Work Text:
Azriel sighed as he rummaged around the large worktable in search of the report Feyre had left for him. His High Lady was many things but organized was not one.
He held back an exasperated huff as he gingerly moved over a freshly drawn charcoal piece. The drawing was of Mor and Amren as they held a jump rope for Arien as the little lord giggled in delight.
The shadowsinger couldn’t help but smile at his nephew. Feyre and Rhysand’s son was a brilliant and passionate child. He had no doubt once the boy came of age he’d be just as insufferably charming as his father.
After pulling away what seemed to be a quick doodle of Nesta’s eyes, he finally found the documents he had been searching for.
Azriel grabbed the papers, turning to exit the room and finally settle down after a long day before his shadows halted his steps.
Look. Look master, look.
He turned.
The dark tendrils rested in the back corner of the room, swirling around a canvas pushed against the wall.
Azriel was hesitant to snoop around Feyre and Rhysand’s things, not wanting to happen upon something that could potentially scar him for the rest of eternity.
The artwork was partially hidden behind the plum bergère, yet he managed to catch a glimpse of golden-brown hair and a light blue coat.
He inched closer, his heart shuttering as he realized it was of Elain during the battle of Hybern. Her chin was held high as she stared at something with a look of complete trust and determination.
Azriel couldn’t help himself as he immediately walked up to the canvas, lifting it from the ground to view the rest of the painting.
His breath caught at what he saw.
He saw himself at the receiving end of the seer’s gaze, and he was looking at her like she was all that mattered to him.
She is master, she is. Look at her. Such beauty. Such strength. Our mistre–
He waved away the tendril before it could continue. Ever since Azriel felt his feelings for Elain branch into something unfamiliar, his shadows had taken to calling her… that.
He despised the title. Despised how it corresponded with his own and the confusing satisfaction that thought generated.
He continued to stare at the artwork, soaking it all in. Feyre must have spent weeks on it, the detail was so painstaking he felt he could reach out and feel the warmth of Elain’s coat. Everything was just as he remembered it, Truth-Teller in his scarred hand as he pressed it into her palm.
Yet the scene behind them seemed altered. Behind Elain, the battlefield was filled with light and life, the image of blooming spring surrounding her figure. Yet as the scenery crossed over where their hands met, it turned dark. Shadows loomed around the spymaster’s painted form, his dark wings taking up most of the space behind him.
Azriel couldn’t help but smirk at that.
The two of them looked like complete opposites, yet somehow it was their differences that made the painting that much more intriguing.
There was a sense of longing swirling in their eyes. It was paired with another emotion he pointedly chose to ignore, knowing it was surely Feyre’s busybody nature creating something that was not truly there.
The female always loved to tease him about his close relationship with her sister, not knowing her inquiries caused a yearning the shadowsinger could not decipher.
“I painted that almost immediately when we got home.”
Azriel fought the urge to yelp his surprise at his High Lady’s sudden appearance beside him. He chastised himself for being too enraptured by the image in his hands to notice the female’s footsteps, especially since she had always been uncommonly loud for a fae.
Feyre grinned at him before looking down at the painting, her face curious.
“Rhys told me you hadn’t let anyone else so much as touch Truth-Teller. Why my sister? You hardly knew Elain at the time.”
He sighed. The truth was Azriel didn’t know why he gave the notorious weapon to her. All he knew was that, in that moment, it felt like the right thing to do. Clearly he had been correct, given that it was with his blade that led to the evil king’s demise.
He shrugged, trying to find the right words, “She was… good. Worthy, I suppose. I knew she needed something to defend herself and I saw the way she looked at Cassian’s knife. Before I knew it I was holding out my own to her.”
The youngest Archeron nodded and Azriel was relieved she didn’t ask any further questions he wouldn’t know the answer to.
She then hummed, running a hand down the side of the canvas like it was her pride and joy.
“I wanted to hang it along with the others, yet something told me you and Elain would not appreciate the sentiment.”
Azriel felt a confusing swirl of exhilaration and fear cloak his senses at the idea of Elain seeing this painting, but he pushed it aside and shook his head, “Nonsense, we are friends.”
Feyre sighed, hanging her head and shoulders slightly before straightening them.
“There’s more.”
He turned to her, “What do you mean?”
The female chuckled, walking over to a dark mahogany chest across the room. Azriel set down the canvas carefully before following her.
She leaned down, unfastening the golden locks and reaching in to remove countless paintings to place on the floor before them.
The shadowsinger could feel the air rush from his lungs as he viewed that each one was of him and Elain.
The first was of the two of them in the garden, laughing at Cauldron knows what as his wing stretched out to shield her from the sun’s rays. They looked so happy and at ease in each other’s presence. He felt his pulse spiking at the idea that perhaps she felt just as serene in his company as he did in hers.
The next painting was of the Inner Circle’s first Solstice with the Archerons, when Elain had gifted him that powder for his headaches.
She was smiling at him while he laughed, head thrown back with an expression of such joy that Azriel almost didn’t recognize himself.
He remembers he had first been shocked she had gotten him anything, yet when he thinks of Elain’s unending generosity it really was no surprise.
Yet what had truly pleased him beyond the brilliant wit of her gift was the quiet admission it gave. To him, it was her way of showing that she paid attention to him.
Azriel had always been the observant one, reading tells and filing away every bit of information he received to try and understand his loved ones a bit better.
It created a funny feeling in his chest at the thought of someone doing the same for him.
When he had finally arrived home that Solstice evening after hours of talking with the young seer, Azriel had set the present on his bedside table and stared at it until he fell asleep.
He turned to the next artwork. This time they were with Nesta and Cassian, sitting beside the couple and seemingly in their own world.
It was the day they had just defeated the mortal queens for good and the sisters and brothers had decided to spend all night celebrating together. Cassian had his arm around his mate, the pair staring into each other’s eyes with dopey grins on their faces.
The shadowsinger felt a swell of jealousy at his brother’s evident happiness but shoved it away as quickly as it came. Cassian deserved all the joy in the world, and Azriel was truly happy for him and the eldest Archeron.
Azriel could only hope that one day he would find someone who looked at him the way Nesta looked at Cassian.
Yet as he turned to the flower-grower, there was little difference between her and her sister’s demeanor as they looked at the respective Illyrians. Elain’s hand was resting on Azriel’s bicep as they smiled at each other. He had never seen himself look so relaxed, so soft.
There were countless more memories memorialized by Feyre’s talent and each one sent a spark up Azriel’s spine. Eventually he cleared his throat, unable to turn away from the paintings as he spoke.
“They’re lovely. Although I can see you took some artistic initiative.”
His High Lady huffed a laugh, “What makes you say that?”
“Our expressions, the way we look at each other. You changed them.”
She turned to him then, her grey-blue eyes do doubt darting across his profile as she studied him.
“I didn’t change anything.”
Azriel didn’t know what to say. The High Lady must be lying. She had to be. Because what he saw in each image before him, what connected them all, was the unbridled love in his and Elain’s eyes as they looked at one another.
He didn’t love Elain.
No, he loved Mor. Yes, Mor.
With Mor he had always felt nervous and out of control, just as love should feel. He was always second guessing his words and movements in fear of making a fool of himself. He constantly wanted to prove his worth, to show that he was deserving of her affection.
Sure, that feeling had long sense passed but…
He didn’t love Elain. He couldn’t.
He never felt nervous around her, at least not in the way he had been around Mor. In fact, their time together was one of the few moments the shadowsinger ever truly felt at peace. He never felt the need to change his demeanor or alter his opinions to match hers because he knew, no matter what, she would never judge him.
That was not love. Love was suffocating. It was the feeling of having the wind knocked out of you whenever the person entered the room.
Being with Elain was like a breath of fresh air. He could walk into her garden and all it took was her warm smile for him to forget all his worries in that moment.
He could talk with her for hours, never feeling the need to filter himself or apologize if he ever grew too passionate on a certain topic because he knew she would soon go off on a tangent about the importance of proper plant care with him hanging onto each word.
He didn’t love Elain. And if he did, it was entirely platonic.
Sure, his heart would warm whenever she touched him. But that was only because, as a child, he had been so starved of physical affection. Yes he usually avoided it with his brothers, but Elain was different. She would hug him and hold his hands in her own as he would stare into her eyes, feeling comforted by the warmth he saw in them.
But it was always in a friendly way.
He remembered when just yesterday they had been sitting among the roses, facing each other with her hands in his. He had been holding her palm up, brushing a finger against the blisters and calluses she’d earned from her time spent in the garden.
“Why do you not wear gloves?” He had asked.
She’d shrugged, bringing her other hand up to trace the scars marring his finger.
“I’ve always hated them. I used to never wear them when I was younger. Yet as I grew, my mother became more conscious of my appearance. One day she forbade me from going to the garden unless I wore gloves. She…”
Elain trailed off and Azriel had given her hand a reassuring squeeze. The seer had taken a shaky breath before continuing.
“She’d said that no man would want to marry me if my hands were disgusting like they were then, that no man could love a marked woman. So I wore them ever since, ensuring that no one would even be able tell I had so much as seen a rose thorn in my lifetime.”
Azriel had been silent for a moment, processing the information she had given him. He had sat there, archiving the glimpse she had given him into her past before responding.
“What changed?”
She’d looked up, a small smile gracing her lips.
“You.”
He’d laughed, startled, “Me?”
Elain had nodded, cheeks pink as she looked back down to their intertwined fingers.
“When I first saw your hands, I thought they were the most beautiful things I’d ever seen.”
Azriel’s blood had chilled at her words. Beautiful.
That was what she had whispered all those years ago when he had offered to show her the garden at the House of Wind. He had always assumed she’d meant his siphon. He’d never–
She then ran her thumb across the back of his hand, “After that I found no reason to keep them on.”
Their eyes had then met again, as he ran a hand down the smooth skin of her arm. He wondered if her lips were as soft as her–
“Shit.”
Feyre gave a startled laugh, not unlike his own from his memory, “Pardon?”
But Azriel was already out the door. His feet seemed to act on their own accord as he raced down the halls of the estate, his shadowsinging abilities momentarily forgotten.
He skidded to a halt at Elain’s room and knocked on the door, not even considering the fact that she could be asleep. Surely this was important enough that–
“She’s in the garden.”
The spymaster turned to see his brother smirking at him like this was the funniest thing in all of Prythian. Azriel gave a curt nod of thanks and summoned his shadows, stepping into them to reveal a silhouette sitting by a flower patch.
The seer turned to him immediately, as if she had sensed his presence.
Her eyes widened, a smile brimming on her face.
Cauldron she was breathtaking, her supple figure dipped in gold by the glowing lanterns surrounding the garden.
There were no words he could form, no sonnets he could sing to describe her beauty. She was paradisaic.
What was he doing? He couldn’t tell her how he felt. She was… an angel. And he was just…
“Azriel?” She asked, head slightly tilted in confusion at his rigid stature.
He forced himself to relax, “Hello, Elain. I didn’t realize you were here,” he lied, “I can come back later when–”
“No!” She said, holding out her arms as if to stop him from leaving. She winced, lowering her voice, “No, it’s alright. I actually wanted to talk with you about something.”
He nodded, noticing her nervous demeanor and immediately pushing away his own internal conflict as he walked to where she sat and kneeled beside her.
She turned to the heliotropium, as he remembers her calling it, and reached down to touch one as she spoke in a gentle voice.
“You know our friendship means everything to me, right? I would never want anything to jeopardize it.”
He panicked. Cauldron, did she know? That couldn’t be possible, given that he’d only just realized his feelings for her a few minutes ago.
He managed to keep his face blank throughout his inner turmoil, his voice controlled, “I do. It is important to me as well.”
She nodded, looking back down to the purple cluster of blossoms and running her nail down a small petal.
“You’re a good friend. You are exceptionally kind and gentle, as well as strong and valiant. You always listen to me and never make me feel weak or silly. Y-you… you look.”
She smiled then, pleased with herself as if that sentence revealed all she was trying to say.
It didn’t.
“I look?” he asked, confused.
She huffed at the flower, clearly annoyed that her statement hadn’t been clear enough. “What I mean is you look at what others just skim over. You are… perceptive.”
Well clearly not perceptive enough to understand what she was insinuating.
“Thank you.” He said, although it came out more as a question.
She groaned, looking up to the sky before returning back to the blasted shrub, “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”
“No.” he laughed, “Although I appreciate your awe in my ability of being able to see.”
She giggled, “I mean you look at me.”
Mother’s tits she knew.
She had seen all those stares he had given her and saw them as the lovesick gazes they were before he could pull his own head out of his arse and realize it himself.
Was she attempting to let him down gently? Azriel wracked his brain to try and find the best way to avoid the inevitable awkwardness of that interaction.
Just as he was settling on dissolving into shadows and moving to the Winter Court, Elain spoke up again.
“What I am trying to say is… I love you.”
He froze, gaping down at her as she stared vehemently at that damned flower bush.
“You don’t have to feel obligated to respond. I just wanted to–”
He lunged for her, cutting her off as he pulled her into his arms so they were now face to face. Her arms wrapped around his neck as if on instinct, her warm breath fanning across his lips.
“You love me?”
She nodded. Her eyes were now locked on his mouth and he wished she would look up so he could see her lovely eyes, “Yes.”
His pulse spiked, “I love you too.”
And there they were, those beautiful brown orbs that seemed to carry his whole world in their depths. They stared at one another, tension coiling between their bodies like a taut wire.
She nodded, “Good.”
“Good.” He echoed, lost in her soft gaze. “I–”
But he was cut off as her lips surged to his, catching them in a passionate kiss before quickly pulling away.
She looked at him timidly, as if trying to gage his reaction.
He stared right back, waiting until that tension finally snapped, the reverberations echoing through his body.
He pounced, his mouth crashing against hers. She let out a soft moan, tightening her hold around his neck and pulling him impossibly closer as if trying to fuse their bodies together.
Azriel groaned. He had never kissed like this, had never been kissed like this. It was soft yet penetrating. Sweet yet demanding. It was everything. She was everything.
He poured his whole soul into the kiss, trying to convey the depth of his affection as his lips slanted over hers again and again.
Eventually they pulled away, foreheads touching as they both gasped for air.
He found himself starting to laugh, the giddy feeling of having this wondrous female in his arms warming his body to the brim.
She smiled up at him fondly, “What?”
He righted himself enough to speak, his voice bursting with mirth, “Your plan of declaring your love to me was telling me that I look?”
She sighed, “Yes and no. I had planned to lead that into telling you how you made me feel but then I got cold feet.”
He huffed another laugh, moving to playfully nip at her bottom lip.
“You look too.”
She grinned, “Thank you.”
The pair were about to embrace once again before they heard the sound of slow clapping coming from the estate.
They both turned to see a very smug High Lord and Lady standing under the garden entrance. Azriel glared as his brother merely grinned as he brough his hands back to his pockets.
“Have you been standing there the whole time?” Azriel growled.
Rhys scoffed, “Please, we only came out once we were certain you two were… finished. We did, however, hear Elain’s touching declaration all the way from the kitchen.”
He then turned to the flower-grower, her face as red as her roses, “Bravo Ellie. I must say you are worse than Nesta at love confessions.”
Azriel huffed a laugh, remembering when Nesta had told Cassian in a monotone voice that she refused to cook for him, but he could cook for her if he wanted. Azriel had no idea what that meant, but he had never seen his brother move so fast as he scooped the smirking female up into his arms and shot into the sky.
They hadn’t seen the two of them for three weeks after that.
Feyre was practically vibrating with glee as she squealed, “Oh Nesta! Wait until I tell her! And Mor! She’ll be ecstatic that she beat Amren after the last bet.”
Azriel sighed, of course their family had placed a bet on this.
Elain released a tiny harumph beside him, “I still don’t know why I’m not allowed to participate in those.”
Her sister laughed, “Firstly, this bet was about you. Secondly, you won one too many previous wagers for us to not think your seer abilities were giving you an unfair advantage.”
The flower-grower smiled innocently at the female, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Rhys scoffed beside his mate, “You can’t tell me, during our visit to Scythia, you got Lucien making a surprise exit from Vassa’s chambers at five in the morning ‘off a hunch’.”
He held up air quotes before crossing his arms and giving her a pointed look, “Denied mating bond or not, something was not adding up.”
Elain simply shrugged, untangling herself from Azriel to stand and holding out a hand. He smiled, lacing their fingers together as he pulled himself to his feet as well.
She grinned up at him, dusting off a spot of dirt from his leathers before turning to the couple before them.
“Is that all? I’m rather exhausted and would like to retire for the day.”
Rhysand turned to his wife, who gave him a reluctant nod, “Yes, that is all.”
“Excellent,” she turned to Azriel then, “Walk me to my room?”
He squeezed her hand, “I’d be honored.”
She beamed, pulling him towards the estate.
Once they were walking up the stairs, he turned to her, “Rhys is right, you know.”
Elain snorted and Azriel’s heart soared at the comfort the unladylike gesture expressed, “How so?”
“You really are terrible at love confessions.”
She gaped at him jokingly, giving him a soft shove, “I didn’t see you making any large, poetic gestures.”
He laughed, “To be honest, I’d planned on reveling my love for you in the garden. It was why I was there in the first place. After seeing some paintings Feyre drew of us, I was finally able to admit my feelings to myself and wanted to tell you immediately.”
“Why didn’t you?”
He sighed, “You looked so beautiful. So perfect. I didn’t think you would feel the same. I didn’t think I was worthy of your love. Frankly, I still don’t.”
She stopped them, reaching for his other hand and bringing his knuckles to her lips for a gentle kiss.
“You are worthy, Azriel. More than you know.”
He smiled, “You honor me. As long as the wind howls and the sun sets, my heart is yours. If you wish to have it, that is.”
Elain brought his hand to her heart, soothing him as he felt it beat in time with his own, “I do. And mine is yours if you wish. Until the end of time.”
She then rose to her toes, pulling him down by his collar to kiss him softly.
He grinned against her lips, “How’s that for a large, poetic gesture?”
Elain laughed and they continued to walk down the hall, “What are these paintings you spoke of? I’ve never seen them.”
He was about to answer until he heard the chime of the nearby grandfather clock and read the time.
It was already far past a reasonable hour for two people to continue in innocent conversation, though that had never stopped them before. Yet as they came up to her room, he knew he would have to bid goodbye to the seer and wait until the next day to see her again.
The realization hit him like a blow to the gut and he reached for her, pulling her into his arms for a final kiss, one filled with passion and love.
She matched all the desperation and longing he gave with great enthusiasm and he forced himself to set her down before he got carried away and did something they would both regret.
His breath came out in short pants as he nuzzled her nose and whispered, “I will show you them tomorrow.”
She nodded, pulling her gaze away from his lips to look into his eyes. Her voice was breathless as she spoke, “I don’t want this night to end.”
He smiled, putting a piece of golden-brown hair behind her pointed ear, “Me neither, but we must get some rest. I have no doubt Nesta and Cassian will be pounding on our respective doors once they hear the news.”
She poked his chest playfully, “Easy for you to say, no one even knows where you live.”
He stilled, wondering if what he was about to propose would be mistaken as suggestive or be considered too forward. Yet one look at her beautiful face and he decided to throw caution to the wind.
“Perhaps I could bring you there, after I show you Feyre’s paintings. I could meet you in the gardens at noon?”
Her delighted expression washed away all his worries, “I would like that.”
He smiled, stealing another kiss before opening the door behind her, “Tomorrow then.”
Elain nodded, “Tomorrow.”
She matched his answering grin, giving him a quick peck on the nose and slowly backing into her room.
“Goodnight Azriel.”
“Goodnight Elain.”
She smiled, her eyes not leaving his until the door softly clicked shut.
He swung around once it had closed, holding his arms up and feeling light as air as he fought the urge to run and cheer from the rooftops.
As he walked back down to the main level, he was met with Feyre and Rhysand’s surprised looks. The shadowsinger knew he was grinning like a fool but couldn’t seem to care as he walked past them.
“Will you not be staying with Elain for the night?”
The smirk on Rhys’ face showed exactly what he meant by that question and Azriel cuffed his brother over the head.
“Not all of us share our bodies five minutes after professing our love.”
Feyre huffed, “That’s not true, I had to reheat soup! It was ten minutes.”
Azriel laughed, opening the front door, “I’m going to retire for the night. Let me know if there is anything else you need from me.”
He left after their exchange of goodbyes before he was stopped just outside the entrance gate.
“Azriel!”
He turned, startled at his High Lady’s holler. His eyes caught on the papers waving in her hand as she ran to him and held them out.
“You almost forgot the reports I have for you.”
Ah yes, the reports that had started this all. He loved these reports, loved them almost as much as he loved the female currently two floors above him.
He took them with a smile, nodding his head in thanks before unfurling his wings and shooting up into the air.
And as he flew over Velaris, he couldn’t help the howl of victory he let out at the pure joy he was feeling.
As he settled on his apartment balcony, unlocking the French doors and walking into his bedroom, his shadows swirled around his head. He felt a tendril prod at his hair, and he brought a hand up to see what the commotion was about.
He grinned as he pulled his hand away, seeing a tiny bud of heliotropium that must have gotten caught there during his and Elain’s kiss in the garden.
He placed it on his bedside, shaking his head to rid his hair of any further purple blossoms before preparing himself for bed. As he lay underneath his covers, he reveled in how much brighter his life had become in just these last few hours.
He couldn’t wait for tomorrow to come.