t matter. It was easier that way. But direct confrontation? He’d never mastered that. It was clear on his face as he stumbled for words, and his father being the vulture he was, pounced on the opportunity. “I thought so,” he hummed. “Well, there’s no use in you standing here like a statue. You can go make yourself useful. How about you actually sit down and study for once, hmm? Try to get those drowning grades afloat?”

“Father,” he cut in, heart beating rapidly, knowing he was playing a dangerous game. He was an egoistic man, and thrived on power, on oppressing those who had nothing to call their own. “You don’t have to bench me.” Before he could really yell at him, Azriel rambled on, not quite sure what he was trying to say. “I can find myself a tutor. If I get my grades up with a Spanish tutor, I’ll be able to pass high school with decent enough grades to be accepted by the university I’m aiming for, and I’ll be able to play basketball. It’s a win-win situation for everyone,” he finished, slightly out of breath and hoping he wasn’t about to get thrown on his ass for suggesting something like this. 

His father was silent, and cocked his head to the side as he mulled over the proposition. It was seal-tight, after all. Why would he say no?

“Fine,” he answered curtly. “You find yourself a Spanish tutor within the next three days, and you’ll get to keep playing.”

“Three days? I need at least a week, father, please.”

“Five days,” the man bargained. “Final offer. Take it or leave it.” Suppressing the urge to tell him how unfair it was, he said coolly, “Okay. Deal accepted.” They shook hands on it, his father’s iron grip unrelenting, as if it was trying to squeeze the very life out of him. Taking a deep breath, Azriel managed to leave the office slightly relieved, if not entirely satisfied, and his heart beating like anything.

Part 2

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Cooking

AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: A fluffy, domestic drabble

Word Count: 805

The smell of pasta drifted up into Gwyn’s nose. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply, and sighed. Setting a lid on top of the pot, she moved to the sink to rinse her hands off. Azriel would be home any minute now, and she wanted to make sure dinner was ready for him. She’d decided to make his favourite today; shrimp pasta with red sauce. Not more than ten minutes ago, she’d set the table, unsure about when he would arrive, but wanting everything to be in place when he did.

Glancing up at the clock on the wall, she frowned. He wouldn’t be home for at least another half an hour, and she simply couldn’t wait to meet her mate. He’d been gone longer this time, and had been on the continent for a good three months under Rhysand’s orders. As much as she loved her husband, she knew being Spymaster of the Night Court was also his job. She couldn’t prevent him from doing that. His heart beat for this Court and its High Lord, after all.

Deciding to curl up on the couch with a book, at least until he arrived, she wrapped herself up in blankets and got cosy. As if the House was a mind-reader, a cup of hot chocolate plopped down onto the table beside her. Silently thanking the House, she took a sip, and nearly groaned in satisfaction. Rich, creamy, and utterly delicious, it had to be her favourite thing in the world, save for Azriel, of course. 

The city glimmered around her, glowing with faelights as the House provided her with a view fit for a queen. The glimmering lights and the winding Sidra as it snaked through buildings and the famed Palaces of Velaris. There was a reason it was known as the City of Starlight, why it came alive at nightfall. Indeed, all activity seemed to multiply immediately at the stroke of moonrise, but it was just another blessing she had come to appreciate. 

But Gwyn wasn’t looking outside. Nose buried deep in her favourite romance novel, she sipped the warm liquid that nearly melted her insides, until she remembered the pasta she’d left on the stove. 

She got up, grumbling internally at having to leave the blissful haven she’d made for herself. Just as she was stirring the pot, ensuring nothing had burned in however long she’d been lounging on the couch, warm hands grabbed her waist, and the scent of night-chilled mist and cedar filled her senses. Inhaling, she let herself relax into Azriel’s warm body. He was just as eager to see her, it seemed, as he buried his nose in the crook of her neck. “I missed you,” he mumbled into her hair. “I missed you too,” she managed to whisper without her voice cracking. 

His shadows reciprocated immediately, coming out of hiding to tangle in Gwyn’s hair and loop around her arms as she chuckled in delight. The cool sensation of them as they felt like velvety, liquid night given form, was something she still hadn’t gotten used to. 

Noting her happiness, Azriel tugged on the bond, and her heart melted. He was finally home, and she couldn’t wait to have him to herself for at least another week.

She leaned her head back, resting her head on his shoulder. Her eyes fluttered shut as she let herself revel in this moment. This calm, this peace; that was what she missed whenever her mate was away. 

“Did you eat today?” Gwyn asked, hating to break their little moment. Azriel only gave a non-committal hum as he buried his face deeper into her flowing copper locks. “Azriel?” she said, a little more sternly this time. “No,” he mumbled finally. “But I’m ready to eat you.” She giggled, and said between laughter, “I meant actual food, Az.”

“But you do count as actual food.”

“I made your favourite pasta, you know. Can’t let that go to waste.” That seemed to catch his attention, as he raised his head and spun Gwyn around to face him. 

Laying a gentle, scarred hand on her cheek, he whispered, “You’d do that for me?” Gwyn’s lips quirked up in a smile. “Of course I would.”

“But the ingredients-”

“I had Rhys ship them over.” Being friends with a High Lord really did have its perks. Azriel’s expression softened further. “That’s so incredibly sweet of you.”

“Well, what kind of a mate would I be if I didn’t cook for my husband after a long, grueling mission?” He only enveloped her in a kiss, warm and sweet, until she went pliant in his arms. As they broke away, she gave him a peck on the cheek, unable to resist her mate any longer. She ran a hand over his cheekbone. “Let’s have dinner. Before it gets cold.”

A/N: I don’t know if I captured the vibe here but I just wanted to try out a short drabble. Inspired by this Tumblr post.

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

The Thought of You

AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: This can be read as an alternate ending/continuation to “The Final Goodbye”. He has to learn to live with his grief, but he resorts to extreme methods. Includes alcohol abuse/alcoholism, depression, grief, mourning, mention of major character death, self-hatred, self-doubt, and self-sabotage.

Summary: Azriel tries desperately to cope with the loss of his mate.

Word Count: 1240

The dark liquor burned his throat as he threw back another glass. “Bartender,” he called, waving a scarred hand to get his attention. “Another one.” He’d lost count of how many drinks he’d had tonight. He didn’t care. 

Neither did he care about the females who had been eyeing him like a piece of meat all night. A few, the braver ones, had even approached, but he had politely declined each time, offering them a polite but firm rejection. It had nothing to do with attraction; not at all. In fact, he would have been happy to have a good fuck if it meant drowning himself in his emotions. But he also knew it wasn’t fair to the female. It was unfair to assume that she wanted the same things as he did, simply because he was depressed. He wanted to be in the right state of mind to take a female home, and right now, he was far from it.

Az, where are you? Rhys’ frantic voice cut through his mental shields, which must have been down now that he was heavily drunk. Out, he answered, not bothering with an actual reply. Rhys, the busybody, wasn’t ready to give up quite yet, as he heard his brother’s voice in his head once more. Yes, I know. Care to tell me where you are so we make sure you don’t pass out in some sewer? 

Watch it, Az snarled back, his jaw ticking. Normally, he would have joked and laughed along with his brother, but tonight, he couldn’t take it. His patience was already wearing thin, and he didn’t have the energy to deal with his brother’s bullshit, High Lord or no.

You don’t want to talk to me, fine. But at least talk to someone about it, cam Rhys’ voice once more.

I’ll talk whenever I feel comfortable, he snapped back. Now let me be.

He felt Rhys exit his mind, and he was left alone to wallow in his sorrow.

“Az,” came Rhys’ voice. Didn’t I tell you to get out of my mind? When Azriel didn’t get a response, he realized that Rhys was physically here, and not in his mind. “What do you want?” he sighed as Rhysand took a seat on the barstool beside him. “I want to check how you’re doing.”

“And how do you think I’m doing, Rhysand?” He only called his brother by his full name when he was pissed. “Rhysand? Truly, Az?” When he didn’t bother gracing him with a response, Rhys merely continued, his voice more serious, “Like I said, I want to check how you are. Obviously not well, since I can smell you’ve been drinking the day away.” He wrinkled his nose, and Azriel had the urge to pummel something into the Earth.

Rhys noticed his jaw ticking though, and said instead, “You’ve had more than enough to drink, Az. Let’s get you home.” 

“No.”

“Why not?” Because if he moved from his barstool, he might actually throw up. Worse, he might cry. His brother did not need to see him in such a vulnerable state, and certainly not on the anniversary of his mate’s death. Rhys didn’t know. That was fine. But surely he could be granted the courtesy of spending a night however he wished without any interference?

But even as he drank, Azriel knew that no matter where Gwyn was right now, another life or another world entirely, she would not be proud of who Azriel had become this past year. She was most likely scowling down at him, cursing his name to the winds for being a Cauldron-damned drunkard. He deserved it. Deserved it all. The pain, the heartbreak, the torture. Her anger and her rage. He always had. Drinking simply made it easier to deal with, to drown out his emotions and the thoughts that had become too loud with each passing day, haunting him day and night, eating away at his conscience ceaselessly like a colony of maggots.

Indeed, he’d come here, to this very bar, nearly every day since her death and drank himself into oblivion. The bartender hadn’t asked why, only giving him the endless supply of alcohol he so desperately needed to keep the flood of emotions at bay. It seemed, however, that no matter what he did, how much he drank or how much he avoided the others, the dam only seemed to build up. It would crash soon, he knew it, and he’d be six feet under. Good. It was better than whatever hell he was living in now. Surely this couldn’t be worse than living without his mate, his true love with whom he’d had far too little time with. His mate, who’d been stolen from him like Death’s personal prize simply to spite him. Perhaps this was his punishment: his mate in return for all those lives he’d taken. It seemed fitting, after all; his true love for the countless soldiers and spies he’d killed and maimed and tortued and done Cauldron knows what to. He understood. Or at least he tried to, but that didn’t do anything to ease the pain. If anything, it made it worse, the constant, searing, blinding pain that had him feeling so horrible he could hardly get out of bed most days. Rhys hadn’t pushed it, thankfully, and neither had any of the Inner Circle. He wanted to talk to them, he really did, but they were all dealing with their own demons. Amren, who was adjusting to a new life as a new creature. Feyre, who had been pulled into this world at a far too young age. Rhysand, who’d sacrificed everything and bled himself raw for this court. Cassian, who’d used every ounce of cunning and strength to help unite the armies of Prythian’s largest court. Mor, a queen in her own right, who managed the sections of this court seamlessly and still managed to look stunningly elegant while doing so. And him. The killer, the wounder, the spy. The one who’d taken far too many lives, hurt even more, and would likely spend the rest of his existence rotting in the worst cell Hel had to offer. He couldn’t blame the Devil, after all. He was simply doing his job, and right now, Azriel’s cards were full of nothing but suffering. It hurt, but he also knew that his mate was in a better place. 

Sighing, he got up, brushing Rhys out of the way, and shot skyward.

✦ ✦ ✦

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to his mate’s grave. Here lies Gwyneth Berdara, it wrote. Beloved by all, hated by none, a fearless warrior in her own right, who showed others that light could be found anywhere, if only one bothered to look for it. 

“I’m sorry for being such a pathetic mate, such a bastard after you left. I just…didn’t know how to handle the fact that you’re not here beside me.” Azriel took a breath to steady himself. Honestly, he was sure he’d have started crying by now, but the alcohol had numbed him so thoroughly it would be a miracle if he felt anything at all.

“I realize this is about the most worthless apology I can give you, seeing as you’re gone. I suppose my words don’t mean much anyway.”

Summoning a bouquet of white lilies, he lay them at her grave, brushing a light kiss to the petals. “I love you.”

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

The Ghost of the Grave

AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: Includes mentions of character death, grief, mourning, depression, and mental health struggles. Please read with caution and take care of yourself. Your mental health is more important than a fic. Quite an angsty fic. I just watched Bhool Bhulaiya 3 (amazing Hindi movie, horror-comedy but also really sad) and I can’t get the vibe of it out of my head (or the song, ‘Ami Je Tomar’ out of my head! It was amazing!) So I decided to write a fic about it. If it’s my problem, I’ll make it my personal mission to make it yours too. Enjoy!

Word Count: 1445

It was a gloomy day in Velaris, the clouds having set over the sky well over a day ago. They had all expected rain, but it seemed that the weather was keeping them all on eggshells as the storm brewed, more vicious than any they had witnessed in a long while.

Azriel, instead of opting to stay indoors, had made the decision to hike down to the hills near Velaris. Rolling green and full of meadows, they had always been his favourite place to go to when he felt that the din of the city became too much. He had grown up in the countryside, after all, those meagre hours with his mother doing little to satisfy his love for the wild and everything untamed.

At least that was what he told everyone who asked. While not entirely true, it wasn’t the only reason he came to visit nature. 

The War with Hybern had impacted them all, in many ways than one. And when Azriel had frequently left the Townhouse, claiming he needed time to sort out his thoughts, no one had objected, merely telling him to take care of himself. He’d nodded mutely, his mind elsewhere. 

Namely, his mate, whom he’d lost, and whose grave he was currently making his way to. She’d been buried right outside Velaris, Azriel having commissioned the ceremony himself, somber as it was. He’d wanted to make sure she got a resting place deserving of her, of the light and joy that was his mate. And so, Azriel had promptly decided that close to Velaris, close to her chosen home, was the best place he could have chosen for her. 

Making his way through the cemetery gates, he glanced around. Not to check for where she was buried, no. He knew where she lay, could probably find his way to her in the darkness and blindfolded even in Death. He was in a delicate state of mind right now, and he wasn’t entirely ready to meet anyone else grieving over her. 

Finally, he made his way to a clearing where the gravestones changed colour, become slightly more of a slate grey rather than those eroded by weather and the Mother herself. It was still fairly intact, the engravings and etchings still there.

Gwyneth Berdara - Warrior, Priestess, Lover

It was simple, and yet every time he saw those five words, it brought tears to his eyes. He hadn’t been able to think of anything else for his mate, any other words to tell the world after he, too, joined the realm of the dead and was reunited with his love, how utterly wonderful and charming his mate was. Words didn’t seem to do her justice, anyhow. 

Kneeling, he stroked a scarred hand over her grave. as if caressing her cheek. He had to swallow to clear his throat, choked with emotion, before he spoke. “Happy anniversary, my love.” Closing his eyes, he let the tears flow freely down his face. He was allowed to mourn her, at least today, he told himself. Mourn her thoroughly, so that her soul may know she was loved, even in Death.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his hands never leaving the gravestone as his forehead bent forward to touch the slate. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you, my love. It will forever haunt me until the day I die.” His body wracked with sobs as he broke down completely.

Perhaps this was his punishment for killing on the battlefield, for staining his hands with a blood so red no God or higher power could grant him salvation. For torturing and maiming and wrecking his body, tainting his soul the black of Death. How ironic, he thought to himself. Death’s messenger himself, who killed without a second thought, was devastated by his lover’s passing. Fate truly did love to be cruel, then. Relished in the misery it brought him as the mourning drove him insane, tore him apart shred by painful shred.

But it was something he’d have to make peace with, as he’d made peace with everything that had been thrown at him. As foreign a concept as it was, he’d also learned that peace for himself, for his heart, was something he’d have to live without. 

Sighing, he lifted his head, wiped his tears away and stared at her gravestone.

And began to sing. 

दो दिलों की ये प्रेम कहानी

ले आई देखो कहाँ

इन लकीरों में मिलना अपना था

जन्मों पहले लिखा

हमारे मिलन को

है तरसे जो नैना

इन्हें आज ना रोकना

जुदा अब ना होंगे

करो हमसे वादा

मेरा साथ ना छोड़ना

तुम्हें आज पाएंगे

या मर ही जाएंगे

ये ख़्वाब न तोड़ना

His voice arced and swirled, echoing around the clearing as he poured his heart into it. The story of two lovers, meant to be together in every way as one met their demise and the other was left grieving. He couldn’t think of a song better suited to them than this. Azriel had closed his eyes at one point, and hadn’t realized he’d been crying until he felt a tear land on his hands.

As he took a breath to continue, he heard a second, distinctly feminine voice singing along with him. 

मेरे ढोलना सुन

मेरे प्यार की धुन

मेरी चाहतें तो

फ़िज़ा में बहेंगी

ज़िंदा रहेंगी

होके फ़ना

अमी जे तोमार

शोधू जे तुमार

Beseeching her lover to listen to her dreams and pleas, her voice rang out, raw with emotion and a desperation that only the cruelty of love could bring about.

Opening his eyes, though now wet with tears, he stood up, hackles raised and senses alert. Drawing the twin blades at his back, his eyes tracked every small rustle of the leaves, every puff of the wind with lethal precision.

He’d expected a warrior, maybe someone coming to disturb him, or even a fellow mourner. But what he hadn’t expected, was the glowing, silvery form of his mate, floating above her gravestone. “My love,” she said, her voice as ethereal as the first day he’d heard her. “How I’ve missed you.”

His body was malfunctioning, it seemed, as he dropped the weapons he was holding and staggered forwards towards her non-corporeal form. “Gwyn,” he breathed, eyes wide and tears streaking his face.

“I’m here, my love. But tell me, why do you cry?”

“How could I not cry? Even the slightest of things remind me of you. Every day I wake up, and I see you in everything. The sun, glowing and warm. A book, full of knowledge and stubborn as hell. The ocean, how vast and utterly enchanting you are.”

It seemed that Gwyn was fighting back tears now too, as she said, “Happy anniversary, Azriel.”

Involuntarily, he made to hug her, but as his hands passed through her floating form, his face had a look of nothing but pure agony on it. 

“I can’t-”

“I know,” she soothed. “I know. My heart is clawing its way out of my chest because it senses your presence. But we can’t.”

“Why not?” he whispered, sinking to his knees once more as the weight of the situation overtook him.

“Because I am no longer part of this world.”

Azriel felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He’d spend another decade in his father’s cell, go through another two wars, watch the best of warriors as the life drained out of them, but he never wanted to hear those words. “No, you’re not,” he rasped out. “You’re not gone. I won’t allow you to be. I’ll-”

“Azriel,” she cut in, her voice calm, and yet limned with such exhausting sadness. “How long will you keep my memory alive?”

“Until I die. Until the day me soul leaves my body, and even then I won’t forget about you.”

“You have to,” she whispered, raising her hand as if to cup his cheek, but realizing too late that she couldn’t. That fate had made separate plans for them. “You have to move on. Find someone else. It’s not fair to you to be shackled to me, even in Death. I told you, my love. I told you when we were both in the realm of the living: you deserved so much better than me. You’re free,” she finished, her voice breaking on the last word as she let out a sob.

“I was never shackled to you,” Azriel breathed. “Never think that. Do you understand me? I don’t care if we’re worlds apart, but I’ll do everything I can to get to you. I am not free, and I most certainly will not move on. This isn’t some stupid fling I was involved in with you, Gwyn. This was our mating bond. You are everything to me. No other female can change that.”

“You think that now,” she said, her voice rising with desperation. “But one day, you’ll meet someone else, and think about you’d wish you’d met her sooner.”

“Never. My heart will always belong to you, broken and bloodied and shattered, but yours to keep. Do with it what you will. Step on it, crush it, blow it to smithereens. And still I will love you, as the waves love the shore, incessantly, without purpose or reason. I will come back no matter what. No matter that every interaction with you leaves me breathless, and panting, and the absurd and overwhelming need to see you again. I shall sacrifice it all to see a glimpse of you, a glimpse of us, a glimpse of what could have been or never was.”

Gwyn kneeled in front of him, silently urging Azriel to look at her. When he did, he found tears flowing down her face, too.

“I am with you, Azriel. From now until the end of time.”

“From now until then,” he echoed back, his voice filled with love and adoration for his mate. Gwyn, who had not deserved to leave this world so early, with whom he should have a thousand years more. And yet he knew that no matter how much time he spent with her he’d never be satisfied. She was as much a part of his soul as he was of hers, their lives irrevocably twined together: a thread of darkness and a thread of light, balancing each other out so perfectly he knew the Mother had made the perfect choice. 

It didn’t hurt any less, however, that Gwyn wasn’t beside him to tell him this, as she had disappeared into a mist, leaving behind only the smell of the briny, salty ocean.

A/N: Here is the song link on Youtube and Spotify

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

The Sight of Cobalt

AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: A fluffy fic about our two sweethearts going shopping in Velaris <3

Word Count: 1445

Velaris was awake now more than ever, it seemed, the sun having set hours ago and the night sky twinkling above them. And yet the patrons of every bar, every club, every restaurant, only seemed to celebrate harder as the night wore on. The Rainbow of Velaris shone beautifully, the neat cobblestone streets and windows decorated with flowerpots bringing Azriel a sense of peace only his home could offer. The perks of living in the Night Court, he supposed. 

Business never truly stopped in the City of Starlight, the Palaces of Velaris always crowded, always with new wares to offer and new people to meet. A true metropolis.

The mountains shone in the distance, great behemoths of granite that towered over the city like its solemn and duty-bound protectors. The jagged tips reflected the moonlight, making it seem as if they were coated in snow, despite it being the middle of summer.

But what he found most ethereal wasn’t the scenery or the stores. It was his mate, who he currently linked arms with as they meandered along the Sidra, the riverbank glowing with silver moonlight. The water rippled calmly, the sound soothing balm to his otherwise rough day. Gwyn’s copper hair shone in the light, and despite hailing from Autumn, he couldn’t help but admit that she seemed so in place here in Velaris, but most of all, with him by her side. 

Indeed, her eyes brightened at every store they passed, and she only seemed to increase in excitement with the more people they met. 

A sudden gasp from his mate had him raising his eyebrows and nearly crashing into her. “What’s wrong?” Gwyn didn’t say anything, merely pointing to something. A dress, he realized. And a damn stunning one at that. 

Navy blue and cinched around the waist, the dress pooled around the mannequin’s ankles like a liquid sea of cobalt. The tight-fitting bodice had intricate patterns woven onto it that glimmered under the shifting light, and was accompanied by sheer lace gloves going up to the elbows. Small gems adorned the entire gown like stars plucked from the night sky itself, adding an entirely new aspect to the already breathtaking gown. It was stunning in its splendour, utterly mesmerizing to the eye. It shimmered and gleamed under the light, making it seem heavenly. Even Azriel, who knew next to nothing when it came to dresses, could admit that this was a one-of-a-kind piece that he’d be extremely lucky to find from anyone but the crafted artisans of the City of Starlight.

Gwyn sighed dreamily, her eyes refusing to leave the dress, and said, “Can you imagine what it would be like to wear a dress like that? Oh, I’d have so much fun dancing around in a ballgown like I was a princess of my own.”

Azriel knew it was one of Gwyn’s whimsical dreams to own a collection of ball gowns that would put the Night Court’s treasuries and hordes of gold to shame. It had been a coveted wish since she was a child, and he’d been meaning to buy her a dress for their anniversary anyway.

Now seemed like the perfect time. After all, why not sooner than later?

“Come on,” he said firmly, gently grasping her arm and pulling her into the store as she protested weakly. “Az!”

When they were inside the store, the door clinking lightly with a little bell above it, he made a beeline for one of the more secluded racks on one side. It’d be quiet here, enough to allow them to talk without any of the attendants coming to check on them. They weren’t annoying, by any means, but he didn’t want them privy to a conversation between him and his mate. “Now, which one of these dresses do you like?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with us being-”

“Which dress,” he cut her off, “do you like?”

“The indigo one in the window,” she replied sceptically, narrowing her eyes at him. “What’s your point? What are we doing here?”

“What we’re doing here is buying my stunning mate a dress.”

She didn’t reply immediately, instead choosing to look at the price tag as subtly as she could. Unfortunately for Gwyn, her husband was the Spymaster of the Night Court, and he noticed everything. “Don’t worry about the price,” he coaxed gently. “I’ll take care of that.”

“Just because you’re my husband doesn’t mean that you have to pay for everything, you know,” she grumbled, refusing to look him in the eye. “I’m perfectly capable of paying for my own things.”

“I know that,” he said, fighting back a laugh. Gods, his mate was truly stubborn. “But can’t I spoil my wife?”

Gwyn’s eyes widened as she finally found the price tag, letting out a gasp. She dropped it immediately, almost as if it would burn her. “Not if it’s 40,000 gold marks!” she hissed. “I am not letting you pay for that!”

Azriel’s brow creased. The amount wasn’t by any means large to him, but surely it was overpriced for a dress? He bent to examine the price tag, and his mouth flattened into a line. “We can always ask them to put it on Rhys’ tab.”

“Just because he’s the High Lord does not mean he’s going to be subject to my childish whims! And besides,” she added a tad more quietly, though Azriel could see how she tried to conceal it, “I didn’t need the dress anyways.”

As she made to walk out of the store, head bowed low and a pink hue on her cheeks, likely from embarrassment, he stopped her with a light arm on her shoulder. “I’ll buy it for you.”

“No, you won’t,” she shot back. He merely raised an eyebrow at that, daring her to challenge him.

“Azriel no, it’s far too expensive-”

“It’s not,” he cut her off. “Nothing is too expensive for you.” She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “As much as I appreciate the sentiment, I can’t have you simply throwing money away on a stupid dress that I wanted to buy because I was bored one night! 40,000 gold marks, Azriel! I could never pay you back half that amount in a year!”

“You don’t need to pay me back anything,” he insisted. “It’s a gift I’m buying you because I love you.”

“If you want to buy me a gift this badly, you can buy me something cheaper. Something that will be useful to me.”

“Nonsense. I’m buying this gift because I love you, and because you’re my wife.” When Gwyn didn’t budge, he added, “I’ll have you know Rhys has been paying me very well over the last couple of centuries. Sweetheart, you’d be surprised at how much money I have saved in my accounts.”

“You don’t need to waste your money on me like this,” she insisted yet again.

We can’t have people thinking the Night Court’s shadowsinger is stingy when it comes to his own wife, now can we?” He smirked at her, and despite herself, she grinned. “You’re insufferable.”

“Oh, I know.” His smirk widened even more at her response. “But what matters is that my mate is happy. She can bleed my accounts dry so long as she is content.” She laughed openly, and rolled her eyes, finally conceding. 

As her husband finished paying for the ridiculously overpriced dress, chatting with the shopkeeper, she couldn’t help but adore him. Money had never been a priority for her, but for a male to spend such large amounts of money simply because he loved her? That seemed like something straight out of a romance book, and she had no idea how she’d become so lucky. 

She had been waiting outside, and as soon as she heard him step out, she wrapped her arms around him, leaning into his touch completely. “Thank you,” she said, her expression softening as she looked into Azriel’s hazel eyes. Slowly, his hands came to wrap around her waist in a soft embrace, lightly stroking her hair. “Really.” She linked her arms around his neck, and to anyone passing by, they looked like mannequins themselves. Mannequins deeply in love, that is. 

Azriel only smiled lightly at Gwyn’s confession, that special smile that only came out when they were alone, and planted a small peck on her lips. “Whatever for?”

“For this dress. For being here, with me. For…everything, I suppose.” “I’ll always be with you, Valkyrie. Don’t you forget that.”

They walked out of the store that night, arm in arm, content, and blissfully happy, Velaris’ stars shining brightly above them like a blanket of glowing lights.

A/N: Based loosely on this dress and this dress

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

The Final Goodbye

AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: Includes major character death, canon-typical violence, fatal injuries, blood, gore, violence, su!c!de, war and battle, and themes of tragedy. Dead Dove. Do Not Eat. Please read with caution and take care of yourself. Your mental health is more important than a fic. Generally a really angsty and AU fic with love declarations and forbidden romance with fate acting against Azriel and Gwyn.

Word Count: 2955

The roar and din of battle all around him did nothing to calm his already exhausted self. Armies of all the Courts combined, as well as their High Lords fought on land, each doing his best to wipe out as many people as he could with every carefully aimed blast of power. The Illyrians and Peregryns fought side by side in the skies, diving and twisting and dodging spears and arrows of faebane hurled at them. If he squinted west, he could just make out the navy that had come to help them, an army from the continent he hardly knew. They fought their own battle on the seas, skilled sailors and warriors in their own right. But now was not the time for friendly acquaintances. This was war, after all. 

Sweat ran down his brow as he fought against a particularly difficult Hybern soldier. Though he’d managed to land a few good blows, he’d received just as many, if not more in return. His head throbbed as a cut on his forehead healed itself. Even then, he could feel his already rapid fae healing slowing down, and Azriel did not like that one bit. He needed to be in top condition to fight, and they still had many more days of war to go. Indeed, Hybern’s army managed to stretch out endlessly, grey and black masses hovering over the contours and valleys of the land like  Death’s ambassadors, crafted of grey smoke.

Just as he did a particularly difficult manoeuvre, bringing his Illyrian blade down on the Hybern soldier’s head and promptly splitting him in two, a sharp pain shot through the bond. It had Azriel’s already hyper-aware senses perked up. He scanned the area, the clouds overhead, taking off into the air immediately, the rest of Hybern’s soldiers and minions be damned. He didn’t give a shit if they lived or crawled into a hole and died. Besides, he was sure his army could handle them, and he had larger priorities. He needed to get to his mate. Their bond was still fairly new, and the overprotectiveness was something he was still getting used to.

Soaring through the smoky air, the whizz of weapons only irritated him further as he tried tracking Gwyneth down. Where was she? Suddenly, he spotted a large group of familiar people close to his current position. Rhys. Making a beeline towards him, he landed roughly, stumbling slightly. Oddly enough, it wasn’t just Rhysand, but rather the entire Inner Circle, as well as some others whose names he hadn’t been bothered to learn, and was certainly not going to learn now. They were all huddled around something. Or someone, he supposed, seeing as they all seemed to be kneeling down to whoever was on the ground. Were whoever they were injured? He hoped not. They already had few healers within their ranks, and he really didn’t want to see someone close to him get injured. 

“Az,” Rhys breathed as he came closer, spotting Azriel through the crowd immediately. He’d never seen his brother like this, all ruffled and his violet eyes blown wide with fear. He’d only seen this sort of fear once; after Rhys returned from Under the Mountain as a ghost, but even in his gut, Azriel could tell that this was a different sort of fear.

But there was something else, too. A scent Azriel would never forget in his five centuries of being alive, and wouldn’t forget for however many more centuries he had left. The distinct, metallic scent of blood. It was warm and thick in the air, yet he couldn’t see anyone bleeding. The tension and odd, thrumming murmuring only seemed to increase as he made his way in through the circle of people.

What he wasn’t prepared to see, however, was his mate sprawled on the muddy ground, her body covered in dirt and filth, and bleeding out profusely from her abdomen. The ground near her practically ran red with her scarlet blood, and he didn’t think he’d forget the sight anytime soon. No, this was a memory, along with many, many others, that would forever be etched into his soul. 

He stood, frozen as a pillar. He’d been used to blood, had dealt with injuries and gore and mutilation since the day he’d been old enough to wield a dagger. But seeing his mate injured like this did something to him, to his cracked heart, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle it. He was utterly immobile, had no clue what to do, and yet couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

Finally, his knees gave out and he collapsed to the ground beside his mate. Cauldron, she was pale as death. “Azriel,” she managed to gasp. “What are you doing here?”

“Gwyn,” he breathed. “What the hell happened?”

“Bad cut to the side,” she said, her eyes already beginning to become hazy. Indeed, he could see the blood seeping out from her lung. Likely ruptured. His meagre battlefield healing wouldn’t do anything to staunch the blood flow; this would need a proper healer.

“Gwyn please, stay with me. Don’t fall unconscious.”

As if responding to his command, his shadows near-swarmed Gwyn, whirling around her and each other in a desperate attempt to check how bad the wound was. They nearly engulfed her in the thick blanket they made; their panic clearly visible. With half a thought, he had them scattering, and told them to stay away, if only for now.

“It’s so cold,” she murmured. “And it hurts so bad.”

“I know it hurts. I know, love. Just hold on. The healers will get here soon.” Even in his heart, Azriel knew that was a lie. The healers were on the other side of camp, and it would take them at least half an hour for him or his brothers to fly and retrieve someone. Rhys and the others were too drained to winnow. They were all at their limits, and he could see the exhaustion weighing everyone down. Hell, even he was worn out and desperately needed the sleep he’d been slacking off on. 

But none of that mattered. So long as his mate stayed conscious, nothing made a difference. Leaning down, he brushed a thumb over her cheekbone. She was freezing. The blood loss was worse than he’d expected, then. Trying desperately to send the tiniest sliver of warmth through the bond, but not too much lest he hurt her, he watched as she gasped lightly. Good. At least the bond wasn’t ripping. Besides, Gwyn needed that reassurance just as much as he did.

He saw Gwyn’s eyes starting to droop once more. “There are so many things I want to show you, my little warrior. Please don’t leave. There are so many more places we have to go to. Think about the continent, about how I’ll spoil you rotten with sweets and dresses and jewellery, and we’ll stay up late on summer nights watching the sunset and the stars. And during Solstice we’d sit inside and have a mug of hot chocolate with your favourite chocolate cookies, the ones with caramel in them. We’ll decorate a tree with ornaments, and give each other presents in the morning. You’ll jump up with excitement as you realise I’ll have gotten you exactly what you asked for,” he whispered, his voice growing hoarse with strain and emotion. 

“And then we might have children of our own. A life of our own, with our own house and everything. Can you imagine? Two little fierce monsters running around. One with my hair and your eyes, the other with your cunning wile and my spirit. Would you want that? A life with me?”

Azriel didn’t know what he was rambling on about then, but he needed to know that she’d be alright. She had to be. There was no other alternative. He couldn’t let there be one. 

She chuckled weakly at his confession, her pale, bloodless lips now cracked and dry. “I’ll always want a life with you, my mate.” That only made the tears in Azriel’s well up harder. He had to say what was on his mind before she passed out. “Don’t go before I can give you the world, sweetheart. There wouldn’t be my life left without you in it.”

“Who knew the world’s most feared Shadowsinger could be so romantic?” she teased. But even that sounded hollow. Death was in the air; he could feel it. They all could. Creeping up like the plague, an unwanted visitor that he wanted to banish from this battlefield before it truly claimed anyone. But he could feel Gwyn slipping away, could feel the bond getting more and more subdued with each passing second, as if someone had placed a thick blanket over it. Their bond was being suffocated, snuffed out of existence like a flame that had never existed.

“Azriel,” she managed to choke out. “I don’t have long left.”

“No. No, stop. Stop talking like that. You’re going to be fine.” She smiled sadly at that, which only made his tears fall even harder. “I wish that was the case, my love.” Her voice was nothing more than a soft murmur now.

“You’re going to make it through, I promise. Just hold on.” He could hear the desperation in his own voice, and he was sure his mate could hear it too. But he didn’t care, so long as Gwyn came out of this unscathed, it didn’t matter.

“Cauldron save me,” she whispered to the sky as she tilted her gaze upwards. Her eyes had fluttered shut, and Azriel was terrified that any of these breaths could be her last. “Mother hold me. Pass through-” she broke off, a wheezing cough making its way through her ruptured lung, wracking her failing body with tremors. “Pass through the gates, and smell the immortal land of milk and honey. Fear no-no evil. Feel no pain.” He could hear her voice getting softer and how she fought for every breath. His little warrior, who fought Death itself with bared teeth and weapons flying, even as she lay dying on the harsh ground, shivering and trembling with such vigour.

Azriel could see the effort it took for Gwyn to open her eyes again, and as he was about to object, she cut in. Her voice quivered when she spoke, but he didn’t dare stop her. 

Tears streamed down her face as she took wheezing breaths. Azriel hadn’t realized how warm he was until Gwyn’s hand, cold as death, freezing as the grave, came to cup his cheek. It trembled with the effort it required, and the soft touch sent a warm glow to his very core.

“I love you, Azriel. Be strong for me. I believe in you, and we will meet in another life. I promise you this.”

With that, Gwyn took her last breath, and the bond snapped with such force Azriel thought it might have been less painful to rip his damn heart out instead. He barely registered her stunning teal eyes, now frozen and lifeless as they drifted shut, or her hands slackening to the sides, unmoving and motionless.

The scream he let out was nothing short of pure agony and undiluted rage. Kneeling, he looked nothing short of a broken knight, a mockery of a warrior, a shame to the Carynthian name. A gaping hole was left between his ribs, where the bond should have been. Tears streamed down his face as he roared at the sky and any ancient God who listened, his leathers covered in dried, flaky blood. He had streaks of it on his face, too.

But what did all this bloodshed bring him, if nothing but pain and heartache? What did that bloodshed mean if he was unable to save his mate when it mattered the most? He’d promised her he’d protect her, no matter what, and he’d broken that promise. 

It was then Azriel knew that the priestess who had lit his world up so beautifully was gone forever, and would never come back. 

He hadn’t deserved Gwyn in the first place, but then she was taken from him. To think that his glorious, wonderful, radiant mate had died in this hellhole of a place, killed by some nobody? It enraged him to his very core. He couldn’t abandon her, even in death. He had promised. 

“Stop. No. Wake up. Wake up! I said wake up!” He didn’t know how many times he screamed the words over and over again, out loud, through their bond. He shook her shoulders, begging her to come back; the words playing back in his head like a desperate, pleading mantra. Wake up, wake up, please wake up.

Each attempt only proved how futile it was, but that didn’t mean Azriel’s grieving heart would stop.

“Gwyn,” he sobbed, refusing to let go. “Please come back.”

Touching his forehead to hers, those three words were all that he whispered as he mourned.

He didn’t know how long he stayed like that, but it must have been a while. As he took a shaky breath to compose himself, his tear-streaked face nearly unrecognizable with puffy eyes, he felt a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Azriel,” came Feyre’s voice. “No,” he answered, voice cracking. He’d never spoken like that to his High Lady, but he didn’t care. “Leave me alone. Let me grieve.”

She sighed, a thing of pity and understanding. “Of course you’re allowed to grieve. But please make sure that you don’t hurt yourself in the process,” came her gentle words.

How was he to not hurt himself knowing that his mate was gone? What point was there anyway? His court, his High Lord, everything paled in comparison to Gwyn, and now that she had left, he didn’t know what he truly stood for. He’d thought he’d known, those dark days before Gwyn had entered his life like the first sunrise after a cold winter, tentative and warm and glowing. She had warmed his heart up, bit by bit, until it was a twin to hers.

His heart was frozen raw again, and he wasn’t sure anything could thaw it. 

“Az,” Feyre coaxed again. “At least drink some water.”

“Fine,” he exhaled, too tired to object anymore. Summoning a glass of water from whatever pocket-realm she kept things in, she extended a tattooed hand towards him and tipped the cup to his mouth. Once he had drank the entire cup, she took a step back, and brushed a light hand over his shoulder.

“I’ll leave you alone,” she said, and walked away.

The tears that he’d been trying so hard to hold back for the sake of his mate flowed freely once more, the dam inside his heart now completely in shambles. He didn’t want anyone’s pity. He just wanted to mourn.

He slept with her corpse that night. Not her corpse, he kept reminding himself. Just her. She was just sleeping. She’d wake up in the morning, and then everything would be okay. It might have just been a fever dream. Maybe he’d wake up, realizing he passed out from too much alcohol in the Townhouse, and find himself in bed with his mate once more. He’d tell her all about his dream, and they’d laugh, Gwyn chuckling at his overactive imagination. Maybe they’d share a plate of cookies. Chocolate-chip; Gwyn’s favourite.

He’d slept with his weapons on the previous night, unwilling to go back into that husk of a tent without the warm presence of his mate. As uncomfortable as it had been, he’d needed to be prepared for whatever happened. They were still in enemy territory, after all. Getting up, he unbuckled his weapons, Truth-Teller included. He could tell it was still the middle of the night from the stars’ positions above him. Right now, they were the only witnesses to what he was about to do.

Glancing at his mate, he realized someone must have come during the night to shut her eyes. Now, it just looked like Gwyn was sleeping. Pressing a featherlight kiss to her brow and brushing a thumb over her cheek, he whispered, “I love you.”

The waves crashed against the cliff walls, creating a cacophony of noise that somehow soothed him. Gulls flew overhead, screeching and bellowing, and he thought they roared exactly what his heart wanted to say. 

He’d always found the sea soothing, had always found solace in the depthless waters of the ocean. But now, it was just a reminder to the mate he had lost. She was part water-nymph, after all. It seemed as if her body was moulded to the sea itself, and she might as well have been a siren in her past life. But it hurt too much to think about now, and so with great difficulty, he pushed those thoughts out of his mind. 

Slowly creeping up to the edge of the tallest cliff, he peered down.

The brutal, unforgiving rock jutted out at odd angles, seeming to him like the maw of a great beast that seemed all too eager to consume anyone who dared get too close to the edge. It didn’t take a genius to work out what would happen if someone took a wrong step or missed their footing. 

He sighed, and willed his wings not to work, to stay completely motionless.

He took a deep breath.

And jumped.

The world lost two great warriors that day. But they were so much more. Kind, selfless, radiant people, who would have sacrificed anything for their families and then some. But most importantly, they were in love, and were finally reunited, though it was in the cold embrace of Death.

A/N: HC that Az calls Gwyn “his little warrior” because he’s so proud of every battle she fought, whether it be with herself or a physical battle and he wanted to make sure she heard it one final time before she died (crying rn btw, idk why I keep doing this to myself). Inspired by this Pinterest post.

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Drunken Ecstasy

Part 1 | Part 5 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: I debated for a long time how I would write this scene, and this is what I finally decided upon! Also, the lyrics I use in this chapter are 100% intentional, I love my girl Sabrina so much but I don't know if the buildup is too much. Includes teasing, lingerie wearing, Az getting flustered but no actual sex

Summary: Azriel is away on a mission and Gwyn can’t stand to be away from after being mated so soon. He doesn’t have a choice as Spymaster of the Night Court and he’s put off his duties for long enough so he has to leave. Desperate, she sends him…spicy pictures through his shadows (we don’t have phones in Prythian y’all I had to improvise okay?)

Word Count: 2879

Gwyn sighed, flopping back onto the mattress as her hair the colour of firelight pooled around her in a halo. Flicking a strand off her face with irritation, she sighed again. It was so boring without him here, without someone to talk to or joke around with like she was used to doing. 

One of his shadows flicked around her head, clearly annoyed as well. It had been getting increasingly restless, refusing to stay still or hidden whenever she had to step outside. Azriel had insisted on keeping one of his shadows on her at all times, just in case she needed to contact him. Gwyn had figured it was just him being overprotective and overbearing but had shrugged it off. 

Now, it seemed to be on edge and in desperate need of some coaxing, maybe someone to talk to, but it was clear that the shadow was missing its master just as much as his mate.

Even before they were mated, Azriel had never been gone for more than a week, sometimes even returning sooner than he said he’d be gone. A mission lasting over two months, especially so soon after mating, had set Gwyn on edge for the past few days. No matter what she did or what she tried to immerse herself in, her thoughts always seemed to stray back to Azriel.

His hazel eyes, full of love and adoration and a hundred other emotions she couldn’t name, reserved just for her, for those long nights when sleep found neither of them. Instead, they basked in their companionship and love for each other, staying up until the break of dawn. Watching quiet sunrises dye the sky in shades of crimson and violet as they transformed into blush pink, watching the city awaken as its denizens bustled around to start the day. She was grateful for all of it; for every moment that she got to spend with Azriel.

Any spare moment with her mate was treasured, and it was her lifeline. Indeed, she didn’t know who she’d be without him. Some lost, desperate priestess who had nothing and no one to call her own, no calling or purpose in life. Yes, that was what her life had looked like before she’d met Azriel; monotonous and filled with routine.

It had brought her comfort in the aftermath of the attack, to have a steadfast rhythm as steady as her heart that she could follow, an unwavering, pulsing thrum that kept her going no matter what happened outside the red walls of the House of Wind.

Lately, though, she’d been craving an impulsivity in her routine, a break from the mundane. Occasional surprise breakfasts or lunches with her mate, outings with Nesta and Emerie, along with frequent meetings that involved Merrill and Clotho to oversee the development of the Library had become progressively more common. Gwyn couldn’t exactly say she was distraught about it.

She had a life now, one that didn’t solely involve serving the Mother and cloistering herself away in case anyone got too close to see the ruin in her heart. Of course, that didn’t mean that she was any less devoted to the Mother, but rather that she had found joy in other activities. Socialising, helping to develop the Library and goodness knows what else she and her mate got up to had helped restore some semblance of balance into her life. 

Currently, however, her mate was away on the Continent. She didn’t know where; hadn’t wanted to. I’ll only worry for you even more if you tell me exactly what your mission entails, she’d said, brushing a hand over his heart as he prepared to depart for the journey, strapping a last dagger to his thigh. If I know, I’ll have to stop myself sprouting a pair of wings and flying out right after you.

He’d only smiled, a slight crook of his mouth that he knew drove her mad, and had kissed her lightly before leaping off the balcony and into the midday sun.

Gwyn was missing him terribly, and she couldn’t stop the tugging of the bond as she tried to pull him closer. Come home, she wanted to say. She missed every part of him: his chiselled face, sharp jawline, and that glorious body of his.

Her thoughts about him had never been particularly holy, despite her being a Priestess, but lately they’d been getting downright depraved as she fought the lust pooling low in her gut at the mere thought of him.

A vision made its way into her mind: his abs flexing, face screwed up in bliss as she rode him- 

Shaking her head in a futile attempt to clear her mind, she rubbed a hand over her face. This was getting out of hand. 

✦ ✦ ✦

Dunking her head in a bowl of ice water, she spluttered as she came up for air. Desperate times call for desperate measures, she thought to herself glumly. The shadow, whom she had affectionately nicknamed Umbra, flitted around, occasionally perching on the shelf above her head.

On a positive note, the desire had abated with the bowl of ice (if only slightly) but there was still that stirring deep in her stomach. Gwyn dried her dripping face off with a towel sitting on the marble counter in front of her, courtesy of the House. “Thanks,” she murmured to it and deposited it where it had appeared. It vanished in an instant, and Gwyn was left once more to the heavy emptiness of the House that had begun to grate on her.

✦ ✦ ✦

Azriel sat in his room after a long day of meetings and discussions about trade routes and political partnerships with the Dukes of Vallahan. Night had fallen over Alryne, the capital of the behemoth kingdom that was Vallahan. Indeed, it spanned a decent chunk of the continent, and its territory was vast, hosting both lesser and High Fae alike.

Rhys had sent him to the Continent as an attempt to establish a steady relationship with the monarchs. Such an alliance was unheard of, an inter-continental one that could ease the strained relationships that had festered after the Second War.

The Night Court had wanted to be the first to attempt reconciliation in the hopes that it would benefit all of them. No more masks, the High Lord had declared with finality. 

He should have said ‘no more meetings’, damnnit, Azriel grumbled to himself. While ‘court business’, as Gwyn liked to call it, didn’t exactly intrigue him, he’d always been decent at it, his patience being a virtue that had helped him more times than he could count. His observation skills didn’t hurt either; he picked apart opponents at a table nearly as quickly as he did on the battlefield.

Right now though? He was irritated, tired, and missed his mate. He just wanted a good night’s sleep.

Just as he’d changed into a pair of shorts that he tended to sleep in, he felt a thrum through the bond, and his heart flooded with warmth and another feeling that had him sighing and closing his eyes under the covers. Love, he’d realised. That was what that feeling was called. Love, so deep and bottomless he didn’t think it would be possible to stop feeling it for as long as he lived. 

So Azriel tugged right back and tried to pour every single thing he was grateful for into the bond, hoping that whatever Gwyn was doing, it would brighten up her day.

✦ ✦ ✦

Gwyn spent the rest of the day trying to do everything but think of her mate. Unfortunately for her, nothing had helped. Reading had only made her sleepy, and training wasn’t an option: Nesta and Emerie had bickered over the stupidest thing. “The unicorn likes me best!” They’d both sung in unison, and promptly decided to tackle each other to the floor at one of their sleepovers, each pummeling the other with pillows like there was no tomorrow. 

They’d both been convinced that the magical unicorn the House had summoned for them seemed to have a preference for either of the Valkyries.

Gwyn, out of desperation, had nearly begged the House to summon them another unicorn just so they could be over with the entire ordeal. The House, damn it, had refused. And so their silly little argument had continued until they’d passed out on the living room floor from sheer exhaustion and a giggling bout that didn’t seem to abate, made even worse by how many glasses of wine they’d consumed under the guise of ‘book night’.

Everyone knew what they did under the pretense of staying up late and ‘reading’, but Gwyn wasn’t about to judge when her mate and his adoptive brothers sat naked in a sauna after an annual snowball fight. We won’t judge you if you won’t judge us, Nesta had demanded once she found out about their yearly Solstice plans.

A smile quirked up on Gwyn’s lips as she reminisced over her first days with her family. The Inner Circle, they liked to call themselves. It was a fitting name, she supposed, seeing as they were the top executive branch of the Night Court. 

She still couldn’t believe she was part of their family; their world.

The mating ceremony had felt ethereal and stunning and a hundred other emotions she couldn’t describe, only that she’d been incandescently happy and crying tears of joy. It hadn’t felt real until she’d moved in and until they’d started living their lives together as a real couple.

And just like that, her traitorous mind strayed back to her mate. The flowers he’d adorned her with on the day of the ceremony, courtesy of traditional Dawn mating ceremonies, the delectable and unique sweets he’d bring from every trip he went on…she sighed. 

Gwyn had half a mind to talk to Rhysand right now; ask him to call back his Spymaster. But she also knew how incredibly selfish that would be of her.

It wasn’t fair to Azriel, nor was it fair to her to pull her mate away when he was working. “I serve this Court, Valkyrie,” he’d whispered to her, cupping a hand under her cheek as they lay tangled in bed together. “It’s my job. It’s what I’ve been born to do. I can’t live without this Court, and this Court can’t live without me.”

Gwyn had relented, though only because she knew she couldn’t deny her mate anything. He’d ask her to lay the world at his feet and she would. One word from him, and she’d do whatever it was he wanted her to.

✦ ✦ ✦

Gwyn lay in bed, utterly fed up with her mate. Velaris had come alive now that dusk had shrouded the city in colours straight from a painting, allowing thoughts of her mate to occupy her mind once more.

“He’s been gone too long,” she said to the shadow perched on the headboard like an eager pet. “He deserves a little punishment, don’t you think?” she asked with a sideways glance to Umbra. It merely wrapped around her wrist once, their signal for yes. “I have just the thing in mind. We’ll see if this coaxes the dear Spymaster from the depths of the continent.” 

A moment later, she’d sent Umbra off into the night to find its master.

✦ ✦ ✦

Azriel’s first reaction upon seeing his beloved shadow come flying in was panic. He fought to keep his face neutral as utter panic, and a healthy dose of fear enveloped him. Was everything okay? Was Gwyn-

But Umbra tugged insistently at his sleeve after having woven its way through the throngs of people around him, and Azriel was forced to reconsider. It had never acted like this, like it was…eager, almost, for him to see or hear whatever message it had for him. Not eager due to urgency, but because of amusement and mischief.

Must see, it whispered gleefully. Can’t miss it. “Alright, fine,” Azriel grumbled to it under his breath. “But this had better be worth it. If this is another one of those pranks-”

Have to see, it insisted again, cutting him off. 

“Azriel?” Duke Ferdinand asked upon seeing his worried expression. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m terribly sorry,” he answered. “There’s a matter I must attend to, but rest assured that I’ll be back as soon as I’ve taken care of it.”

“Are you sure?” His brow pulled in tightly at Azriel’s sudden need to depart. “We can always-”

“Your Grace, I would hate for your night to be ruined because of something like this. Don’t stop on my account, please,” Azriel insisted.

Still skeptical but reassured nonetheless, conversation began flowing freely between the others again, though it was stilted and slightly more wary. A few glances were shot in the Shadowsinger’s direction, but Azriel paid them no heed as he dodged groups of Fae gathered in the cavernous hall, each resplendent and glowing in gowns befitting royalty.

As soon as he made it out into the quiet passageway, he let Umbra free. He’d reined the shadow in after it had delivered the message, but Azriel couldn’t afford for people to see his shadows out in public like that. They were one of his most guarded abilities, and though it was no secret he was Prythian’s Shadowsinger, he didn’t exactly like to flaunt the fact around. 

He followed it away from the raucous music and glimmering festivities that were going on at the other end of the Palace. He’d guessed that this gala would be vital for information gathering, all the Dukes of Vallahan present for a meeting regarding trade routes and other courtly matters.

It had proved useful, not only for Azriel to make new acquaintances across the world, but also for the Night Court to have eyes and ears everywhere they could. This was something he’d needed to do on his own. Politics and diplomacy required showing your hand just as much as it required being able to take a look at others’. 

Besides, he always had his shadows to help him if something truly did go wrong. Not that it would, seeing as Azriel had centuries of experience of brokering deals with courtiers from other lands. It was yet another skill in his arsenal, as was patience. Right now though, as Umbra led him further and further away from the festivities into a quiet alcove, the skill he considered a virtue and one of his strongest points was wearing thin. 

“What is it?” Azriel hissed. “Just tell me.” In response, Umbra only turned and flitted over Azriel’s ankle, making its way up to his face, flicking his eyes shut. The signal was clear enough. Stand still, and close your eyes.

Azriel did neither. Instead, a frown built up on his forehead, but before he could say anything, his eyes were enveloped in darkness, forcing him to halt. 

He’d expected a heartfelt message from his mate, a small note, or maybe her voice drifting through the shadows. They could carry sound just as well as images, he knew.

All thoughts eddied from his mind as he saw Gwyn in a dark, candlelit room, legs spread as she kneeled on a rose-petal covered bed wearing a set of such scandalous lingerie it had him hardening in his custom-tailored trousers. 

Images of thigh-high garter belts crafted of indigo lace and a bra that left little to the imagination filled his mind, and Gwyn’s half-open mouth and eyes blown wide with lust were a clear invitation. Gods, she was going to be the death of him. 

The set was the exact colour of his siphons, he realised with a start. Damn him if it didn’t turn him on even more. It contrasted wonderfully with her copper hair, luscious and rolling down her back in waves of fire. Oh, how he’d like to wrap a fist around that hair and tug as he drove into her. 

“Where art thou? Why not uponeth me?”

The lyrics of one of Gwyn’s favourite music artists echoed faintly over her portable Symphonia set on the side table. Knowing her, she’d likely planned it all to coincide with her little message.

“Like what you see, Shadowsinger?” came Gwyn’s sultry voice, just a shade deeper than usual as she trailed a hand down her collarbone over her breast, not subtle in the slightest. “I know you do. So you’ll just have to come and get it.”

The little minx was going to pay for this when he got back. 

Umbra darted away, ripping Azriel away from his fantasy. His breaths came out heavy, as if he couldn’t get enough oxygen into his lungs. He so desperately wanted to finish right here in this alcove like a horny teenager, but he couldn’t. There was no way he’d be able to go back without everyone scenting his own arousal on him like a fucking animal.

He barely managed to compose himself upon returning to the ballroom after his little…detour. “A minor crisis,” he’d answered with finality, refusing to elaborate to anyone why he’d really left the room.

All Azriel could think about that night was his mate, and how simply couldn’t wait to go back home.

Part 6

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Drunken Ecstasy

Part 1 | Part 4 | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: Since we don’t know much about Dawn, I decided to do some worldbuilding of my own. Since Thesan’s mother is High Fae from Xian I thought, why not make that the capital too? Also, an alcazar (which is the actual spelling even though I changed it a little) is just a more open chateau/villa kinda thing

Word Count: 4958

The sun rose over the horizon, gradually staining the sky hues of magenta and violet and indigo. The bright rays filtered in past puffy clouds as they drifted along, carried on a phantom wind. Glimmers of sunlight fell on the opulent marble floors of the half-open alcoves and scattered balconies. Gleaming and pristine, they shone in the morning light, glowing a dusty pink, as the light finally entered through the billowing curtains of the Alqazar.

The High Lord’s private residence in Xian. The capital of Dawn; its shining, treasured gem. Filled with craftsmen, healers, and nobility alike, the palace exuded an aura of breathtaking beauty and harmony. Energy thrummed from every inch of the structure, light and yet undoubtedly powerful. 

Quiet resilience and opalite grandeur seemed to coat each slab of marble of the palace, luxurious architecture and spiralling domes arcing across the sky as iridescent clouds enveloped the turrets in a warm embrace.

Then again, harmony was what the Dawn Court was known for. Balance, tranquility, and how everything always seemed to fit together, like pieces of a puzzle that had found their way to each other.

✦ ✦ ✦

Azriel tugged at his collar, the suit too tight and nearly suffocating. Who had shut the windows?

“They’re open,” came Rhys’ voice as he lounged on the bed, one leg crossed over the other. “What?”

“The windows,” he clarified. “They’re open.”

Damnnit. Azriel had let his shields fall. To be honest, he didn’t have the energy to hoist them up; not in the state he was in.

“Azriel,” said Rhys once more. “You’re going to be alright. Take a deep breath.” At his brother’s refusal to comply, Rhys got up and placed his hands on Azriel’s shoulders. “Look me in the eye, brother.” He continued only when Azriel followed his instructions.

Azriel had been expecting judgement, a mocking laugh or a small tease, but what he wasn’t expecting to see was a softness in Rhys’ eyes that grounded him. “You deserve this, you understand me? You deserve it all. She’s going to be more than happy to see you, and then you’ll both be sappy and lovey-dovey to each other forever like I know you are.”

Despite himself, Azriel couldn’t help a slight chuckle from spilling out, albeit a nervous one. “Thanks, Rhys,” he said softly. “It means so much to me that you and Cassian are here. With me.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Speaking of,” the High Lord said, turning to the door. “Where is our dear General?”

Azriel snorted. “Knowing him, either taking Nesta in every room of his chambers or absolutely drunk and passed out from last night.”

They shared a laugh before a distinct, booming voice sounded from beyond the pristine opalite doors. “Az! You’d best be awake!”

“Cassian,” they both muttered to each other in unison, sharing a glance, before a certain Illyrian’s wings peeked in from the door. “There’s my brother!” he nearly yelled, and made a beeline straight for Azriel, half-shoving an unsuspecting Rhysand out of the way.

“Cass,” Azriel wheezed. “I’m going to need you to let me go if I want to be alive for the ceremony. I don’t think the guests want to see a corpse hauled in.”

“Nonsense,” Cassian grumbled, the smell of whiskey clearly still on his breath from the night before. “This is the proper way to give a hug.”

“Be that as it may, Cassian, you’re going to have to let poor Az go if you don’t want to winkle his suit. That cost me a fortune, I’ll remind you.”

Begrudgingly, Cassian let go of Azriel, only to scan him from head to toe. “Rhys did a nice job getting you all dressed up.”

Azriel snickered. “No, Rhys didn’t help. I mean, he tried to, but we’ve all seen how his fashion sense is. You’d have to be well past blind to even consider a suggestion from him. Did you know, he tried to get me to wear an orange suit? I looked like a ginger gift-wrapped Illyrian.”

“Hey!” he exclaimed indignantly. “You two complimented me on my last birthday-”

“Out of pity,” Cassian interrupted as he tried and failed to hold in a laugh.

“Pricks,” Rhysand only muttered under his breath, though they all knew the words held no bite to them.

The gentle, half-hour chime of the clock had them all sobering up. Taking a deep breath and straightening his tie for the last time, Azriel exited his chambers and stepped onto the awaiting terrace.

✦ ✦ ✦

A bouquet clutched in her sweaty palms, Gwyn took a shuddering inhale. “Nesta,” she squeaked. “I…What am I doing?”

Her best friend only came to stand beside her and fixed a stray lock of hair that had fallen out of place. “You’re getting married,” she whispered conspiratorially. “To one of the hottest males in Prythian.”

“Nesta, if I laugh too hard it’ll crease my makeup. Stop that.”

“Ah, what’re we bullying Nesta about now?” came Emerie’s voice as she made her way to Gwyn, stunning in a resplendent violet dress of her own. “How she’ll ruin my makeup if she doesn’t shove it,” hissed Gwyn. Emerie only turned to look at her best friend and tsked. “Play nice, Nesta.”

Lady Death merely rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “We need to get Gwyn to stop fretting like a mother hen. I’m merely improvising. I haven’t seen you do anything about it Emerie,” she said haughtily.

“Yes, because I’ve been helping with the actual wedding preparations and not debating over whether carnelian, vermilion, or crimson were better shades for the flowers. They were all horrible choices, I’ll have you know.”

Indeed, Gwyn had decided to go for more…established colours, as she liked to put it. Nesta had been slightly put off, though she recovered quickly by instead taking over the food, namely the menu. Gwyn and Emerie had to review it to make sure Nesta hadn’t placed any actual orders, but she was glad her best friend was enjoying herself. 

Nesta’s mating ceremony had been ridiculously over-the-top as she singlehandedly drained Rhysand’s bank accounts. Accounts, because he had multiple, and she had somehow found a use for all of them. He’d been too thankful to her for saving his mate’s and son’s lives, so he really hadn’t minded.

This, however, meant that Nesta wanted to hijack Gwyn’s ceremony to see exactly how much she was allowed to get away with. Gwyn had rejected the idea immediately, not wanting a lasting negative impression on her otherwise clean reputation, and most definitely not to her future brother-in-law and High Lord of Night.

“Gwyn,” called Deirdre. Gwyn had invited the other Valkyries to be her maids of honour. “I think it’s time for us to head out.”

“She’s right,” Nesta gasped, craning her neck to look at the clock hanging on the opposite wall.

As the other priestesses began to make their way out in a line, Nesta hugged Gwyn tightly before whispering, “We’ll see you outside.” Gwyn only nodded mutely, unable to form any words with the nausea roiling in her gut. 

She knew intrinsically that this was the right decision. She’d wanted to marry Azriel for a long time now, so she couldn’t figure out what, exactly, was wrong. Her palms were sweaty, and what if her hairstyle was crooked? What if-

She needed to calm down. It was a mating ceremony, dammnit. It was her mating ceremony. It wouldn’t do to be nervous and skittish like a rabbit. Cauldron knew she’d spent long enough doing just that. She should be grateful and appreciative that the High Lord of the Dawn had even allowed them to have the ceremony in his court. In his private residence, no less. 

She and Azriel had decided to have their mating ceremony a couple of months ago. Though Azriel had initially been against the idea of a large, grand celebration, saying that the crowds got to him, he’d warmed up. Seeing Rhys and Feyre plan theirs and have it at the Moonstone Palace had intrigued him, he’d admitted. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime event, he’d said, when Gwyn had sceptically raised an eyebrow at him. Of course I want to. If you want to, that is. 

Of course she wanted to. It had been her dream since she was a little girl to have a big, magnificent, splendid commemoration of the mating bond.

Little Gwyn had imagined being whisked away by a tall and ruggedly handsome male, who would love her like no other. It seemed that the Mother, whoever and wherever she was, truly did answer prayers. She had really gotten the man of her dreams, and she couldn’t believe any of this was real. 

The light, ethereal singing of the choir outside snapped Gwyn out of her stupor, and she took a deep breath as the doors to the terrace unlatched, and grand double-doors swung open on a breeze. 

✦ ✦ ✦

Azriel’s first thought when he saw Gwyn walk out into the aisle was pure, utter awe. His breath caught as soon as he took in the sight of her, and he didn’t think he’d be able to look away even if he’d wanted to.

Adorned in a floor length cream wedding dress and skirts of tulle, she walked down the aisle holding a bouquet of gardenias and hydrangeas, looking like the Mother herself. The sun beamed from behind her, setting her copper hair alight and her skin glowing with warmth as if she was shining from within. 

He had no words, save for that his mate looked resplendent in her wedding gown, and that he was so thoroughly and wholly entranced by her. His jaw was likely agape on the floor right now as he took her in, but he didn’t care; not one bit. 

The steady, graceful chorus of the gathered choir only emphasised his belief that Gwyn was the Mother herself, and was being welcomed in by angels as she walked in, skin aglow and a lovely smile on her face. She was looking straight ahead, he realised. Not at the altar, but at him. She was taking him in just as he was observing her, neither having enough self-control to stop their eyes from wandering; greedily taking the other in as if there was no sight more holy and divine, as if this was the last they’d see of each other.

Neither noticed the aisle strewn with flower petals, the magnificent backdrop of castles and turrets peeking out as they were shrouded in misty, gold-rimmed clouds. Neither noticed the guests looking at the couple so besotted and in love they had eyes only for each other.

As Gwyn made her way to the altar, chin high and eyes alight, Azriel leaned down to whisper, “I can’t believe we’re getting married.”

“Me neither,” his soon-to-be wife murmured. 

They left it at that, no words needed as they took the other in; eyes scanning the other’s face but finding nothing save for such unfiltered, raw love as it brought tears to both their eyes. 

Ananke’s voice broke through their infatuated haze. One of Gwyn’s friends and a priestess herself at the House of Wind, was officiating their ceremony. There was no other priestess Gwyn considered holy enough to preside over such an important event in her life, and the female had been overjoyed.

“We are gathered here today to witness the bonding of two souls, crafted by the Mother Herself. May She grant you many joyous years together, may your disagreements and differences in opinion be fleeting, and may you never fall out of love.”

Light applause followed her short speech, and she continued once it had died down, now facing the would-be couple. “Would you like to begin your vows?”

They nodded at her, and Azriel pulled a piece of paper from his suit pocket. Had his hands always been this sweaty? And did they always shake so much? Shut up, he muttered to that irritating voice in his head, and reeled himself in. This was it. This was his one chance to show the world how much he loved her. He took a deep, albeit shaky, breath and started. 

“Gwyneth Berdara: Priestess, Valkyrie, Carynthian. None of these titles do you justice, not in the way it matters. For you are so much more than what you do, so much more than your appareance. Your fiery personality, your unwillingness to give up and the kindness you spread in the world are only a few of the reasons I am so deeply infatuated with you. 

You are everything I have not managed to be in life. Light, stunning, ethereal, graceful. Sunlight personified, and the kindest person I’ve known.”

Your competitive streak seems as if it was made to rival my own. I could give you a hundred reasons as to why we are each other’s half, why we fit so well together and how we seem to be perpetually in sync, each attuned with the other in a way I had not known was possible. I feel as if we are in our own world, a world filled with light and warmth, with a music so soft and haunting that only we can hear it as we dance to its rhythm. To anyone else, it may seem as if we are going insane. But all I can think of in that moment is my unending, undying passion for you. 

“You appeared in my life like an angel of some sort, perhaps a saviour, and I felt compelled to know you. Not simply know you, but befriend and grasp your very essence; know all those lovely details like the tiles of an ever-growing mosaic that make you who you are. What brings you joy, what makes you contemplate. But most importantly, what draws that radiant smile of yours out; and that laughter. I hear echoes of it when I am lonely, I am reminded that no matter where I am, your presence will hover over me; a thing of calm, lovely beauty. It rings in my ears as the clear chime of a cathedral, signalling that a new era in my life has begun.

“You floated in like a dove, elegant in a way that set my heart ablaze. Even if we lived in a hundred separate lifetimes, I would choose you, over and over again until fate tried to pull us apart. But I would have fought for you like no other. I would have waged war so that every other hero in history would have been put to shame.

And though these wedding vows are a feeble attempt at poetry, and forgive me for this, know that there is no real way for me to convey my adoration of you. Gifts will do you no courtesy, so these words will have to do.”

Azriel was met with thunderous applause from everyone gathered, and it took everything in him not to kiss Gwyn right then and there, mating ceremony and tradition be damned. He barely restrained himself, knowing she would have the skin off his back if the ceremony went any other way than perfect.

“Gwyn?” Ananke prompted, teary-eyed herself. Clearing her throat and fighting the urge to bite her lip, a nervous tick of hers, the bride began speaking.

Her voice rang out clear as the pealing of a bell as it floated around the courtyard. “Azriel. My mate, my Shadowsinger, love of my life. I cannot believe that we have known each other for almost four years, and yet it feels like so much longer. They say we no longer have the ability to accurately perceive time once we find those we love. Perhaps I, too, am guilty of this, though I do not regret it at all. If anything, I have learned how to be eternally grateful.

“We have known each other for just short of half a decade, and yet so much has changed. I would be lying through my teeth if I said that I didn’t find you enchanting from the moment I set my eyes on you. I think my soul knew who you were to me, and I was simply too scared to accept it. There was something so magnetic, so alluring about you that I quickly found I couldn’t stay away. Maybe it was the shadows, maybe it was something else entirely, but I was so smitten by you I felt like a giddy schoolgirl every time I lay my eyes on you.”

Her last comment earned her chuckles from the audience, each member waiting with bated breath for them to finish their vows.

“Your dry humour is so enchanting to be a part of. Jokes that only the two of us know, jokes that mean more to me than jewellery or clothes. Memories are a different kind of wealth, one that I hope you will continue to have for however long it is that we may know each other. I am praying that it will be a lifetime, but we are all aware of how utterly unpredictable everything can be despite our best efforts.

“I am so utterly blessed to have you, not only as my mate, but as my husband, my friend, my confidante through my toughest times. To know you as intimately and profoundly as I do has been worth more than I express. I hope that you will never forget that. And if you do, if you think that you cannot do this, that it is too hard, that it is impossible, that for some reason, you do not believe; remember: I will believe in you enough for the both of us. I will always have enough love in me for the both of us, no matter where I am, who I am with, or what I might be feeling. 

“You are my first priority. You have always been. What I have tried so desperately to say here is, Azriel, how much I love you. I love every single aspect of you and your personality, the sunshine radiance that seems to emanate from every fibre of your being.

I could keep going, but I am afraid the world would eternally be short of paper. I could keep going for eons and the world would be much better off for it.”

Whistles and cheering filled the veranda, and Gwyn’s eyes glazed over with unshed happiness. She heard quiet sniffles in the background, a few whoops and a distinctive whistle she was sure belonged to Cassian, but her eyes never strayed from Azriel’s. 

“The rings, if you please?” Ananke asked, facing Nesta and Rhysand, both of who were the maid of honour and best man respectively. They stepped closer, extending the ornate jewellery box to the couple. 

“Do you, Azriel, take Gwyneth to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I do.” His voice was rougher, more gravelly, as if he was suppressing the urge to cry. “And do you, Gwyneth, take Azriel to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do,” she echoed back.

With that, Azriel slid an intricate band on silver onto Gwyn’s finger, and Gwyn did the same with a slightly thicker and plainer ring. Those hands. Oh, what hadn’t they seen? What hadn’t they done? They had been with her when she’d most needed it; comforting her, holding her, simply being with her. She only hoped she could do the same for him.

“These rings are a symbol of of your life long commitment to each other. They seal the vows you have made to love and cherish each other for the rest of your lives. By the power vested in my by the Mother and the Cauldron, and by the strength of your own love, I declare this union as official. You may kiss the bride.”

Azriel’s mouth was on Gwyn’s before the words were out of Ananke’s mouth.

Their kiss was everything a kiss could be: sensual, promising, and full of so much love she was sure it had been injected into her bloodstream. Her eyes closed on instinct, and she felt a light touch on the small of her back, Azriel clearly unable to hold himself back from touching her. Gwyn melted into it; into him, and grasped Azriel’s jaw in equal parts anticipation and desperation. 

They broke apart, slightly panting. Neither took their hands off the other, and the love floating through the air was more than palpable for everyone present.

“Time for the food,” Ananke said, winking at Gwyn, all her stately charm having vanished as it was replaced with warmer. 

Azriel descended from the altar with a brush along the small of her back and offered a hand to Gwyn. His hazel eyes were alight with a promise that had Gwyn’s toes curling in her heels. Lightly placing her hand in his, she stepped down, and they made their way to the tables that had been set up prior to the ceremony.

As they took their seats, facing each other, everyone waited, the apprehension in the atmosphere thick enough to drive a blade through.

While the ceremony at the altar was more of a…formality, giving a mate fresh, home-cooked food was what really sealed the bond. 

Gwyn had thought long and hard about what to make him, but she’d decided on something she knew Azriel loved. Risotto. He’d mentioned off-handedly how he’d had it on a visit to Dawn, and that it had quickly become his favourite, if only because the ingredients needed were so fresh there was no point making anything with them by the time they came to the Night Court. 

She up a morsel of everything: shrimp, rice, and vegetables and raised the fork to his mouth. He hummed around the food, a delightful sound that had Gwyn’s heart bursting with joy. It was rare she got to see her mate truly content, and she would take every opportunity she had, from now until however much time they had left with each other to fill every moment of theirs with bliss.

In turn, Azriel fed Gwyn a morsel of knafeh, one of her favourite pastries made with layered semolina and soft cheese filling, then covered with a tooth-achingly sweet sugar syrup. The flavours flooded into her mouth, each bite a burst of ecstasy as the flavours wove themselves over her tongue. 

Of course, feeding each other food that they’d made was more of a…formality, seeing as they’d already accepted the bond at the House after their night out. This was symbolic, something they wanted to share with the rest of the world while their real acceptance of the bond had taken place at home. 

Home. That was they were to each other now. Their sanctuary, their safe place, where they could find love and caring and warmth, no matter how tired or frustrated at the rest of the world they were. 

It was all so sickeningly sweet, and yet it was perfect. It was just how she’d wanted it, and Azriel, ever the caring, attentive mate, had stepped right up to this challenge, exactly as he had to the all others in their relationship. 

✦ ✦ ✦

Azriel had never thought he’d experience a peace so deep he felt it in his bones. Surrounded by his friends and family, by Gwyn, he was the happiest male alive. 

They laughed and joke as they ate, the formality of the evening melting into the casual banter and teasing that everyone was comfortable with.

Nearby, the choir stood in traditional Dawn attire, all flowing robes, warm hues of iridescent colour, and glittering gold jewellery that caught in the light as they serenaded the feast now taking place. It was magical, how their voices melded into one living, breathing, and utterly ethereal being that had Azriel’s heart clenching, not for the first time that day. 

A tap on his shoulder had him turning, eyebrows raised. He relaxed immediately when he realised it was only Cassian. “So, how does it feel to be mate and married?” his brother grinned down at him, carrying a plate of food, clearly just about to being eating himself. It was customary for the couple to eat first, which was why some guests were still by the buffet, taking their pick of the glorious food as chatter filled the clearing.

Azriel exhaled. “Like I’ve never been happier,” he responded quietly. “Like I never want this day to end and that I was such a fool for ever believing that I didn’t deserve her.” He likely still didn’t, but he wasn’t going to question whatever greater power had granted him his radiant mate. Cassian’s eyes softened, and he placed a warm, comforting hand on Azriel’s shoulder. “You deserve it. You and her both. You’ve been through so much, but I…have I told you how happy I am that you’ve found each other?”

Azriel swallowed, fighting the tightness in his throat. “Thank you. It…means a lot to me that you and Rhys are here. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

Cassian boomed a laugh. “Of course we’re here, you dolt. I wouldn’t miss this for the world. Also, there’s free food.”

The groom sighed, rolling his eyes. “You couldn’t have let it be a sweet moment, just this once?”

“Nope,” came his brother’s reply as he sauntered off, likely to find Nesta.

Chuckling and shaking his head, he turned back to his food, only to find Gwyn watching him, teal eyes sincere as she watched the interaction between the two Illyrians. “What?” He asked, breaking the silence. “Nothing,” she murmured, giving him a soft peck on the lips before dragging her attention back to her friends, each sat on one side of her. 

✦ ✦ ✦

They spent the rest of the evening mingling and laughing with the guests, until it was clear that Azriel wanted Gwyn for himself. “Sweetheart,” he whispered to his wife. “Can we leave? We’ve stayed here long enough for it to be polite.”

She laughed openly at that, the couple just having gotten rid of some ministers that Rhysand had invited as a courtesy. “It’s our mating ceremony, Az. It would be terribly rude to leave halfway through.”

“Exactly. It’s our mating ceremony. That means we have free reign to leave whenever we want to.”

She smirked and leaned in to whisper in his ear, “I promise you’ll have me all to yourself soon, Shadowsinger. Be patient, hm?” She accentuated her last sentence with a slow, deliberate drag of her nails down his chest that had Azriel’s eyes fluttering shut. Gwyn practically heard his heart rate speed up. “Fine,” he breathed. “But if you try to tease me, you’ll pay for it.”

“Me? Tease you?” Gwyn tilted her head, placing a hand over her chest in mock offense. “Does that really sound like something I’d do?”

“You little minx. You have no idea what you do to me.”

“What do I do to you, Azriel?” Gods, the sultry way she said his name.

“Why don’t we go upstairs and I can show you what you’re doing to me.” He had no doubt that his eyes had darkened to near obsidian now, and he felt the incessant, all-consuming need to fuck Gwyn like never before. If this was how he felt after having already accepted the bond, he didn’t want to think what would have happened if they’d waited until the ceremony to officiate it. He probably wouldn’t have been able to deal with it; he’d have taken her on every inch of this fucking balcony without giving a damn who was there or who wasn’t.

He blinked, clearing the increasingly lust-induced thoughts from his head, attempting to fight the haze clouding his mind.

“I spent two hours getting ready for our ceremony, Azriel. We have to stay for at least four before we leave.”

✦ ✦ ✦

At long last, the celebration had begun winding down, increasingly tipsy guests giggling and making their way back into the palace. Females with mussed hair carrying their heels in their hands and males with their ties either loosened or completely missing was a sight that made Gwyn chuckle, filling her heart with a pleasant sense of contentment and…peace. 

The day had gone exactly as she’d planned it, passing through in a dreamy haze as she’d had eyes only for Azriel. 

It seemed that her husband was thinking the same as their eyes caught, and they gravitated towards each other as if they were drawn in by the thread that connected their souls.

“Hey,” she breathed, glancing up at Azriel and placing her hands on his chest. “Hi,” he echoed back. “My name is Azriel. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Gwyn shoved at him lightly, scoffing, sending Azriel into a fit of laughter. “Idiot Illyrian,” she muttered, but couldn’t help the slight upwards tug of her mouth at his unrestrained, unbound laughter floating throughout the now secluded courtyard. Her words held no real bite to them, but she continued anyway. “Should we head up?” Indeed, it was quite late, the stars beginning to peek through the perpetual mosaic of colour that seemed to adorn Dawn’s skies. The mountains lay in the distance, hald-shrouded in mist as swallows called to each other, soaring overhead, likely heading back to their nests to retire for the night. 

It was enchanting, how much beauty there was in the world when she looked for it.

“I thought you’d never ask.” Azriel’s laughter had quieted to a steady, unrelenting thrum of reassurance beside her, sensing her quiet contemplation and change in mood. He placed a hand on her shoulder as he guided her up the staircase and into the palace above.

Part 5

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Falling Asleep

AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 508

Azriel landed roughly on the balcony of the House, having narrowly avoided the storm that was due to make its way to Velaris all the way from Illyria. It had still rained considerably though, and he’d been caught in the rain if not the outright storm itself. To make matters worse, he’d also been flying, which meant that he was thoroughly soaked to the bone, his hair and leathers dripping water everywhere. 

Drying himself off with his magic didn’t do much to the cold which had begun to seep its way into his bones. Deciding to warm up by the fireplace indoors, he started to make his way inside.

What he saw when he entered, however, made his heart completely melt.

Gwyn was sprawled out on the sofa, her head lolling back as she snored lightly. She had a blanket covering her legs up until her calves. The book she’d presumably been reading had fallen to the side and was now lying on the sofa, half-open with her hand resting on top. It seemed that his mate had tried to stay up for him, but had fallen asleep. The symphonia that he’d given her as a mating gift played softly in the background. The sight brought a smile to his lips, despite how tired he was. 

Quietly making his way in so as not to wake her abruptly, he took off his leathers to reveal his damp clothes underneath. Immediately, the House took care of them for him, and her muttered a quiet “Thank you,” so as not to disturb Gwyn. 

He gave an involuntary shiver. He’d known his leathers weren’t going to be enough to keep the cold at bay, and Azriel had instead opted for layering his clothes, a decision he thanked his past self for immensely. He didn’t care what the House did with them though. Right now, he just wanted to be close to his mate. I’ve missed you terribly, love.

Creeping up to the sofa and crouching dow, he brushed a stray lock of hair to the side, thinking Gwyn would stir. He had to wake her up, he realized with no small amount of guilt. Her muscles would ache terribly tomorrow if she continued sleeping like this, and she’d be terribly sore.

He decided to run a light finger over her cheekbone, and she leaned into his touch, almost as if her body knew that her mate was back. “Gwyn, love?” he asked her, his voice soft. She mumbled something incoherent that he thought was simply adorable, but didn’t bother deciphering it. She’d admitted to him that her dreams tended to be a bit odd, and that she’d say quite literally anything asleep.

“Sweetheart?” he tried again. No response. Sighing, he hooked an arm under her legs and the other under her shoulders. He prayed she wouldn’t wake up. Thankfully enough, she didn’t, and only nuzzled deeper into his shoulder, practically burying herself in his scent as he carried her bridal style to their shared bedroom. 

“Let’s get you to bed, love.”

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Afternoons Indoors

AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: Modern AU where our favourite couple plays Mario Kart. Azzie boy is absolutely WHIPPED for Gwyn lmao

Word Count: 528

The sun had disappeared for almost a week now, with the days being either rainy or terribly windy, usually a freezing combination of both. Autumn had begun to sink into Velaris, and while it was usually stunning, the gloomy weather, especially for long periods of time, felt unwelcome. This afternoon, sleet was pounding on the windows, turning the atmosphere gloomy. A bout of laziness had washed over them all, no one willing to actually be productive.

Indoors, however, it was warm, the fire crackling merrily in the hearth as the overhead chandelier illuminated the living room where Azriel and Gwyn were sitting. They had promptly decided to spend their evening inside after realising that the weather had refused to clear up.

“There’s no way I’m letting you win again, Shadowsinger,” Gwyn mocked, as she grasped the controller tighter with a determined expression on her face. She was sitting cross-legged on their shared sofa, her eyes trained solely on the TV in front of them.

Azriel snuck a glance towards his mate, and had to repress a chuckle at how seriously Gwyn took their gaming.

He had introduced Mario Kart to her one evening, thinking it was something she’d enjoy. And she had. Perhaps a little too much, he thought to himself. Indeed, she’d spent the entirety of the next week practically glued to the television, refusing to leave it even for food or water. Her new love, he’d teased her. Looks like I’m getting replaced. She’d only thrown a pillow at his face and resumed her fervent gaming.

It was one of the many things he admired about his mate; her determination and stubbornness to do anything she set her mind to. It was what had made him fall hopelessly in love with her the first time he’d met her, and what reignited that spark every time he so much as looked at Gwyn.

Dragging his eyes from his mate, he looked instead at the screen. He was currently in the lead, and had a power-up. He could practically sense how badly Gwyn wanted to win, the anxious yet excited energy seeping off her.

Feigning clumsiness, his car veered off the track and crashed into a nearby tree.

Gwyn practically cackled at that, throwing her head back onto the sofa as peals of laughter overtook her lithe body. “The infamous Spymaster,” she said in between breathless giggles. “Can’t even control a car in a children’s video game.”

As the computerised voice began to speak over the menu that had popped up, Gwyn sat bolt upright.

“I won!” she exclaimed. “Az, I won!” Giggling, she jumped around and promptly declared “Admit it, Shadowsinger. I’m just better than you.” Responding with a chuckle of his own, he said, “Yes, you are Gwyn. Looks like I’m going to have to up my game.”

“Oh, most certainly. There’s no way you’re going to beat me now.”

Smiling, he shook his head, and let out a contented sigh. He didn’t care who won Mario Kart so long as he got to see his mate happy, and see that glorious smile light up her face and her teal eyes shimmer with mirth and teasing.

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Weekend Mornings

AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: Another short, fluffy, completely self-indulgent drabble!

Word Count: 590

It was a lovely Saturday morning, the best, in Gwynn’s opinion. Indeed, she’d always been an early riser, as could be seen when the female sat on the sofa, reading a book. She was curled up with a warm mug of tea and her legs huddled under the covers while the sunlight streamed in through an open window, casting a warm, golden glow over the floor. She was completely immersed in her novel, a little furrow in her brow, when suddenly the door clicked open.

“Love, I’m home,” Azriel’s voice rang out through their shared apartment. He’d just come home after a morning at the gym, and as he made his way into the living room where Gwyn was lounging, he knelt down to press a kiss to her brow. Much to his chagrin, she leaned back so he couldn’t kiss her. Immediately, concern lined his features, and he looked worried. "Gwyn?" What's wrong?” She only crinkled her nose at him, pouting, and continued reading her novel. “Why won’t you hug me?”

Sighing, she put her book down. Her clingy mate really wasn’t going to let it go this time. “Sweetheart, I love you, but you’re sweaty and disgusting!”

“Well then, why don’t you be a good mate and join the club? We can both be sweaty and disgusting together-”

Azriel’s dialogue was cut short as a pillow went flying straight for his face. Merely chuckling, he caught the pillow with ease. Gwyn, however, took it as her cue to continue. “I’m not kissing my mate while he stinks like a dying raccoon.”

Showing mock offense, Azriel placed a delicate hand on his chest. “Dying raccoon? By the Mother, Priestess, you wound me so.”

She only laughed at that, throwing her head back so her copper hair caught the sunlight, now creeping up towards the east.

“Did you forget our wedding vows, Berdara? Whatever happened to “in joy and sorrow, in health and sickness, I vow to always be at your side?””

“I would never forget your vows, husband.”

Indeed, her wonderful, radiant mate, who always went above and beyond to ensure she was more than comfortable. She couldn't imagine her life without him now that he was here at her side.

“I would never forget what a pain in my ass you were that day,” she reminisced instead.

“Pain in your ass? Whatever did I do?”

“Do you want me to start alphabetically or chronologically?” He merely crossed his arms and raised a brow, his lips quirking up in a smile, as he encouraged her to continue.

“You spent at least half the wedding irritating all my bridesmaids, asking them if I was feeling alright, if I needed anything, until the point they got so irritated Nesta had to threaten to kick your sorry ass out of the wedding, never mind that it was our wedding to begin with.” He mockingly placed a finger under her chin, and pretended to have a good think. “Why do I remember something vaguely similar happening when it came to you, Gwyn? Do you want me to remind you of every little embarrassing thing you did at our wedding too?”

Promptly, she shook her head. He grinned. “That’s what I thought. Don’t start something you can’t finish, Berdara.” He lunged for her, and managed to grasp her in his arms to tickle her for all of two seconds before she darted off, presumably to another part of the house.

“Oh, Gwyn, you’ve done it now,” he called, and chased after his radiant mate.

A/N: Inspired by this Tumblr post

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Come To Bed

AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

A/N: This is more of a fluffy oneshot/drabble because I was bored at 9:45 on a random Wednesday (please ignore the spelling errors, or comment if you see anything truly atrocious)

Summary: Gwyn is fed up with her mate and husband, Azriel, having to work so much.

Word Count: 542

“Az, love, it’s been hours.”

Indeed, Azriel had been sitting at his desk for the Cauldron knew how long, his brow furrowed, hunched over and trying to work on his reports for Rhys.

Gwyn knew how busy their lives would be after they accepted their bond, but she hadn’t expected her husband would have next to no free time at all. It almost seemed like Rhysand, the bastard, was piling more work on top of her already exhausted mate. She made a mental note to have a firm talk with her High Lord…after she got to spend at least a week in bed with her mate.

She’d been trying to coax him out of his desk for ages now, and yet his pace was unrelenting. He didn’t stop or slow down even once, not bothering to eat dinner and instead deciding to forgo it and continue working on his paperwork.

“Az,” she whined again, throwing her head back on the loveseat she was lounging on. It was her favourite seat in his entire office, save for him, of course.

“Nearly done, love.” The low timbre of his voice did something to her, though she wasn’t quite sure what.

“You said that nearly two hours ago.” Indeed, she’d watch the time tick by, slow as ever, as her mate continued to work on that damned paperwork.

“But now I’m really almost done.”

“You said that too.”

“Come here.” Huffing dramatically, she pulled herself off the comfortable lounge and padded over to her husband. Just the scent of him, cedarwood and night-chilled mist, along with something she’d never been able to place, something distinctly…him, calmed her irritated self immediately. 

While one hand was busy writing, the other wrapped around her waist and pulled her down onto his lap. While he wrote, he idly drew circles on her hips, her thighs, her waist, and Gwyn couldn’t help but relax into his touch, and leaned her head back on his shoulder. Even then, her husband continued working, sometimes running a hand through her auburn hair or brushing a thumb over her cheekbone.

When Azriel finally turned to look at her though, she had a pout on her face. “What’s wrong, sunshine?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she said, “You promised you’d be done earlier.” Azriel couldn’t help his eyes flitting down to her breasts in her silk nightgown as she crossed her arms over her chest. Despite it, he grinned.

“I wouldn’t have been able to see this adorable pout, then, would I?” He pressed a small kiss to the side of her neck, just far away enough from the spot that drove her mad.

“It’s not adorable, I’m mad at you.”

“Sure you are, love.” Indeed, Gwyn never stayed cross at Azriel for long. It wasn’t as if she was truly mad at him now either, simply annoyed at how much his job kept him from truly enjoying each other’s company. He knew it too, and capitalized on it any moment he could.

“Come on, I’m done.” Gwyn didn’t think she’d heard a more satisfying sentence, and promptly wrapped her arms around his neck as he picked her up bridal style and carried them to their room. “I’m all yours for the night, love.”

A/N: Inspired by this Tumblr post

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Letters of Desperation - Gwynriel

Part 1 - Azriel | Part 4 - Gwyneth | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 427

My sweetest Azriel,

How my heart shattered as I read your letter. Even as I write to you now, my love, my heart longs for you, cries out your name. My tears have long since stained my pillow, and the bed feels so impossibly empty without you. Devoid of emotion, numb, as the white linen covers stare up at me, a mockery of you (I do not know if I am describing the sheets or myself). I have clutched my bedsheets with an iron grip so firm and unrelenting I am afraid there will be imprints of my agony immortalised in the fabric.

Every second that passes I am reminded how impossibly far away you from me are. The distance gnaws at my heart, consistent and painful, creating a void so deep in me no one and nothing will be able to fill. No one but you. The true torment is that no one will ever know how much I long for you, save for these letters, only if these letters are found by another lover long after we have left this world. It seems unfair that I must keep this pain to myself, unable to verbalise it unless you are near. When you are near, all seems to be right with the world, with me. Despite being mated for such a short amount of time, it seems unfair that you must still fulfill your duties for this Court. 

Surely you have given enough? Surely you deserve to rest?

Azriel, I know you. What I do not know is if you have chosen these missions on purpose because you feel as if you do not deserve me, or my love. Or perhaps the High Lord has assigned you these. It is your job, after all. I know it takes a heavy toll on you, my love. I know how it plagues your mind like a black, infecting disease that eats away at your psyche, every moment of every day.

But know that you do not have to shoulder this burden alone. We are mates; each other’s halves, in body and in spirit. We are equals. Allow me the honour of sharing your sorrows, allow me to carry your burdens. What, then, would our marriage vows mean otherwise?

You will never be broken or jagged or insufficient to me, Azriel. 

Allow yourself the grace to ask me for help. Allow yourself to lean on me. That is all I ask. You have shouldered far too much for far too long. Now, it is my turn. 

Unconditionally yours,

Gwyneth

Part 5 - Azriel

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings

Letters of Desperation - Gwynriel

Part 1 - Azriel | Part 3 - Azriel | AO3 | ACOTAR Masterpost | Masterpost of masterposts |

Word Count: 262

My precious warrior,

My heart cannot take your absence any longer. It cries out your name, and I feel as though it will rip itself out of my chest and soar above the clouds to find you. How I miss you. But perhaps miss is not a strong enough word for what I feel. I fear that my love for you has long since passed that trivial stage, and has taken on a form so unrelenting and merciless, a form which cannot be avoided or left alone, no matter how much I may try to bury my love for you.

It rises like a waves, taking me under as a shipwrecked sailor would be subject to the whims of nature. It takes me under and does not let me go, clutching me and clawing at me until I become insane with desire, until I am neither Fae, nor Illyrian, nor a Shadowsinger; merely Azriel. Merely yours, in every way that matters. 

I whisper your name like a prayer, so sinful and sweet and depraved, more holy than any prayer the Mother has to offer. For you are my religion and my faith now, my Goddess of such ethereal and breathtaking beauty. Stunning and radiant, emanating light from your very soul, shedding such pure warmth on my dark, shadowed heart. 

Maybe your light will piece the broken and jagged shards of me back together.

All I hope is that I do not cut you in the process. You do not deserve to bleed any more than you already have.

Your eternal love,

Azriel

Part 4 - Gwyneth

Line dividers credit goes to @enchanthings