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Chapter Text

Azriel was pulled from his fitful sleep. His breathing rapid, body drenched in sweat. The panic was immediate as his eyes scanned the dark, straining to find the threat.

His shadows covered his body, trying to hide him in his own darkness. To shut everything else out.

Something moved in the bed and the rustling of the comforter was deafening in the utter silence of the room. Azriel pulled back the covers to find Rhys's hand searching the bed. The hand found Azriel's arm and grasped it tight.

Azriel looked at Rhys's face, but his eyes were still closed. His breathing still quiet and steady. Either Rhys was very good at pretending, or he was still asleep and had somehow sensed Az's nightmare from his own slumber.

As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could make out Cassian's sleeping form curled up against Rhys's back.
Azriel felt his body relax. His shadows had slithered away and returned with nothing to report.

It was just a nightmare, his brothers were here, and he was safe.

None of them would ever admit to sharing Rhys's large bed. Each of their things lived in their separate rooms, but every night was the same routine. Silently climbing into the bed together because they all knew they would sleep better this way than in their own spaces.

And tonight Azriel was extra grateful for this arrangement. He could let sleep take him again knowing that Rhys and Cassian would protect anything that could have come for him, and vice versa. He slept all the way through the rest of the night, Rhys's hand never leaving his arm.

***

Soft blue morning light poured through every window in the cabin. Azriel and Rhys were quiet as they moved around each other, preparing breakfast. They hadn't spoken a word yet this morning, the only sounds were the scuffling of feet, the spoon against the pan, and Cassian's faint snores from the bedroom.

Azriel poured three cups of coffee, stirring in cream and a bit of maple syrup. Rhys divided the porridge into three bowls, adding an extravagant portion of cheese atop each one. Then both boys settled in at the table to eat their breakfast. They dared not wake Cassian before he was ready. His food would sit waiting at his spot until he deigned to arrive, and then Rhys would snap his fingers to rewarm it, receiving a sleepy grunt of thanks from Cassian. Thus was their morning routine. It was the same every day.

It was not every morning, however, that Azriel found himself staring at Rhys. That soft morning light washed over Rhys's features, illuminating the strong curve of his jaw, and elegant point of his ears. Strands of jet black hair stuck out in all directions. And those vibrant eyes, filled with stars, were still a bit sleepy. He remembered his friend's hand searching for him in the dark, and something twisted in Azriel's chest. Something warm and soft rose up inside him and it ached.

Rhys had made it through several bites of his breakfast before he realized he was being watched.

"What?" He asked, spoon paused midair.

Azriel only shook his head and started on his own bowl. He silently cursed himself for being caught.

But that soft gaze had alighted something in Rhys in turn. Rhys was fighting an overwhelming, joyous grin from the inside out and he did not know why. He only knew it would be too vulnerable to let it loose. Instead, he kept his face neutral and poked a finger along Az's mental shields. Azriel did nothing, eyes on his breakfast.

This would not do. That all-consuming feeling was demanding to know what lay behind Azriel's eyes as he studied Rhys, and it would not relent until there was an answer. He gave himself over to it.

"Tell me," Rhys demanded.

"I don't know what you mean," Azriel replied, his voice quiet as always.

"Why were you looking at me like that?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes you do, spymaster."

Now Azriel looked up and they locked eyes again. Rhys's eyes were sparkling far too much for Az's liking. There was too much determination and mischief in them. In an instant, Rhys had winnowed behind Azriel and wrapped his elbow around his neck. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to be annoying.

"Tell me, you prick!" Rhys shouted.

"Shut up, idiot! You'll wake up Cassian," Azriel winnowed out of Rhys's grasp to a few feet away, wings flaring out behind him.

This only made Rhys more wild. He launched for his friend, but Azriel had seen that blazing look and leapt to the side. Azriel attempted to return to the table, muttering under his breath, "you've gone insane."

But Rhys winnowed again to Azriel's side. Out of pure instinct, Azriel's elbow swung hard and connected with his brother's nose.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry!" Azriel was shouting as Rhys leaned forward and held his face, eyes scrunched tight in pain. But then he straightened, hands curling into fists as a drop of blood made its way down his lip. And he lunged again, winnowing them both away as soon as he made contact.

Azriel blinked hard as the sun glinted off the snow and into his eyes. The cold bit at his stocking feet, moisture quickly seeping through the fabric of his socks.

"Just tell me," Rhys growled
He was stanced to fight as though he was not also standing in the snow in his sleep clothes.

"It was nothing, you're being crazy!" Azriel yelled back. He was about to go back inside when Rhys tackled him.

Finally he gave in and gave Rhys the brawl he wanted. Back and forth, they punched, grappled, and lunged at each other. The world was silent around them as they tore apart the pristine blanket of snow, their grunts and snarls piercing the winter air. The cold was ruthless even as the sun rose higher.

Rhysand was relentless. Azriel was considering retrieving Cassian for back up, weighing the possibility that Cassian might turn on him and side with Rhys instead. Then if he was forced to make a confession, he'd have to say it in front of Cassian too and Cassian had a talent for never ever forgetting any embarrassing moment he bore witness to.

Peppered between Rhys's blows were more attempts to breach his mental shields. Azriel would not allow it. He did not know what Rhys had seen in his gaze to rile him up so much. And he didn't know why he wouldn't just lie to Rhys and give him some boring fib. Probably because Rhys would know he was lying even without his power. But there was something else stopping him.

Rhys's hand in the dark, his gentle care for Azriel, his handsome face in the morning sun, only half awake.... Something was weaving all of those moments together into some emotion he couldn't name. Something that overwhelmed him, but felt so small and fragile in his chest. Like if he said it out loud Rhys could crush it with his breath without even meaning to. And it scared him, the way that all fragile things scared him.

That was how Rhys won. He caught the moment that Azriel disappeared into his thoughts for one second too long, and he took the opportunity to tackle and pin him.

Azriel lay on his back in the snow, skin red and raw in every place the ice had touched him. His wings trembled, thoroughly chilled. Rhys straddled him, pinning his hips down. Each of Azriel's wrists were caught firmly in Rhysand's hands. There was no getting away from Rhys's blazing stare. Azriel felt himself melting underneath the galaxies swirling in those violet eyes.

"Tell me what you were thinking," Rhys panted through a pretend snarl. A few cuts and scrapes littered his face and neck, joining the dried blood trailing from his nose.

It was another moment before Azriel said anything. He was trying to determine if he could still fight it, still find a way out. He was breathing hard as he stared back up at Rhys. His brows furrowed together, teeth clenched.

But finally,

"You're beautiful."

Rhys's brows drew together. He was barely sure he heard it. But he didn't have time to ask again before Azriel winnowed away, leaving him on his hands and knees, sinking into the snow. He did not feel the ice sting his hands, only stared down at the impression that Azriel left.

Azriel was not there to see that the tiny fragile thing that he had presented to Rhysand did not break. It did not crack. It would only grow under Rhysand's careful attention.

Chapter Text

When Rhys went back inside, Cassian was finally awake. He sat at the table devouring the meal before him with his usual fervor. He gave no indication that he'd witnessed their strange explosion. He did not seem to be hiding any grin or smirk, either.

Rhys turned his attention away from him and listened, catching the sound of the bath running. Then he padded toward his own room, no word to Cassian, to clean and dress. And on the way he resolved to keep a careful distance from Azriel for the rest of the day. Partially because, after the adrenaline had faded, he felt bad for being such an asshole. But partially because he was still replaying Az's words in his head, attempting to sort through what they meant to him. And every time they repeated, a warm blush crept over his cheeks.

You're beautiful.

***

Cassian watched him go. He told neither of them that he had caught the last of their fight from the window. Had watched Azriel winnow out from under Rhys, leaving him bewildered in the snow. Of course Cassian was painfully curious about what Azriel had said in that moment. Azriel had winnowed into his own room, closing the door softly and locking it. He could hear him cursing and shivering as he started a bath and waited for the water to heat.

His curiosity grew when he watched  Rhys come back inside through his peripheral vision. Rhys looked bewildered, eyes wide as he trembled. Melting snow dripped from his wings, and his face was marked with a few smears of blood.

Normally, this was all certainly grounds for teasing. But this morning felt different. Whatever it was that hung in the air, Cassian could sense its fragility. He had a feeling in his gut that he would complicate matters tenfold if he opened his mouth. So he kept it shut and watched them amble around each other in awkward silence all day long.

It was a rare day when they had nowhere to go. Of course, if they had wanted, one of them could have found somewhere to be, and that told Cassian more about the situation than any half-assed explanation Rhys or Azriel would have given him. Though neither of them said anything, they wanted to stay. Wanted to see what would happen.

For all the self-deprecating things that Cassian thought about himself, he was sometimes the smartest of the three of them. Rhysand was clever, Azriel was cunning, and Cassian was an observer. It was one of his greatest assets in battle. He had a talent for puzzling out the unspoken, even if he often fumbled his own words.

Azriel may have been the one who technically kept his eye on everyone, but his mind was sometimes too logical to pick up on the threads of emotions that danced through interactions. Azriel, who watched everyone, a certain someone more than others, had not noticed that he was watched back. But Cassian had noticed.

Thus, even though he hadn't heard what had left Rhys so taken aback, he had a few guesses.

When darkness crept through the cabin that evening, Cassian was sharpening his dagger, Rhys skimming a stack of paperwork, and Azriel stretched out reading by the fire. Az's shadows occasionally peeked over the edge of his book toward Rhys's place on the couch. Cassian wondered if Azriel even knew what his shadows were up to.

Then Cassian watched Az lift his book just the tiniest bit to swipe his own look at Rhys. After studying the future high lord for a moment, he got to his feet, leaving his book open by the fire, and mumbled something about getting more firewood. He shrugged on his coat and hastily threw a scarf around his neck, then shoved his feet in his boots without tying the laces. A gust of cold wind squeezed through the door as Azriel closed it behind him.

Rhys was watching the door. He watched it for a few long minutes and chewed his lip. Cassian watched the stars swirling in his eyes and knew he was deep in thought.

"Maybe," Cassian said softly, though Rhys still jumped as he broke the silence, "maybe just once is okay?"

Rhys's jaw clenched as he studied his friend, brows knitting together in thought. A small tinge of pink crept over the apples of his cheeks and the tip of each pointed ear.

"Really?" He asked, and there was a certain shyness hiding in his voice.

Cassian nodded. Rhys thought for a moment more, and then gave Cassian one nod in response before he threw on his own coat and followed his other friend into the night.

***

Azriel cursed under his breath as the cold bit at every inch of exposed skin. He tucked his wings in tight to his body and made his way through the snow around to the little hutch behind the cabin. He was hoping the cold would reset his mind enough to allow him to sleep tonight. Perhaps he would stay up until the other two had gone to bed and then slip in later. It felt like every few moments, his thoughts would return to the morning light on Rhysand's face, every point of contact he had made with Azriel's skin, and the almost wickedness exuding from his violet eyes as he pinned him to the ground.

He turned to walk back toward the house, wood pieces piled in his arms. And then he cursed as he looked up and found a face in the dark staring back at him. The wood fell from his arms as he jumped, falling into the snow without a sound.

"Don't sneak up on me, stupid prick," Azriel spat.

"Sorry," Rhysand grinned. His hands were tucked into his pockets, his own wings vanished away to save them from the cold. He took another step toward Azriel, his frozen breath reaching toward Az's face.

"What are you doing?" Azriel asked, so softly. His heart began to pound in his chest, and he called himself stupid with every hopeful beat.

Rhys took another step. He stood so close now, his chest almost brushing Azriel's. The faelight lantern glowed softly beside Azriel, casting lovely purple highlights and shadows over the boys standing in the snow. Rhys took one hand out of his pocket and reached for Azriel's cheek, half obscured by the scarf he had thrown on.

"Just once," Rhys whispered, smile fading, as the darkness raged around them. Snow began to fall in heavy flakes, mingling with the darkness and Az's shadows to envelope them in their own little world. His hand was warm against Azriel's face and his thumb brushed over the spot where he had accidentally cut him earlier. Already healed.

Azriel didn't know what to do. His mind fought between reaching out and staying still, doing nothing. Sometimes it was impossible to tell what was instinct, what his mind, what was his heart. But his shadows had their own ideas and swirled around Rhys's fingers, up his arm to stroke his cheek in return. Rhys smiled at the touch, eyes twinkling.

"Just once," Azriel swallowed. Those beautiful eyes were watching his mouth. Azriel pulled his scarf down, revealing his lips to the cold. His eyes shuttered as Rhys closed the distance and pressed the softest kiss to his mouth. It lasted only a second, but they both remained there, an inch apart with their eyes closed. Then they met in the middle again with a deeper kiss. Rhys hand settled under Azriel's jaw, and Az found his own hand reaching to thread through his friend's dark hair.

The gentle care in each touch was a dagger in his heart. He already resented each sweet brush of Rhysand's lips because he knew from this day forward he would not be able to stop hoping for it.

That warm feeling in Azriel's chest had returned. It filled him entirely, burning like starlight. A brilliant, exhilarating death. Because he knew in that moment that it would never just be once. This was just the beginning. He was a star in Rhysand's midnight sky, and he would burn there forever, whether Rhysand ever chose him to make his wish on or not.

Azriel pulled away, to keep the last pieces of himself from turning into nothing but ash. Before he lost his self control and revealed the depths of his admiration. Rhys's gaze was locked on Azriel's hazel eyes, staring somewhere deep and hidden. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and there was something hard in his expression. Azriel hoped to the Mother it was not regret. But Rhysand said nothing. He pulled his hand back into his pocket, turned away, and left Azriel there in the snow.

Skin still warm from his touch, Azriel watched him go. And he knew there would be embers burning from this day for a long, long time.

Chapter Text

Gwyn shut her eyes tight and willed her mind to run away. To detach from her body and every sensation inside it. Every sound of every terrible thing hitting her ears with the force of a closed fist. If she could ignore it, she could survive it.

And then the door burst open and a fresh wave of fear churned her stomach. In her peripheral vision, a dark shape stood in the doorway. Blue lights were glowing in symmetrical points across the figure, one anchored in the middle of his chest.

And the men standing before her, with their ugly hands paused, still gripping her robes where they had been tearing them open, let out gasps of terror. One of them murmured something and dropped to his knees. Gwyn dared to turn her head just enough to catch a few more details. The man in the doorway studied the scene before him, eyes sweeping over every corner. His gaze quickly brushed over Gwyn on the table and rage boiled behind his eyes. Those blue lights glowed brighter.

It all happened in the span of a few seconds, but time did not seem to be working properly anymore. It all moved so slow, slow enough that her brain was memorizing every part of every horror, though she was begging her mind to go somewhere far away.

"Close your eyes," That figure said, his voice low and strained like he could barely contain that fury. As he raised his blades, wings flaring out behind him, Gwyn registered that he was talking to her. She closed her eyes tight, a blood-flecked hand clapping over her mouth to hide a cry.

Sounds of death and pain were filling her ears. The slice of blades, liquid spraying, wet thuds on the floor. Her head spun. She had no tears left but her body still shook with choking sobs and she squeezed her knees together as tight as she could to keep them from shaking so violently.

Then it was quiet.

"It's over," the voice said. It was soft now, like he had emptied his body of the rage that had burned so terribly just a few moments before. "My name is Azriel, we're here to save you."

There were a few footsteps, and Gwyn assumed he had moved closer. Shame joined every other emotion storming through her being as she remembered how much of herself was exposed. She kept her eyes shut.

"I'm going to put my cloak over you," his voice met her ears. There was a click and a pause and then she felt the heavy weight of fabric over her and she was grateful for it. But the brush of the cloak against her skin reminded her of the pain in her body and she let out an anguished groan.

"You're hurt?" So soft, so gentle. Such a contrast to the terrors that filled the last few hours of her life.

Gwyn nodded, bottom lip trembling. She kept her eyes shut tight, but managed to whisper, "I can't...look."

Not at the carnage that surely littered the room, not at her sister's head on the floor, not at the sickening amounts of blood that covered every surface. Not at her half-naked body, bruised and bloodied. Not at the stranger she was trying very hard to trust. Trying very hard to believe that he was not here to lead her to yet another horror.

"We're going to take you somewhere safe to be healed. Can I pick you up, or would you like to wait for my cousin and she can carry you?"

Her whole body trembled, soaked in sweat. The table underneath her quaked and rattled. She was working desperately not to let her focus settle on the nausea in her stomach or the pain creeping back into her field of awareness. She felt as though she were completely falling apart.

With chattering teeth she said, "I'll wait."

Her body relaxed just the smallest amount, causing her to lose the fight with her stomach. More pangs of miserable shame hit her as she heaved over the side of the table.

"Let it out, love," A soft, feminine voice drifted to her ears. "You're safe now."

She wished that everything she had witnessed could exit her mind as easily. That she could somehow purge the events of this worst day of her life from her brain and at the end she would have her sister back. Her friends back. She would wake up from this nightmare or go back in time and change whatever she had done to deserve a punishment of this severity.

"I'm going to pick you up now," The woman's voice said again after she had emptied her stomach. Gentle hands were lifting her from the table.

"The children," Gwyn croaked as realization hit her.

"They're safe," Azriel said, "we found them."

With that, Gwyn let her head rest against the woman's shoulder and she was met with the soothing scent of lavender and vanilla.

"You're safe now," The woman said every few moments, her voice sweet and filled with kindness. It was so full of goodness and light that Gwyn now had no doubt she was being rescued.

"You're safe now."

Chapter Text

Cassian woke up angry. Furious. He tossed the covers away and sat up, dragging his hands down his face. His head was pounding. 

He had hoped that anger would fade by the morning, but it did not. It pounded in his skull as insistently as the headache. He did not want to start the day this way.

Memories filled his mind of the night before, coaxing Azriel to drink with him in the hopes of getting him to open up. Something had happened. Something that had a darkness returning to the shadowsinger's eyes, a thing Cassian hadn't witnessed in a long time. 

Azriel was not eating much. He pushed himself too hard in his own training. And every time he interacted with Rhys, he looked like a defiant animal trying to puff himself up and look scarier than he was. But Cassian could tell that on the inside, Azriel felt so small that he was fighting not to disappear.

Of course, Azriel would never tell anyone what bothered him. Not usually. Sometimes Cassian could get it out of him, but this time it took extra effort. Countless glasses of wine and rounds of shots. 

Cassian yanked on his clothes with no awareness. Flew to the River House without remembering the trip. Stalked through the house in that silent fury, thanking the Mother he encountered no one. He entered Rhys's study without knocking, and found the High Lord behind his desk, studying a stack of papers before him.

Rhys looked up in surprise and scanned Cassian from head to toe.

"Is everything alright?" He asked, setting his pen down on the desk.

"I want you to show me your conversation with Azriel on solstice night." Cassian closed the door behind him and crossed his arms over his chest. "Because if it went anything how Azriel relayed it to me last night, I am going to be beyond furious with you."

Rhys paused, his eyes narrowing as he digested Cassian's words. 

"I'm not sure you have the right to ask for access to my memories." His voice was cool, almost irritated.

"I'm asking as your brother." Cassian did not budge. 

Rhys studied Cassian's face. Assessing something in it. But he relented. He crossed the room to stand closer before playing the solstice conversation in Cassian's mind. 

"You made a stupid decision," Cassian growled once out of Rhys's mind. 

"You're questioning my decision?" Rhys slid his hands in his pockets. "The blood duel-"

"No," Cassian cut him off, rolling his eyes. "I understand what you told him. I don't think you were wrong. But you made a very poor word choice and I'm very disappointed that you don't see it."

Rhys was quiet, jaw clenched as he waited. He had not figured it out yet, and that made Cassian's blood boil.

"You questioned his worth, Rhysand. You implied he did not deserve Elain."

"That is not what I meant," Rhys snapped, his eyes flashing. 

"I know," Cassian barked, "I know what you meant."

"He is acting like he's entitled to her," Rhys's anger smoldered across his features. "Like he is owed her. His loneliness is severely clouding his judgement and I suspect he may not be thinking with his head at all."

"Then that's what you should have told him." 

Rhys gritted his teeth. When he didn't respond, Cassian continued,

"He has the wrong reasons for pursuing her. I don't think you're wrong to be angry. But I think you should have been clearer."

"I was furious when I spoke to him," Rhys reasoned, "And frankly a bit panicked. If he had been caught....There is no desirable outcome in that scenario."

"Rhys, you also need to remember that he has been protecting and caring for Feyre's sisters since long before Lucien even met them. He is not entitled to Elain just because he spent that time with her, but he had been building a foundation with her for a long while and he very well may feel like that possibility was stolen from him. I'd imagine you to have a little more compassion for that."

Rhys was quiet, glowering. The muscles in his jaw twitched as he ground his teeth. Cassian knew he was right. Rhys knew it too, but he still had more to say

"What about Mor?" Rhys asked. His voice flat.

"I think he just wants someone to fight for. And someone to fight for him." Cassian said quietly, his eyes softening. His gaze drifted to the floor. 

"Is that why you're here?" 

Cassian's eyes narrowed and snapped back up to Rhys's. He couldn't read the emotion in the High Lord's stare. Something burned there that looked suspiciously close to envy.

"You think I coddle him?" Cassian demanded, brows knitting together.

"I think you came here to argue with me about semantics." Rhys responded carefully. 

"It is not just semantics. I don't believe in tough love."

"You don't believe in tough love for Azriel," Rhysand corrected. 

That fury was bubbling up again. Cassian tugged his hand through his hair. Hands settling on his hips, his wings flared out in spite of himself. Rhysand, of course, clocked every movement. Cassian resisted the urge to squirm under his all-seeing watch.

"I think what you say to Azriel matters. You pulled rank on him and he took it as you putting him in his place. Below you. Like he doesn't deserve the love that you've been blessed with. He already believes that about himself."

"I know," Rhys's shoulders dropped. The words that finally broke through his ego. "I know he does."

"I just think you made a stupid word choice, Rhys. I needed you to know what it did to him."

It was a long while before the High Lord said anything. His face moved through a myriad of expressions. Cassian was wondering if he would say anything else at all when Rhys whispered,

"I know. You're right. Never stop standing up for him. Even to me."

Then he met Cassian's eyes again, and Cassian could see the grief that he held there. The memories of their friend's dark abuse and everything he had been taught to believe about himself. Cassian knew that he and Rhys both felt the hurt of Azriel's past deeper than their own. 

Their quiet brother, so much softer on the inside than anyone would have guessed. They loved him so much they would give up every chance for their own revenge to give it to Azriel. To give him one good thing in his life. He did deserve Elain's gentle care. And they both hoped that there was someone else out there who could give that to him. 

He's not out of the dark yet. Cassian spoke into Rhys's mind, his throat too choked with grief to speak. Even after all this time.

We will not let him move backwards. Rhys answered. I will find a way to tell him what he means to me. 

Chapter Text

Azriel's knock sounded on the door and Rhys took a deep breath before calling, "come in."

Azriel appeared and, judging by the energy of his shadows, was not feeling entirely calm himself. He sat in the chair across from Rhys and crossed his arms.

"Azriel," Rhys started, but he was cut off.

"Before you scold me, I would like to say that I have given you no reason to do so. I have stayed away from Elain and in case you didn't notice I didn't even sleep at the River House on-"

"Azriel," Rhys tried, moving from behind the desk to lean against the front of it. Azriel did not listen, continuing with his monologue.

"-Solstice night. And I'm pretty sure Elain hates me now and at some point I'd like to have the chance to apologize to her-"

"Azriel," Rhys said a third time, a little louder.

Azriel flinched as Rhys brought his hand to rest gently on his brother's cheek. It was a gesture not completely foreign between them, but it was something Rhysand had not done in a long, long time.

That flinch broke Rhysand's heart. Shattered it into a million pieces. He slid his hand under Azriel's chin and tilted his head upward. Azriel's eyes met his own and Rhysand broke further at the sight of all the hurt swimming in them. At the bracing for more hurt. Azriel's body was impossibly tense, like an instrument strung so tightly one jostle would cause the strings to snap.

"Azriel," He said in a tone soft and tender, "You are deserving of love."

"That's a bit contradictory," Azriel swallowed, voice taut.

"I was too wound up by my own problems to communicate things as delicately as they deserved. As you deserved," Rhysand said.

Azriel melted into his brother's touch and said nothing.

"I'm sorry, brother. You deserve all the love in the world. I want you to have it. But I want you to have it with someone you don't have to risk your life over."

"I know you were right," Azriel whispered. "I know that. But my mind told me to fight for it. To fight for her. And that if I lost my life over it, it would be worth it."

"Not to me," Rhysand whispered back.

They stayed like that for a long moment. Azriel had been sucked back in time. Back before so many terrible things had happened. When softness was so abundant it was expendable. When those three brothers lavished love and care on each other all the time. Bolstered by each other, they were invincible. Their childhood wounds had started to heal, before life cracked them back open and made them permanent.

"You deserve all the love in the world," Rhysand said again. "I know sometimes I forget to tell you what you mean to me. But there are no limits to what I would do for you."

He was remembering those same days, sleeping in his big bed together to stave off nightmares. Always willing to defend each other to the very end, whether they were right or wrong. It was all so complicated now. Rhysand almost wished for those days again, just for the simplicity of it all. When they weren't children anymore but life had not truly started yet either.

"I want to believe you," Azriel whispered, his eyes glistening.

He knew that Rhys would do anything for him. He proved it over and over. It was his worth that he questioned, and Rhysand knew it too. There was a constant push and pull with the darkness that tugged at him. A faucet of self-loathing that needed constant monitoring to stay closed.

Those things were his every day. But lately they were so heavy. Much heavier than usual. And he tried not to dwell on the things Rhysand had told him, but they made their way in anyways. They formed a wall around him, closing him off from everyone else. It was always in the isolation that the darkness became an ocean, restless and churning and swallowing him into it's depths.

He let himself go, leaning forward into Rhysand's torso. Arms wrapping around him, he clutched fistfuls of the High Lord's jacket.

Rhysand held him tight, nose burying in Azriel's hair. His brother's shoulders shook with a quiet sob, and the full weight of Azriel's sadness crashed into him. He felt it as clearly as if Azriel had let him into his mind, and he felt nothing but remorse for every way that he'd contributed to it. He saw it now, that it had all just been too much.

Shadows swirled around them, closing them into their own space. Rhysand let him cry, and it lasted forever and not long enough. By the time Azriel's face emerged it was stoic once again. Any trace of emotion erased.

"Azriel," Rhysand pleaded, "The best is yet to come for you. I promise. I'll make it a bargain and give you a new tattoo."

"That's not a bargain," Azriel gave a small smile.

"I wasn't finished. When the day comes that you have everything you've ever wanted, you can tattoo anything you want on me."

"Fine, that's a little better." Azriel said. But his smile told Rhys that he already had an idea for that tattoo. "Only me, though. Cassian can't help."

"Fine, but that means he'll want his own bargain with me because he's a big baby."

Rhys held out his hand and Azriel took it in his. Both felt a snap and a tingle. Azriel looked to the inside of his wrist and found three stars tucked inside the swirls of his sleeve tattoo. Three stars for three brothers.

"Azriel, what about Mor?" Rhysand asked, so quiet it was barely audible. The same thing he'd asked on Solstice.

It was a long while before Azriel answered. But he said, exactly as Cassian had predicted,

"She would not fight for me. Not in the way that I would fight for her."

Rhysand only nodded, a bit awestruck at how well Cassian had read Azriel. He would never not be in awe of it.

The sound of little footsteps drifted in from the hallway followed by the rattle of the doorknob. The door swung open and a teetering Nyx appeared.

He bounced in delight when he saw Azriel, giggling and raising his hands to be picked up. Azriel could not resist. He swung Nyx up into his lap and snuggled him close.

"Sorry," Feyre laughed as she entered Rhys's study, chasing after Nyx. "He figured out how to open doorknobs yesterday and he's already so much faster than me."

She gave Azriel a kiss on the cheek in greeting, and Nyx decided to copy it. He planted a loud, wet kiss on Azriel's other cheek and promptly screeched in laughter at his own genius.

Azriel gazed at the little being of pure joy before him, who did not yet know what sorrow had marred his entrance into the world. He would do anything to keep that happiness in tact. That innocence and delight. He would give Nyx a better world than he had grown up in, and maybe a better version of himself, too.

The best was yet to come.

***

Azriel lay awake that night. Clutching his pillow close, he stared into the dark and waited for sleep to take him but it never did.

He was still gripped by nostalgia. Waves of bittersweet longing crashed through him, over and over. He knew better than to turn the past into some glorious thing that it wasn't. But the loneliness was mingling with all those memories and sharpening the edges.

He gave his shadows a command and they slithered away obediently. Returning a moment later, they confirmed what he had hoped. Nesta was not there tonight and Cassian was alone.

So he wrapped his blanket around himself and padded softly to Cassian's room. He opened the door as quietly as he could, but Cassian's eyes still fluttered open as Azriel entered.

"What's wrong?" He asked, his voice raspy from sleep.

"Can't sleep," Azriel answered, and without anymore explanation, crawled into bed next to his brother.

Cassian said nothing else either. If he was surprised he gave no indication. He just let Azriel settle in under the covers, and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before letting his eyes close again. Soon enough Cassian was snoring and Azriel was pulled into his own slumber by the steady sound.

When he woke from a blissfully solid sleep, he found Cassian curled up against his back, exactly as he would do when they had all shared a bed so long ago.

Chapter Text

Gwyn spotted the dark shape in the sky soaring toward the training ring, her heart fluttered. A little smile tugged at her lips as she remembered the last time Azriel had landed in the ring this late. What had passed between them barely constituted as flirting, but it may as well have been to Gwyn. And she definitely would not mind repeating it. 

But when Azriel's face came into view as he landed and stumbled to his knees, that smile faded.

"Azriel?" She asked softly, watching him brace his hands on the floor, his chest heaving. His shadows were a chaotic mess, flying around him with the grace of a hurricane. 

He did not look at her. His eyes, wide and wild, were focused on the ground between his hands. Gwyn rushed to kneel beside him and set her sword aside.

"Azriel what happened? What's wrong?" 

He didn't answer. He was breathing heavily, on the verge of hyperventilating. His wings were still flared out behind him. Glancing up at her for just a second, he put one hand on his throat in answer.

Gwyn studied his face for a moment before asking, "Is this a panic attack?"

One nod in response. And then he straightened and let his head fall back, as if that would get him more air. His hand trembled as it slid from his neck to his chest, over his heart.

"Breathe with me?" Gwyn said, gently. His eyes rested on hers and he attempted to slow his breathing to her pace. The swarm of shadows calmed slightly.

"Good," She said, "You are safe, and you're not alone. Keep breathing."

When he was no longer in danger of hyperventilating, she slowly reached toward him, allowing him the time to signal not to touch him. But he said nothing, only kept his gaze steady as a shadow reached toward Gwyn's hand and danced around her finger tips. She resisted the urge to giggle in surprise. Instead, she rested that hand firmly on Azriel's shoulder. 

"Try to relax your shoulders," she said, keeping her voice calm and steady. He closed his eyes and let his body droop. 

Gwyn breathed with him, murmuring affirmations and squeezing his shoulder until his chest was not rising and falling at such a rapid pace. Then she brought her other hand to cover Azriel's scarred one, still resting over his heart. She could feel his heartbeat underneath it. Solid, still a little too fast. 

His eyes shot open and found hers, surprise and wondering in them. 

"I am the rock against which the surf crashes," Gwyn said, willing her own calm to cross over to him.

She hadn't expected him to, but he whispered it back, his voice hoarse. 

"Nothing can break me," She finished. But Azriel didn't say that part back. He just wiped the sweat from his forehead and laid back on the ground, releasing himself from her touch. 

"You don't believe that part?" Gwyn asked. She laid down on the ground beside him, careful not to brush his elbow.

"Maybe someday." 

Gwyn didn't ask what had triggered him, what he had been panicking over. He would tell her if he wanted, when he wanted, and she would wait patiently. She knew terrible things had happened to him. And once she knew what they were, it was going to stick in her mind. It was going to add to her list of vengeful quests, and prayers to the Mother to carry out justice as she deemed fit.

She was startled from her thoughts by another shadow creeping toward her, weaving in and out of the hair that splayed out behind her. As if it wanted to braid it. Then Azriel stood and the shadow slinked back to him. Gwyn could have sworn it let out a little reluctant sigh. A sad little song, over as soon as it began.

"Thank you," Azriel said, looking down at her from above.

"Of course. Whatever you need," she smiled up at him. He gave her a small smile and trudged away toward the House of Wind, hands in his pockets.

Gwyn stayed on the ground. She watched the stars burning in the night sky, cloaked in milky white clouds and swirls of violet and indigo. A yearning ache was beginning that she did not particularly care for. But it was underlined with the sweet taste of possibility, and she knew that she would not be able to resist. She would follow that possibility in the darkness, like a glowing golden thread leading her into the night. Chasing that glowing blue light that called to her. Not helpless at all, but far too willing.

***

Azriel's stomach fell as a glimmer of copper came into view in the training ring. Sometimes it helped to keep flying when he was panicking, to let the speed of flight shove air into his lungs and numb his skin. But right now he just wanted to feel solid ground under his feet. Away from everyone else. 

Too dizzy for an elegant landing, he stumbled as his feet hit the ground and fell to his knees. He braced his hands on the floor in an attempt to steady himself. The world was spinning relentlessly around him. He was distantly aware of Gwyn saying something, but the blood roaring blood in his ears had covered it up. 

Then she was coming towards him, kneeling beside him, her sword cast aside. There was not enough air in the world. Every breath hurt. Every breath was too much and not enough. He was dying, falling apart, right here and now. 

"Azriel what happened? What's wrong?" She asked, the tenderness in her voice pained him.

Nothing, he wanted to say. I am a coward that still lets his mind get the better of him after all this time. But if he opened his mouth, he may vomit. So instead, he put his hand on his throat.

After a pause she asked, "is this a panic attack?"

Azriel closed his eyes and nodded. Shame coursed through him, and he sat up straight and let his head fall backwards. His hand dropped to his chest, searching for his heartbeat. 

Alive, alive, alive it said. 

"Breathe with me," Gwyn said. Just as Cassian would say if he was here, in the same steady tone. He met her eyes and tried to match her breath, every inhale still filled with stabbing pain. 

"Good. You're safe, and you're not alone. Keep breathing."

Of course he couldn't tell her that she was the one who was not safe with him. He was despicable, unforgivable. He had sacrificed his own goodness to do Rhysand's necessary dirty work so no one else had to. It had already been so damaged by those days in the darkness he'd never get it back, anyways. There was no need for anyone else to mar their own hands. But some days the weight of it all threatened to swallow him whole.

His eyes snapped to hers as he registered her hand moving toward him. Slowly. She was waiting for permission. He said nothing and let her rest that hand on his shoulder. A curious shadow reached for her, dancing around her fingers. At first he cursed it's disobedience, but then he clocked Gwyn biting back a smile and he forgave it. For gifting him the sight of her dimples.

"Try to let your shoulders relax." She said. 

She had a spell on him. He could not resist following her directions. Especially in this moment, in this fight with the darkness that was eating him from the inside out. He released the tension in his body and closed off the portion of his brain that was leaking self-loathing into his thoughts. He just kept breathing, as she had told him. They became less painful, and every reassurance she uttered was like a drop of golden sunshine in the dark. He was returning, slowly. 

He had not realized his hand was still at rest over his heart until she placed her own over it. Warm and strong and encouraging. He opened his eyes and found her blue ones staring back. 

"I am the rock against which the surf crashes." She said, and he thought that he might like to listen to her recite poetry. Or anything really, just to hear more of her voice.

He tried the words on his own tongue. The thing he had heard her say just before she had cut the ribbon that day. He had nothing but admiration for her as Nesta had tied that ribbon around her head, a crown of sky blue.

"Nothing can break me," she finished. The last words of the mantra. 

But he could not find it in himself to say it back lest fate see it as a challenge. There were too many things that could break him. A whole list of them, and Gwyn was on it. He thought of the moment he had discovered the Valkyries gone, realized they had been thrust into the Blood Rite with no preparation. His heartbeat quickened in response, and he left himself fall back and lay on the ground to escape her hands. 

"You won't say that part?" She asked, her voice so curious. 

"Maybe someday," he answered, aware of how scratchy his own voice sounded. It always did, after a panic attack. His throat felt as raw as it did after a battle.

She lay beside him, keeping enough distance between them that they didn't touch. All of that self loathing was creeping back now. He did not deserve to be so near her. She should not be forced to comfort him when she did not know the extent of his monstrosity. She was all  lightness and goodness and he was trapped forever in the shadows. He would not drag her there with him.

He had not been aware of the shadow that left his vicinity to play with Gwyn's hair until he stood up. It floated back toward him with a dramatic, defiant sigh. Tiny traitor busybodies. 

"Thank you," he said down to her.

"Of course, whatever you need." She smiled, her eyes lighting with it. 

Those words twisted in Azriel's chest. He knew she meant it. There was never anything but honesty in those teal eyes, gleaming with the strength of her spirit. She was a powerful warrior to have on your side. 

All he could do was give her a smile before he turned away toward the House. His shadows told him she remained there on the ground, stargazing. 

A part of him wished he had stayed, if not just to quiet the shadows pleading to go back to the one who sang to them.

Chapter Text

It finally happened. The day was here. The thing that Cassian had been trying to force from fate's hand for years now. 

Someone slipped and revealed Nesta's birthday. 

It was a shame that it had been Elain who had done it. Though perhaps it was for the best, as she was the least likely to be murdered by Nesta once she had found out. 

Elain realized what she had done right away, eyes wide as her flour-covered hands flew to smother the gasp that escaped her mouth. Cassian let out a roaring, victorious laugh. He flung his arms around Elain, lifting her off the ground and spinning her in a circle. 

"Cassian," Elain pleaded. If she could convince Cassian not to say anything she may still avoid whatever Nesta would unleash on her.

"No way," Cassian shook his head, grinning wide. "This is the best day of my life."

Then he told her his idea. One he'd had tucked away for a while now. He'd been laying in bed a few days after the solstice when the perfect gift idea finally hit him. If he got it for her then, she'd absolutely know he hadn't thought of it until Solstice had already passed. So he waited in the hopes that he might finally discover her birthday this year. 

All of Elain's anguish melted away. Her eyes lit up as she clasped her hands together and squealed. Cassian had never heard such an undignified sound from her and it made him laugh.

"Oh Cassian that's perfect," she beamed. And almost looked a little envious.

Cassian bounced on his toes and turned to leave, conspiring to execute his plan immediately. Elain's voice stopped him in his tracks. 

"If you tell anyone else it's Nesta's birthday or embarrass her on purpose or make a big deal and throw a party then I will never bake you anything again," Elain called after him. 

She said it all in one breath, like she had only thought of it in that moment and knew she had minutes before he disappeared. And she was right, of course. Cassian turned back to her and saw that she was completely serious, arms crossed and jaw set. 

He remembered the lemon bars she had just slid into the oven moments ago, and grumbled out a "Fine."

***

Before he could go and retrieve his gift, Cassian had to stop at the House of Wind. He crept around as silently as a warrior of his size could, making sure no one else was there. When he had assured that he was alone, he timidly told the House his idea. 

He was met with a large piece of chocolate cake on the kitchen table before him. 

"Will you help her?" He asked the house. "Not that I think she'll do a bad job. But just in case she needs it."

Next to the slice of cake, a dagger appeared and clattered onto the table. It was old and weathered but intricately carved - a mix of different metals inlaid with sapphire.

"Thank you," Cassian whispered, dumbfounded. He made a note to ask Rhys if he knew anything about the dagger. And if he knew that the House was giving away important-looking weapons.

***

When Nesta returned to the House of Wind, she expected to have a nice dinner, a long bath, and pick out a brand new book to read. It was all she needed for her birthday, and truly all she wanted. Maybe someday she'd be brave enough to share her birthday with the others. Gwyn and Emerie would probably get it out of her at some point anyways.

She had never been able to bear asking for anything for herself. And revealing her birthday was as good as asking to be fawned over. Which she did not want and would not allow. Perhaps life would soften her enough someday that she might want to spend this day with family. But she suspected that they may not be as willing to bake sentimental cakes and break out old fancy wines for her as they would be for Feyre and Elain. It was easier to spend it alone than to know her company celebrated begrudgingly.

But as she opened the doors to the dining room, it became clear that she would not be celebrating alone this year. Azriel diligently pretended he had seen nothing and took off into the air again. 

Cassian stood beside the table, a nervous smile plastered on his face. He wore real clothes instead of fighting leathers, his hair brushed and slicked back. The lights had been dimmed, and the room was filled with an exorbitant amount of candles. Dishes of her favorite foods lined the table, and a box from her favorite bakery sat waiting to be opened. A vase of lovely autumn flowers sat amongst the treats and her Symphonia was nestled there too, gently filling the room with its music.

She stood still for a moment, grappling with a myriad of old feelings. Cassian knew. He knew this would be difficult for her, and though he pretended otherwise in front of Elain, he had never planned to tell anyone else. So he stood patiently and waited for her to come back to herself. 

"Cassian," She said softly, and choked on whatever else she had been planning to say. Her hands grasped at her dress and then smoothed it out. 

"Come sit with me?" He asked, crossing the room to take her nervous hands and lead her to the table. The twinkling look she gave him let him know that so far, it was not a terrible decision like he had feared.

"The House made the food. Or I mean the kitchens made it, and the house delivered it. I got the cake from the bakery you like and Elain made the pastries." Cassian rambled as he pulled out her chair. 

Nesta sat as if in a trance. Her eyes swept over the table again and again. 

"Azriel brought the flowers, but I promise he's the only one I told." Cassian finished as he sat down. Then, shyly, "do you like it?"

Nesta nodded, her eyes glistening in the candle light. Her heart was aching in a way it never had before. It was full. Almost too full. 

She looked up and met Cassian's eyes and only melted further at the anxious look on his face. He wanted so desperately to make her happy. So she let the music sweep through her and carry away the guilt. And she let herself enjoy the dinner that Cassian had put together.

***

"It's present time," Cassian said, eyes twinkling. 

"Not presents, too," Nesta groaned. She leaned back in her chair and put her hands on her full stomach.

Cassian took her hand and led her to the library. A pile of folded blankets and two mugs of hot chocolate were waiting by the hearth. And beside them, a little pile of gifts. 

"First of all I have to tell you that Azriel wants to get you a real present but he needs more time to think of 'something good,'" Cassian told her, rolling his eyes. "He said the flowers don't count. He's such a snob about gifts."

Nesta chuckled as she sat in one of the chairs and pulled a fuzzy blanket onto her lap. Cassian handed her the first of four small boxes. 

"This one is from Feyre. And you can't blame me for it because she already knew it was your birthday."

Nesta opened the box to find a pair of embroidered silk shoes. They were delicate, a shade of deep blue, with swirls of silver thread and tiny glass beads stitched along them. She stared at them for a moment, these lovely fragile things. And she wondered if she'd ever have the nerve to wear them. They'd do better on a shelf to look at and admire and not ruin them by walking in them.

Cassian nudged another box toward her. She tried to ignore the wide grin on his face, but it was contagious. He loved watching her open gifts and receive all sorts of beautiful, frivolous things she'd never buy herself. 

"This one is from Rhysand. And you can't be mad at me for this one either because I'm sure it was Feyre who told him. And Feyre and I both told him you didn't want any more gifts, but you know how well he listens." Cassian said, as she gently put the shoes back in her box. 

"Typical," Nesta rolled her eyes.

Rhysand's box, immaculately wrapped in shimmering black paper, held a pair of finely crafted earrings. Thin silver wires wove around teardrops of red stone. Stone that looked exactly like Cassian's siphons. She couldn't help the gasp that escaped her. They were lovely like the shoes, but there was something a little wild about them, too. The metal showed tool marks and the stone was still a little rough. She loved them. 

"Damn you Rhysand," Nesta muttered as Cassian took one and held it against one of his siphons to compare. He was dumbfounded. 

"Do you think they're real siphons?" He asked. 

"I wouldn't be surprised," Nesta said, holding them up to the light. It illuminated the red stone - like a little flame danced inside it.

"Next is Amren. I have no idea who told her, but I'll swear on anything you want." He passed the next package to her and she groaned again. Though it did not escape her that they had all passed their gifts to Cassian, knowing that she wouldn't open them in front of an audience. And she was grateful for that. 

Amren's box contained jewelry as well. A ring with a red gem that glittered even when hidden from the light. Two smaller, silver gems lay on either side of it, the metal twisting around them in a similar fashion to the earrings. Nesta's heart warmed in her chest and a little lump rose in her throat. For as much as Amren loved jewels, Nesta had never seen her gift any. 

The note inside the box read, a ring for Nesta since it seems like Cassian was never going to get around to giving her one.

"She gave you a ring...for me?" Cassian breathed, a mixture of awe and annoyance in his voice. Nesta howled with laughter as he grumbled. 

The last little box was from Elain. Pink paper with pink ribbon. Inside sat two golden slips of paper and another wrapped bundle that said "open after". She tilted her head at Cassian but he only shrugged. The slips of paper turned out to be symphony tickets. 

"So that's why you were all dressing me up," Nesta smiled, something that still surprised Cassian. Something he'd never get tired of. 

She began to open the wrapped bundle, but Cassian placed a hand on hers to stop her.

"Wait," He said.

Cassian left the library and reappeared with a large lidded box. He set it gently on her lap and tried not to look as nervous as he felt. 

"This one is from me," He said. Nesta looked up at him, studying his face for any hints. And then the box shifted in her lap and she froze for a moment. 

Nesta removed the lid and revealed the tiny black kitten inside, clumsily exploring every corner of the box. Her hands froze, clutching the box lid, and her face was unreadable. 

The fuzzy little kitten poked his head out of the box, looking up at her and letting out the softest squeak of a meow. 

And then Nesta covered her face with her hands and a sob wracked her body. Cassian was frozen where he stood, bewildered and terrified that he had ruined everything. His plan to make her hate her birthday less had failed, and that damned adorable animal had been his accomplice. 

It was a long moment as she cried, and cried, and cried. Cried for every thoughtful gift she had gotten, cried that they had let her celebrate in her own way, despite how much they all loved to party and also embarrass each other. She cried for the treats Elain had made, for the little cakes from the bakery that had been carefully frosted with her name. She cried for the flowers from sweet Azriel and planned to enchant them to last forever. 

Cassian panicked the entire time.

But then she took her hands away from her face and gingerly picked up the little cat. Still crying, she nuzzled him against her cheek and planted tiny kisses over his face. 

"Do you like it?" Cassian breathed, relief flowing through him. Nesta only looked at him through watery eyes and nodded, chin trembling.

"The house agreed to help look after him," he said, "And maybe after a while if it's going well we can get it a friend."

"Don't," Nesta said followed by a cross between a sob and a laugh, "I'll cry harder."

She held her new little friend to her chest and sniffled. Then she remembered Elain's bundle. She handed the little ball of fur to Cassian so she could open it. 

Cassian was smitten immediately. Such a sweet, tiny thing. New to the world and innocent. He pressed a light kiss to the kitten's head, met with a tiny rough lick on his nose and another squeaking sound. It had his entire heart.

The pink tissue paper revealed a small red collar with a tiny golden bell. Nesta laughed and more tears flowed. Cassian held out his hands and Nesta put the collar on her pet. As small as it was, it was still loose around the baby's neck.

Nesta cooed at the kitten, the most maternal sounds Cassian had ever heard from her. She never baby-talked to Nyx, insisting that it was ridiculous and he should have at least one person talking normally to him for his development anyways. Cassian didn't dare bring that up now.

"Gwyn is going to be so jealous." Nesta said.

Cassian had already thought of that. And he remembered the jealousy on Elain's face when he told her about the idea. And he thought that maybe Nyx would love a kitten to play with. And maybe it would be good for Azriel to have a pet to take care of, too. Amren would probably relate to a cat more than she did any of them. And he could not possibly only give two out of three Valkyries leaders a kitten, so Emerie must have one too.

It was a possibility that everyone may be receiving kittens from Cassian next year for solstice. 

"What are you going to name him?" He asked her. 

"Ramiel," Nesta said without much hesitation. The cat had every bit of her attention.

"Like...the sacred mountain?"

"Yes," said Nesta, ignoring his bewilderment. "Doesn't it suit him?"

Cassian was wise enough to agree. Perhaps he could brainstorm with Azriel and convince her to change her mind when she was not quite so enamored.

Either way, if Nesta was happy, then Cassian was happy too.

Chapter Text

Eris pulled his scarf up to cover his nose and nuzzled into it. The autumn wind was bitingly cold today, as if it was also restless with grief. It pressed against him as he walked, as if to say

we know we know we know

The sun cast golden light along the path, illuminating each fallen leaf with tender care. Bare tree branches twisted into a sparse canopy, fracturing the sunshine as it fell. The bittersweet smell of decaying leaves mingled with the scent of distant swaying wheat fields. All carried on that fluttering wind. 

Eris looked down at the hound that walked by his side, donning a little plaid cloak to protect against the cold. So content to follow him wherever he went, looking up at her master every once in a while with only admiration and eagerness in her eyes. The most loyal creature he had ever met. 

The path curved toward the edge of the woods and Eris pushed through the wards at the treeline. He entered the protection of the little clearing and let out a deep sigh. From the outside, the clearing was empty. If his father, or anyone else, ever tried to enter it they'd be struck with a sudden headache so fierce they'd forget what they were doing in the first place. 

But Beron would never bother with this corner of the autumn court. A place where the High Lady used to play in her childhood. Inside it, hidden from prying eyes, sat the ruins of a beloved hand-made play house. And beside it, two gravestones. 

There were no bodies buried here, only the stones for visiting and remembering. Away from cruel brothers and guards who would only ever be loyal to the High Lord. Away from that complex world of secrets and games, weaving as wide as the halls of the sprawling Forest House and wider all the time. Here, it could be simple for a moment.

Eris ran his hand across one of the gravestones and murmured a blessing. His fingertips brushed over the name carved into it. 

Jesminda

He wondered about her sometimes. What her family had been told about her death. If they knew anything at all, if they blamed Lucien for it. Nevertheless, the flowers he had sent to Jesminda's family on her birthdays were always anonymous. It was something he did more for himself than anyone else. But he did it anyways, though it did little to lessen the deep well of guilt inside him. Neither did enchanting the flowers that grew on her grave to never wilt or die. Forever blooming, like Jesminda was supposed to be. 

Eris knelt on the ground before the other gravestone. His hound sat next to him and leaned into his side, as if she remembered what it meant when they came here and knew he would need the support. Eris mindlessly stroked the little beast's fur and lost himself in his memories. 

This second stone was not marked. He could not have anyone carve it. Some knew of Jesminda's story -- Lucien's young love and her untimely death. But no one would ever know of Sebastian, the one who held Eris's heart. No one but Beron. And Lucien, the nosy busybody. 

It was Beron's doing that no one knew of Sebastian. Jesminda, he could turn into an example. But Sebastian's existence infuriated and shamed Beron so thoroughly that he had any evidence of his life wiped from the Autumn Court. Like mud scrubbed from the palace's polished floors.

Sometimes Eris wondered if his father had gone as far as to have Sebastian's family's memories erased. If Beron had known that his youngest son was in on the secret, Lucien would surely have been made to forget. But Beron would not make Eris forget. Eris's punishment was to remember.

Of course, it was Eris's fault. He thought he could juggle it all, keep it all secret and safe. But Beron had found the one loose thread and pulled until he had discovered the whole truth and Sebastian was lost to him forever. Perhaps part of him had hoped Beron would not react so terribly. After all, Sebastian was from a noble family. He was proper and polite and trained perfectly. An ideal match for a High Lord. Except, of course, that he was male. 

A tear slipped down Eris's cheek. This was the reason for the impenetrable wards. So he could let his tears fall and not immediately be torn apart. He let out a bitter laugh as he remembered his reputation -- cold, petty, and unfeeling. And yet here he was, crying over the empty grave of his lost love and a lesser fae girl he had barely known.

It was Morrigan who had started that reputation, keeping his character in a chokehold with the stories she spread about him. Twisted and incomplete, painting him in such a cruel light. 

Such dark bitterness filled him with the memory of the Night Court. He thought about them often, more than they deserved. More than he wanted to. Like it was a habit.

That infernal inner circle, drunk on happiness that he would never have. Even brooding Azriel had more tenderness in his life than Eris could ever hope for. Azriel, who had wrapped his hands around Eris's throat and kept squeezing, even as Eris laid still and did not fight back. He had not wanted to spit those venomous words. Had not wanted to taste them in his mouth. But Beron was always watching, and he must keep up the appearance of a grudge against Morrigan, his "ruined" bride. So Eris let himself be Azriel's punching bag just for the show, knowing that he deserved it anyways. 

But then Azriel had the gall to act like a wounded animal, comforted and calmed by the High Lady. He had sat by her, been served by her. And none of their circle seemed to see how ridiculous it looked, watching them all play house together at a High Lord's meeting. It was a joke, all of it. 

And he wanted it. All of it. 

An inner circle that would die for him. A mate that would tear apart courts for him. A city of peace filled with lovely trivial things, plagued by only the smallest of worries. 

"You're all I've got, Marigold," He whispered to his friend as she laid her head in his lap. "You're my inner circle."

Eris shook all thoughts of the Night Court from his head as he noticed a glint of Emerald green among the goldenrods planted over Sebastian's grave. He pulled a little velvet box from among the flowers and golden ring blinked back at him when he opened it. 

He held it close to his eye to examine, and found that a word had been carved into the inside of the ring. Written in an old and mostly dead language. Memories came to him of he and Lucien learning that language to use as a code, one their father couldn't read.

Sebastian.

A smile tugged at his lips. When he slipped the ring on his finger, it vanished completely. It looked as if he wore nothing at all. He had no idea how long it had been there waiting for him, but the metal of the enchanted ring reminded him of a certain redhead's golden eye. The only other one who knew of this place and what Eris had lost. If it wasn't him, then the ring was not a gift at all but a threat from someone who had discovered his deepest secret. 

He held the ring in his palm for Marigold to inspect. She gave it sniff and turned away disinterested. Golden light filled Eris's chest. It had been left by Lucien.

In the blink of an eye, the world became much less bleak. The air even felt a bit warmer. He leaned forward to press a kiss to the gravestone and then stood,  Marigold immediately at attention by his side. He said goodbye with his usual prayer and slipped the ring on his finger, practically skipping back to the forest path. And he clung tightly to that sunrise in his heart. The closest thing to hope he could allow. 

Mother hold you. May you pass through the gates and smell that immortal land of milk and honey. Fear no evil, feel no pain. Go and enter eternity.

Chapter Text

There was a strange rhythm in Gwyn's heartbeat. Something angry, something almost feral. She was aware of it, but she couldn't stop it from taking over her body and filling every movement with intense ferocity. 

Clang. Azriel's sword hit Gwyn's shield, but she stood firm. Her own sword had already been knocked out of her hand and she switched to the dagger strapped to her thigh. If Azriel noticed whatever was driving her today, he gave no indication. He was stoic as always. 

Dagger gripped tightly in her hand, Gwyn poised to strike. She put all of her strength into the swing, as if the threat before her eyes real. As if she forgot it was just Azriel, and her life was not on the line. He reached out to stop her, hand grasping her wrist. Azriel's arm shook, struggling under her strength. His brows furrowed when she did not ease up, the unease in her eyes growing into something worse.

The shield fell to the ground with a loud clatter, and the dagger followed, nicking Azriel's fingers as it went. Gwyn was gasping, chest heaving. Azriel let go of her, a singular drop of blood landing on her pale skin. She stared at it, trembling, eyes wide. And then she bent forward and vomited. 

Cassian and the other trainees had paused at the sound of the heavy shield hitting the floor. Thus, most of them witnessed Gwyn empty her stomach, barely missing the shadowsinger's shoes. Nesta watched her crumble and was there in an instant, throwing her arms around her friend. The gesture stirred something in Cassian's memory as he watched. Then the image came to him. Nesta's body draped over his on the battlefield.

"What did you do?" Nesta growled at Azriel, eyes flashing.

"Nothing, Nesta," Azriel pleaded, taking a step back. He was pale, shaken. Drops of ruby sparkled in the sun as they fell from his hand.

"Nesta," Cassian said softly, stepping forward to pry her away if needed.

"Nothing," Gwyn repeated, voice raspy. She shook her head and pushed Nesta's hands away from her. She stood upright too fast and lost her balance, causing her to fall backwards. Cassian winced as her body slammed to the ground. She had not caught herself, her entire weight thrown against the concrete.

There was a moment of silence as she registered the impact, and then she let herself curl into a fetal position, one hand grasping the back of her neck, the other arm wrapping around her knees. Her whole body shook. Each of her heavy breaths was a stab of guilt and pain in Azriel's chest.

Two priestesses rushed forward, their robes streaming behind them like ribbons of water. One knelt beside Gwyn and brushed the hair back from her face, whispering something in her ear. The other priestesses and Valkyries turned their attention away and busied themselves, a few beginning to clean the mess of bodily fluids from the floor.

"She was triggered, it happens every once in a while," The second priestess said. She turned to Azriel and added firmly, "it was no one's fault."

They hauled Gwyn up, wrapping her arms around their shoulders, and slowly made their way toward the House of Wind. Their voices were soft as they murmured comfort and affirmation to her. 

Nesta's gaze remained fixed on her friend. When the copper smudge of her hair was no longer visible, she shifted her glare to Azriel.

The priestess's words did help. A balm to Azriel's anxiety. But he didn't want to be here anymore, in the awful silence. Especially with Nesta's silver glare piercing him. So he gave Cassian a glance and hoped he understood before winnowing away.

***

Cassian found him in his room a little while later. He sat on the floor in the corner, elbows resting on his curled up knees. He let his head hang been his shoulders, mirrored by his drooping wings.

"Azriel," Cassian said, his voice soft. He closed the door behind him and sat on the floor in front of his brother. Crossing his legs, his knees brushed Azriel's calves. Azriel did not lift his head. 

"It wasn't your fault," Cassian said, his voice gentle, "We all know you didn't do anything."

"Nesta doesn't." Azriel's voice was muffled.

"She was triggered, too. She got scared for Gwyn. But she wants to apologize."

Any other time, a joke might have passed between them about the rarity of Nesta's apologies. But now it was silent.

"Did you cut training short?" Azriel asked. 

"No, Nesta and Emerie are leading some mind-stilling practice. It seemed like a good time for it."

Finally, Azriel lifted his head. Cassian's gaze was so soft. Azriel knew he did not look at many other people that way, even those he cared for. It soothed him, a little. He offered his brother a small smile. Cassian seemed satisfied with that. He got back up and gave Azriel's shoulder a squeeze.

Cassian called as he left, "Don't brood for too long, brother."

A few minutes after Cassian had gone, a flower and a note appeared on the floor in front of Az.

"I'm sorry," the note read in Nesta's curly script. On the other side of the paper, three stick figures had been drawn, each with wings. He could tell from the long hair and comically large grin which one was supposed to be Cassian. And the one with angry eyebrows and dramatically pointed ears must be Rhysand. So the one in the middle, with whirling shadows and a neutral expression, must be him. 

Azriel grinned. She had exaggerated his wings, making them nearly double the size of his brother's.

***

Azriel made his way to the training ring that evening. He figured that Gwyn would make her way back there at some point to catch up on the training she missed. He didn't want to wait until morning to check on her, and he definitely didn't want to do so with an audience of busybodies.

He indeed found her there, but she wasn't training. She was laying on a mat in her pajamas, staring up at the sky. His shadows rushed toward her as if they had missed her. When they brushed her hand she jumped, then immediately turned to look for their master.

"Hey," She smiled up at him. The light had returned to her eyes and Azriel thanked the mother for it. 

"How are you?" He asked, sitting down beside her. 

"Much better," she said, though her smile faded a little. "I'm sorry for freaking out on you. And throwing up on your shoes."

"I'm sorry for causing it," He said.

"It's not your fault," Gwyn shook her head. "I'm not even sure why it happened, honestly. I haven't thought about anything to do with it in a while."

"Sometimes the body remembers things that the mind doesn't," Azriel said, his voice quiet. 

Gwyn was silent for a long moment. She let her head fall back as she looked up at the sky. 

"You were there that day," She said, eyes still focused upward. 

"Yes," Azriel responded slowly, his own gaze on the far wall of the ring. It was the first time either of them had acknowledged it. He didn't like to think about anything to do with that day. 

"The general ordered one of the soldiers to hold my wrists while he...." She trailed off. 

At one point, it had helped to say the ugly truth out loud. It had dulled some of the sharpness of those memories to confess each vulgar detail. But she didn't like to anymore, if she didn't have to. So she let Azriel fill in the blanks. 

"I'm sorry," He said, voice hoarse. His mind flashed back to the moment he had grasped her wrist this morning, letting go as soon as he identified the look in her eyes to be panic. Not soon enough, though.

"I think I woke up triggered," She continued. "I had felt odd all morning. Maybe it's some sort of anniversary."

Quiet filled the space again, though it was not entirely uncomfortable. Gwyn soaked in the comfort of the stars and wondered why she had never come up here to stargaze sooner. It may have helped during those first days of healing.

"I wish I had gotten there sooner," Azriel said, startling Gwyn. 

Her head snapped toward him, bright eyes studying his face. He didn't look at her, though he cursed himself for his cowardice. Gwyn could practically feel the guilt radiating from him. The shadows pulled back in towards, perfectly synchronized. Flattening against his skin as if they knew how easily she read him and were trying to shield him from it.

"I've never thought that, Azriel," She said, surprising him as his name flowed off her tongue. "You saved my life that day. I don't know if you saw, but you also stopped them from doing terrible things to my sister's body. I think you saved her spirit. And those children...."

"I saw," Azriel said, voice filled with disgust, remembering the snivelling soldiers, so pleased with their catch.

"I'm the one to blame for her death. I should have stopped them."

Her words broke through his own anxiety and he finally looked at her, a myriad of emotions shining in his eyes. Brows furrowing, he opened his mouth to protest, but she kept going. 

"And anyway, you've given me so much more than just my rescue from Hybern. All of my training, my ability to win the Blood Rite. All of that came from you and Cassian and I'm so grateful."

Someday, maybe he'd have the courage to tell her everything he wanted to. To make her believe that she had pulled all of that strength and resilience from inside herself. That she was brave just for moving forward after what had happened. For letting herself heal in the face of it all. That she was something fierce and special. That he admired her. He had been able to tell Feyre those things when she had needed it, but somehow could not do the same for the priestess beside him.

"I don't think I've ever thanked you for rescuing me," She said, pulling him from his thoughts once again. Her gaze was still on him and this time he forced himself to meet it. 

"Anyone would have," He offered a smile.

"I know," Gwyn said. She returned the smile but her tone was firm. "I would thank them, too. But it wasn't anyone, it was you."

Azriel was going to melt under the intense teal of her stare. His eyes were locked on hers and he wished desperately for something else to look at, an excuse to pull away. 

A glint of gold sparkled in his peripheral, granting his wish. He glanced at its source, heart skipping a beat. The rose necklace, resting below the hollow of her throat.

"How's your hand?" She asked, unaware of the emotions now roaring inside him.

"Oh, fine," He said, a little higher pitched than he would have liked."It was barely more than a paper cut.

He held his hand out for her to see. And he did not expect for her to take it in her own to inspect, running her thumb over the line where the cut had been. His heart jumped in his throat at the touch. His shadows swarmed in response, circling around their joined hands. Gwyn let go and held her fingers out to the shadows. They took the invitation to dance around her as she played with them. 

"At least it didn't scar," Azriel added with a wry smile. He couldn't think properly with her touching him. Couldn't find his sarcasm fast enough. But it was like that with anyone, he told himself. He was certainly not as comfortable with touch as Cassian or Mor. 

Gwyn swatted at him and one of the shadows mimicked her. "If anyone else had scarred hands like yours, you'd tell them it was nothing to be ashamed of."

She was right. Rhysand had told him the same thing several times. But what he couldn't quite voice was that it wasn't just the scars. He felt as if they were a punishment. A sick joke from the Cauldron. The rippled skin served as a visual reminder, displaying every wicked act he'd ever committed. Who he was underneath it all; Deceiver. Torturer. Monster. The scars served to remind him every time he saw them or had a flash of phantom pain.

Gwyn watched him retreat back into himself, his shadows pulling away from her to rest around his shoulders. She said nothing, only leaned against him. Her shoulder pressed to his was the only point of contact between them. She poured all of her feeling into that bridge, hoping it reached him.

He knew. It felt the same as when his shadows pressed against his skin in solidarity. Comfort. The shadows hummed in contentment, as if they also knew, and were pleased to be joined in their efforts. 

He closed his eyes and let it all wash over him. Gwyn's solid touch, the familiar feel of his shadows. Her stubborn defense of his goodness, even if he believed she was wrong. Her light scent mingled with the clean, cool night air. Honeysuckle and warm rain, he realized. That's what she smelled like.

He could live inside it forever.