Chapter Text
Gwyn woke slowly, unhurried as she relished in the warmth of her mate, her head pillowed comfortably on his chest. His arms were firm around her waist, but not restrictive, and the large, leathery expanse of his wing was draped over her, cocooning her in the peace of the morning.
It had been three weeks since the incident, three weeks since the two of them had accepted each other as mates and Gwyn asserted herself as a member of his family. In that time, they had continued exploring each other, settling into this life they were creating. Once Azriel regained the ability to fly, they remained relatively holed up in the House of Wind, Gwyn returning to the Library and training. They had yet to accept the bond, but she was in no hurry, especially if she got to wake up like this every day.
It only took a few moments for Azriel to stir beneath her, his shadows likely pestering him that his, and by extension their, mate was awake. Gwyn smiled as one of his hands shifted, coming up to stroke the back of her head, running through her loose tresses. She hummed, content, and lifted her head to meet the sleepy gaze of her mate, who met her with a grin of his own. They observed each other silently for a moment before a different, outside sound caught her attention. A shout, thumping, and a voice that was distinctly Nesta’s calling out for-
“Oh gods, are they…?”
Azriel let out a long sigh, closing his eyes again and pulling her back into his chest. His wings shifted, coming up to hide them from the rest of the world. “They are,” he confirmed, “almost every morning.”
“All the way from the other end of the House?”
“Mhm.”
Gwyn couldn’t stifle the laugh that tumbled out of her, the exasperation so clear on her shadowsinger’s face that it was nothing but comical. In truth, she’d heard the other mated couple in this House many times, in various ways, but had yet to experience their proclivities serving as her alarm clock. Settling back down against his chest, she sighed,
“We really need to get our own place.”
It was Azriel’s turn to laugh at that, the vibration of his chest warm and lovely against her own. After a moment though, he stilled, and tilted her head up to meet his gaze.
“Are you ready for that? To leave the Library?”
Gwyn bit her lip, a smile tugging at her lips. “I think I could be,” she said, “but only if I had a really good roommate.”
The smile that spread across Azriel’s face was slow but nothing short of overjoyed. In one quick movement, he had pulled her up to be level with his face, covering her in as many kisses as he could before she pulled out of his grasp. If anyone knew that the feared Night Court Spy Master was this affectionate in the mornings, she was sure he’d die of embarrassment. Luckily, it was their little secret. And Nesta and Cassian’s, who made it their business to tease them for it at every opportunity.
“Today’s the day,” she said to him, sitting up and running her fingers through her hair. Azriel watched her closely from where he remained against the pillows, sheets bunched at his waist. “Are you ready?”
Azriel cocked his head, his gaze so intense that she blushed as she stood to change. “Are you ready?” he asked, “it’s not every day you meet your mate’s mother.”
Gwyn laughed softly at that. “I think I’m more than up to the challenge.”
---
Azriel breathed in the cool air as they touched down in Illyria, far away from any of the major camps. Gwyn was bundled up in his arms, eyes wide and alert as she took in her surroundings, the lush, green of the mountains, the towering pine forests. He’d promised her that she’d be far away from the monsters who’d kidnapped her for the Blood Rite, worried that being in Illyria at all would be too much for her. But his Valkyrie had merely shook her head, asserting that she was no longer afraid of those who thought themselves above her, shoving her pack at him unceremoniously as they prepared to depart from the House of Wind.
Stepping out from his arms, she turned to assess him quizzically, and he waited for the barrage of questions that were likely on the tip of her tongue.
“It’s beautiful,” Gwyn said, “but there is no house here.”
Azriel smiled at that, holding out a hand as he led her toward the forest, a small, barely used path to guide them.
“I told you Rosehall was well protected. Not even Rhys and Cassian know where it is. It’ll be a bit of a walk.”
Gwyn stopped at that, eyebrows raising. “Are you sure you want to show me, then?” she asked, “I won’t be offended, Az, I understand how important it is.”
Not for the first time, his heart swelled at how purely good his mate was. There was nothing but kindness, concern for the safety of his mother, in her eyes, and his chest tightened, forever shocked at how the universe had granted him someone as perfect as her.
“You’re my mate, dove,” he said, tugging her forward to slide an arm around her waist, “there’s no one else I’d want to know except for you.”
One of those beautiful blushes spread across her cheeks and her smile softened, touched perhaps, at being privy to the softest sides of him. Azriel placed a loving kiss to her forehead before taking her hand again, continuing their trek through the tall trees, his shadows fanning out to ensure their safety.
“I should warn you though,” he said after they’d been walking for a few moments, “my mother will not hesitate to shower you with affection. She’ll be quiet, at first, she’s not comfortable around strangers, usually, but once she knows who you are she’ll likely bombard you with questions. You don’t have to answer any, of course. She likes to coddle me, even now. But there’s a little cottage on the property where we can stay, in case you were worried about privacy.”
“Azriel,” Gwyn said, a grin tugging at her lips, “are you nervous?”
At once, the shadows that had stayed close to them swirled around his mate, chattering in his ear and shrieking with laughter.
Nervous, nervous shadowsinger. Our mate will tease you endlessly.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, though his cheeks had heated, “I don’t get nervous, Berdara, I’m 500 years old.”
The laugh that came out of her was musical, so perfect and lovely that it held the entirety of his attention.
“It’s alright, Az,” she said, pulling ahead of him. Turning back to flash him a satisfied grin, she said, “I have no doubt your mother and I will be fast friends.”
Of that, he had no doubt. Already Azriel could hear the relentless teasing from the two of them, and he wondered, briefly, why he thought this was a good idea at all. His shadows were certainly no help, wrapping around Gwyn’s wrist to tug her along, as if they were showing her the way. Keeping at her side, Azriel asserted himself back as her mate, batting them away as he laced their fingers together. Gwyn laughed again, reading him so easily that he still wasn’t used to it.
Eventually, they reached a small clearing, a flowing stream off to one side, a vision of quiet, true peace. Azriel squeezed her hand and pressed a kiss to her hair as he said,
“Are you ready?”
Gwyn scanned her eyes over the space, something close to awe in her eyes, before she nodded at him, all teasing gone from her face and replaced with soft affection. Azriel took a deep breath before his siphons flared, slowly and meticulously undoing the wards he had spent decades perfecting. Nothing changed, at first, but as he pulled his Vakyrie along, into the center of the clearing, the air shifted, and the familiar sound of his magic resealing the protections around this place let him know that there was officially no going back.
Turning his head forward, he took in the large house that sat before them, built of sturdy, intricately carved stone, and lined with lush gardens full of yes, rosebushes. His mother had loved them her entire life and he’d promised her as a boy that, when he was strong enough, she’d have as many as she liked. It was a promise he kept. Gwyn’s mouth had dropped open in surprise, eyes roving over the beauty of the structure, before her eyes fixated on the soft pink door that sat at the center of it.
Azriel squeezed her hand again and led her forward, fingers sliding over the wood as the last of the wards yielded to him, pushing open the door and revealing a warm, homely entry way, leading into a large kitchen.
“Mama?” he called, but the accent in his voice indicated that he had switched to his native tongue, something that Gwyn had, apparently, found quite thrilling.
At first, there was silence, his mother so light on her feet that she often snuck up on him of all people, but then her warm scent of vanilla filled the air, and her small frame appeared in the doorway. His mother was a good foot shorter than him, petite in every way, her long hair just starting to gray at the roots. But her face retained its youthful beauty, its kindness, and she smiled widely at him. He relished in the warmth of her voice as she greeted him, her Illyrian thick and rapid as she approached, reaching up to take his face into her hands to greet him properly. Azriel murmured his greetings back to her, the Velarian tinge in his accent so apparent in contrast to her, and bent down enough to press their foreheads together, closing his eyes for a long moment, unable to resist the affection he felt for the female before him. His mother held him close for several seconds before they parted, allowing him to press a kiss to her forehead, before her sharp eyes shifted to his left, where his mate watched the interaction with intense emotion in her eyes, as if it had moved her deeply.
His mother turned her gaze back to him, eyebrows in her hairline, and he knew that she scented the bond immediately. Reaching to take Gwyn’s hand, he said in the common tongue,
“Mother, this is Gwyneth. Gwyneth, this is my mother, Diana.” Switching to Illyrian, he said, “Gwyneth is my mate, mama.”
He watched as her eyes took in every detail of Gwyn, stepping over to stand directly in front of her. For the first time, his mate looked nervous, perfectly still as his mother assessed her. Reaching out a hand, the older female ran her fingers over the braid Gwyn had threaded her hair into that morning, resting over her shoulder, and smiled. Flicking her eyes to Azriel, she murmured something soft, and suddenly his throat was tight.
“She says you’re beautiful,” he told Gwyn, and he smiled as her cheeks flushed.
“Yes,” his mother said, her ability to speak the common tongue more limited than the Illyrians who lived in the camps but still conversational, “beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Gwyn said, bashful, and his mother’s smile widened, reaching to grasp her hands in a tight squeeze. Turning on her heel, she walked back into the kitchen, the silent expectation for the pair of them to follow.
“This house is beautiful,” Gwyn said to him as they trailed behind, smiling gently as she watched his shadows swirl out ahead of them, more protective of his mother than anyone else. The soft laugh from the kitchen brought his own smile to his lips. “Did you build it yourself?”
“I did,” Azriel replied, placing a hand on the small of her back as they joined his mother. “I wanted a place beautiful for her, peaceful.”
“Perfect,” Diana said, turning to press cups of tea into each of their hands, “a perfect place, my beautiful boy.”
Azriel ducked his head, but his smile was unabashed. He allowed her to usher them to the modest kitchen table, sitting them down before returning with a simple stew for lunch. Once she sat herself down between them, she took a long sip of her tea, assessing each of them carefully.
“Tell me,” she said simply after a moment, and with a deep breath, Azriel did.
---
Gwyn listened attentively, as Azriel recounted to his mother how they came together, leaving out the details of their meeting, the more harrowing events of the last month. She knew his mother was keenly aware of the dangers her son was often in and, by the depth in her eyes, she had a feeling she also knew a scarred female when she saw one. Diana was beautiful, perhaps one of the most beautiful females she’d ever seen, and it was clearly reflected in her son, from the sharp hazel eyes to the perfectly defined cheek bones. Her voice was melodic, serene, and though she often required Azriel to translate certain words, she was quick to converse with Gwyn, wanting to know everything about her from the place she was born to the way she took her tea in the mornings.
“Mama, please,” Azriel had said after a good hour, “don’t overwhelm her.”
Diana’s eyes landed on her son and her brow quirked, unamused, a move so startlingly similar to Azriel that Gwyn couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out of her. His mother’s answering grin told her all she needed to know about how well they would get along.
“So shy, my son,” she said to her, “never wants me to know about his love life.”
“But it makes it quite easy to tease him,” Gwyn replied, and the mischief that lit up the other female’s eyes drew a long sigh from her mate.
Once they’d finished with lunch and spent the next several hours meandering through the grounds of the house, Azriel taking note of anything that needed mending, Diana had eventually sent him on a mission for fire wood, citing the cold nights, while volunteering Gwyn for help in preparing her dinner. Though, with the state of the unaccepted bond, all Gwyn really did was keep her company as she worked, quick and efficient, with the occasional passing of pots and pans.
“You are strong, a Carynthian,” Diana said, focused on seasoning the meat on the counter in front of her. Gwyn raised her eyebrows, knowing that Azriel hadn’t told his mother of her time in the Rite.
“It’s a feeling,” she elaborated, turning to offer her a soft smile, “he did not have to say, I just know. You are a warrior, like him.”
“Yes,” Gwyn said after a moment, debating what she should and shouldn’t say. “I… didn’t want to be weak again,” she eventually offered, shifting to light a candle to better illuminate the kitchen as the sun set.
“Never weak,” Diana replied without missing a beat. Placing down the knife in her hands, she turned to grab Gwyn’s own. With a firm expression allowing no argument, she asserted, “strong. Always.”
The tears that sprung to Gwyn’s eyes at her words were not missed by the Illyrian female, who merely cupped her cheek affectionately. With a deep breath, she offered, “you are too.”
Diana’s smile was tinged in sadness, the scars of pain evident in her eyes, but she merely turned back to her work, methodically adding ingredients to the traditional dish she was preparing. “My son has been sad for a long time,” she said, “he never let himself feel peace. You have brought him joy. I have not seen him like this.”
Gwyn smiled, not having to think too hard to imagine the various states he had shown up here in over the years. She wondered how much of a mask he wore to hide the pain he felt and how easily his mother had been able to see through it.
“You will love him,” she finished, an order, not a question, “and he will love you.”
“Always,” Gwyn answered immediately, watching with keen interest as she put all the ingredients into a large pot. Satisfied, Diana covered it with a lid and poured them both another cup of tea. Settling beside her, the female said,
“Then you will call me mama.”
---
That night, happily fed and satisfied, Gwyn watched Azriel through the mirror of the vanity she sat at, eyes following the methodical way he undressed, the flex of his hands as he warmed them in the fire that lit the small, one room cottage they were staying in. Diana had ushered them to bed rather early, asserting that newly mated couples required as much time to themselves as possible, and the pink had yet to fully fade from her shadowsinger’s cheeks.
“Is she here all alone?” Gwyn asked, turning to face him, tightening the silk robe around her waist.
Azriel settled on the bed across from her, and tilted his head, debating.
“Not always,” he said, his tone contemplative, as if he wasn’t sure how he felt about that notion, “there is… a companion, who visits frequently. A childhood friend.”
Watching his expression, a small smile tugged at her lips. “You mean to tell me your mother has a lover? How exciting.”
But his brows furrowed, as if the thought made him nervous. “A lover, something more than that, perhaps. She will not tell me. But he is a good male, I have eyes on him at all times.”
“Does he come here?” She asked, rising to join him on the bed.
“No. There is another cabin on the other side of the clearing. My mother will meet him there, it is less protected. He will not know of this place, until…”
Gwyn smiled. “It’s sweet, how protective you are of her.”
“It’s the least I owe her,” he replied, offering her a tiny one of his own, though guilt was in his eyes. “I wish I offered more.”
“She’s happy, Az, that is in no doubt. If she’s found love, well, then that’s even better. Someone to share her life with here.”
Her mate hummed, tugging her down until they were situated properly on the bed. “Not until I know for sure,” he replied, “I am not keeping her captive, but I will not let her be harmed again.”
Propping herself up on an elbow, she ran a hand through his hair, brushing it from his eyes. “She knows that. I think she deserves the chance to have real, true love, though, don’t you think?”
“Of course,” he replied immediately. “I just…”
“Worry,” she finished for him, and he nodded, closing his eyes in contentment as she continued running her hand through his hair.
“She knows that too. She worries for you just as much. Which is why I was thinking…”
Azriel opened his eyes, raising an eyebrow, encouraging to her to continue.
“We should do it here,” Gwyn said, “accept the bond, that is. We can have a Priestess bless it when we come back and let our family dote as they wish, but we should do it here, with her. I know how much she means to you, Azriel, you don’t have to hide it from me. I would be honored for her to witness it.”
Azriel stared at her for several moments, processing her words, before silver lined his eyes. In one swift movement, he draped an arm around her waist, pulling her to him, pressing their foreheads together.
“I love you,” he whispered reverently, pressing a firm kiss to her lips, “thank you.”
Gwyn smiled widely, the love she felt for the male in her arms nothing short of overwhelming. He never would have asked for this, she knew, just as he never would have asked his mother to leave her sanctuary for a ceremony in Velaris. But he deserved it, this chance to share this moment with the people he loved most, and it would be the honor of her life to grant it to him.
---
In the end, less than a week later, Diana insisted on dressing her for the occasion, offering her the most beautiful, simple white gown Gwyn had ever seen. Her worn hands had seamlessly braided parts of her hair back, weaving small flowers into the strands, and she placed a small, delicate sapphire necklace around her neck. A gift, she’d said, to her new daughter. When tears streamed down Gwyn’s face, Diana had merely pressed their foreheads together, murmuring comforting words in Illyrian with a soft smile.
It was no more than a small dinner, just the three of them, but Azriel had donned his best clothing anyway, a change from the leathers he seemed to live in. The day was bright and sunny and Diana had insisted on eating in the gardens, where they could fully relish in the beauty of the moment. Gwyn had lamented about what to offer her mate for hours before hand, not particularly adept in the kitchen herself, but when his mother had set down a basket of cherries beside her, the answer came, and together, they rolled the dough and ensured that the pie didn’t burn.
Out of her own curiosity, Gwyn had lightly probed Diana on this companion Azriel mentioned, thrilled by the prospect of this kind, wonderful female finding joy after years of suffering. The blush on her cheeks was soft, and though she assured Gwyn that it was nothing quite that special, there was a deep fondness in her eyes, an affection so similar to what she saw in Cassian’s eyes, Nesta’s, Feyre’s and Rhysand’s, that she had no doubt in her mind that, eventually, the two of them would make a beautiful life here.
The dinner was perfect, a small spread of traditional Illyrian dishes that Gwyn had already acquired a strong taste for, the spices filling her senses and soothing a part of her soul that she’d thought had been lost. Azriel’s hand rested on hers throughout, the conversation light and warm, with endless questions about their plans for a home, the image of an empty plot just outside The Rainbow she’d been eyeing fresh in Gwyn’s mind, and, eventually, if there was any chance of children. When Gwyn had informed her mother and mate about the fact that, as part Nymph, there was minimal chance of severe complications with an Illyrian child, both of their eyes grew misty, and it was clear to her that neither of them thought they’d ever have the chance to discuss such a thing, let alone for it to be a real possibility.
Finally, when all the dishes were cleared away and all that remained was the dessert Gwyn was desperately hoping wasn’t terrible, Diana joined their hands, wrapped in a simple piece of fabric, and said a series of Illyrian blessings, something more moving to her than anything they would have received from a Priestess. Azriel’s tears flowed freely from his eyes at her words, not in the least when she pressed her forehead to his, asserting to him how proud she was that he had found such joy. When she turned to Gwyn, she did the same, wishing nothing but happiness, contentment, encouraging her to let herself feel every second of it. Pulling back, she allowed the pair of them a moment, and Gwyn sucked in a breath as she met her mate’s eyes.
“Gwyneth Berdara,” Azriel said, “my Valkyrie, I promise to love you, to cherish you, to protect and support you, for as long as I live. I cannot fathom how or why the Mother blessed me with you, after all that I have done, but I am so grateful to be the male who loves you until our last breath.”
Gwyn smiled widely, relishing in the pink on his cheeks, the depth of the affection in his eyes. “My Azriel,” she replied, “you have loved me more than I ever thought I deserved, even with my stubbornness and quick temper. I promise to love you, to cherish and, yes, protect you until my last. I promise to find joy with you, to find peace, and to live every day for each other.”
Shifting, she offered him a tiny slice of pie, continuing, “and if this is the worst thing you’ve ever had, it’s too late to back out now.”
A real, true laugh tumbled out of his chest, so beautiful and rare that Gwyn was sure less than a dozen people had ever heard it. But he didn’t hesitate, undeterred by the prospect of burnt pie dough, eating the tart from her fingers as innocently as one could in front of their mother, all the while his intense gaze bore into hers, a secret promise just for them.
The air shifted, the golden threads connecting their souls shining brightly between them, binding them for eternity. Gwyn didn’t think it was possible to feel such euphoria, such deep contentment, as she did in that moment, and her own tears dampened her cheeks as she grinned at him, laughing as he secured his arm around her waist, tugging her forward to kiss her firmly, conveying everything he thought and felt in that simple touch of lips, his shadows wrapping around her arms, her legs. When they parted, he nudged her nose with his own, resting their heads together. Reaching up to cup her cheek, calloused thumb brushing the soft skin, he murmured,
“My mate.”
Gwyn hummed, deciding she’d never tire of hearing that, and nodded, reaching up to thread her hands through his hair.
“My mate.”