Chapter Text
Hands. Hands everywhere. There’s nothing else. No smell, no sight, no sound. There’s only the feeling of hands. So many hands all over her body. Rough, sweaty, demanding. Taking, taking, taking. In an instant they’re gone. Replaced by one set of hands. Cupping her face. Gentle, kind. Rough, not in aggression, but in texture. Raised edges that glide across her skin. Skimming down her arms, checking for injuries. Covering her body. Those hands - her salvation. Azriel.
Gasping, Gwyn sits up in her bed. Her chest heaves as she comes back into her body, back into the room, escaping out of that memory, that nightmare. She looks around the room, forcing her other senses to come back to her. She hears her own breathing sawing in and out of her lungs. She smells the flame from the candle still burning on her desk and the ink still drying on the parchment next to it. She sees the dagger strapped to her thigh, that she hardly ever lets leave her body now. The low light of the candle flashes against the blade.
Slowing her breathing, she reminds herself where she is. She is in the library. She is beneath the House of Wind. She is in Velaris. She is not in Sangravah. She is not in that kitchen. She is not on that table. She is safe.
Slumping back down onto her bed, Gwyn sighs. Azriel even saves her from her dreams. Getting up, she pulls off her nightgown and puts on her well-worn leathers, knowing falling back to sleep is not an option. Trudging up the stairs, she blows into her hands as she comes out into the chilly night air of the training ring.
Gwyn breathes out, watching her breath form in wisps in front of her eyes, before quickly disappearing in the freezing night air. As Winter Solstice quickly approaches, the nights get colder and colder, but Gwyn enjoys the brisk temperatures the winter brings.The silence and the calm of the training ring brings an ease to her nerves that she doesn’t experience often. The repetitive motions of the drills and exercises bring stillness to her mind, allowing her muscles to take over. Where there used to be complete calm, now there’s an undercurrent of anxious anticipation as her eyes continually flick up to scan the night sky, surreptitiously searching for a dark, silent figure banking towards the rink.
Since the previous Winter Solstice, Gwyn and Azriel have found themselves sharing regular moonlit training sessions. They don’t do much talking or sharing, but Gwyn thinks they’re offering something vulnerable to each other all the same. They both seem to struggle with the same insomnia and they seem to have silently agreed to shoulder the burden together. While the Blood Rite showed Gwyn just how strong and capable she is, it’s given her a whole new host of traumatic memories to plague her nights, as if she didn't have enough already. As for what plagues Azriel’s dreams, she can only guess. She knows he’s seen his fair share of horrors, some of which overlap with hers. Yet another thing they never speak about.
Gwyn is pulled from her dark musings when she spies a cheeky shadow skitter between her feet before slithering it’s way up her ankle and calf to settle wrapped around the hilt of the dagger strapped to her thigh. Smirking, she spins to the archway at the top of the stairs leading down to the house.
“Shadowsinger.”
Azriel’s eyebrows pull together in a scowl dosed with a heavy amount of pout.
“My shadows are supposed to conceal me and alert me to the presence of others, not alert others to my presence,” he grumbles. Gwyn tries and fails to hide her chuckle.
“Their allegiance is shifting, Shadowsinger. Not sure how much longer you’ll hold that title,” she teases, deepening his scowl.
He stalks towards the sword rack, ignoring her, a hilariously stormy expression on his face.
“Sparring, Berdara. Less talking.”
“Yes, sir,” she replies sarcastically. Azriel’s eyes flash, his hand tightening on the sword he grabs.
They spar, each pushing hard until they’re both dripping in sweat despite the cold bite of the wind. Gwyn’s chest heaves as Azriel slowly but surely pushes her towards the edge of the ring. In a sudden move that demonstrates that he’s just been biding his time, Azriel disarms her and has her on her back in half a second. He hovers over her, chest heaving as much as hers. Gwyn huffs, blowing a strand of copper hair out of her eyes.
“Alright, alright, we get it. You’re still the great, all powerful, terrifying Shadowsinger.”
Azriel lets loose a rare laugh, his hazel eyes lighting up and his shy dimple showing itself. Gwyn’s breath catches and she glances away, over his shoulder, at the shadows dancing and undulating happily. He leans down closer and Gwyn’s eyes shoot back to his, widening. His eyes are heavy lidded and this close, she can see the gold and green swimming lazily through the honey brown. He bumps his nose lightly against hers.
“Don’t forget it, Berdara.”
Gwyn bites her lip as Azriel pulls away, trying to reign in her runaway heartbeat. He reaches down and takes her hand, pulling her up.
“Enough for tonight?”
She nods in response, unable to form coherent sentences just yet. Azriel just smirks, turning to put away the swords.
Gwyn reaches down to the dagger on her thigh, feeling the cool touch of the shadow still resting there. It darts up and between her fingers before joining the others crowding around Azriel.
“Goodnight, Berdara,” Azriel says, a ghost of a smile in his eyes, before launching into the skies.
+++
Over the next several days, Gwyn can’t get that training session out of her head. As she tries to read the tome in front of her, her mind drifts to the feel of Azriel’s hips pinned to hers, his nose brushing softly along the bridge of her own. When she closes her eyes, the brightness of his hazel eyes as he teased her flashes across her vision. The most startling is when she’s deep in a smutty scene in the latest Sellyn Drake novel, and her brain decides to replace her vision of the love interest with a picture of Azriel instead.
They’ve shared countless nights beneath the stars, but something felt different this time. She’s come to trust Azriel. Through months of training and sparring, her body has come to recognize his as safe. That’s something she doesn’t share with many males. Even Cassian still triggers a fear reflex in her sometimes.
Gwyn realizes with a start that she’s never felt as safe with a male as she does with Azriel. And so maybe her body’s never felt the safety to recognize desire before either.
Gwyn’s head spins as she considers all of this and she jumps as she hears Merryl’s footsteps coming down the aisle of the library she’s currently hiding out in. She realizes she hasn’t read a word of the page in front of her. Making a split second decision to run instead of facing her fears today, she scoops up her book and scurries down the aisle, narrowly avoiding her supervisor.
As Gwyn makes it back to her room in the library, she flops down onto her bed, a large sigh bursting from her chest. If she really thinks about it, she thought that her romantic and sexual desire was lost to her forever. She finds so much love and joy in her relationship with Nesta and Emerie and the other priestesses. And she discovered so much power and autonomy over her body through training and becoming a Valkyrie. Those were things she never dreamed of having, so she's been content with those victories, even if victory over sexual healing never came. Reading smutty novels with Nesta and Emerie had invited her to be curious about sex and intimacy but more in a theoretical and abstract way. She’d never gone as far as picturing or dreaming of herself in sexual scenarios.
But having Azriel that close and experiencing his body in a way that wasn’t friendly and wasn’t just as a trainer and trainee was making her reconsider. As she thought back to the other night and she considered how she was feeling in the moment, she thought it had been…desire…want… Things that she thought slipped from her grasp forever. But when she saw those scarred hands, she knew - in her mind and in her body - that they could never cause her harm.
Gwyn bit her lip and looked up at the ceiling of her little room. She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling herself working up to an epiphany. The way that Gwyn won back her autonomy over her body and won back her joy was through fighting, through training, through pushing herself. If a romantic and sexual relationship was something that actually was in her grasp, she didn’t want to lose that. So maybe she had to fight for that, too. And who better to help her, to train her how to do that, than Azriel? She already knew that he could push her and understood her and she obviously could feel desire around him. Gwyn sat up suddenly, decided. Azriel was the one to help her. He had trained her in becoming a warrior and now he would train her in intimacy. It was simple.
+++
Wringing her hands together, Gwyn looks up at Azriel’s office door in the House of Wind, not sure how she even got here. She can’t remember taking the stairs up from the library or walking down the hallway. She can feel her heartbeat pounding in her throat. She jumps when the door before her suddenly swings open and Azriel fills the doorway.
“Gwyneth.” Honey colored eyes meet hers, lit with amusement. “Are you going to stand out here all day or are you going to come in and tell me what it is you came to tell me?”
The hand wringing intensifies.
Azriel’s eyes drop to her fingers, taking note. He steps aside, gesturing for her to come in. “Come in, Berdara. Talk to me.”
Taking a deep breath, she crosses the threshold into his office. She’s never been in it before. She glances around, taking a quick inventory. He has a large cherry wood desk, covered in papers and correspondence. The office is surprisingly cozy, with a lit fireplace and two plush, deep blue chairs in front of it. Gwyn immediately wants to curl up in one of them with a book. There are plenty to choose from. On each side of the fireplace are two large built in bookshelves filled to the brim with books and Gwyn itches to scan each one to find out what kind of books Azriel likes to read.
Azriel moves to the chair behind his desk and gestures for her to take a seat in the one across from him. She nervously moves towards the chair, never quite meeting his eye. Am I really going to do this?
“Alright, what’s got the fearless Gwyneth Berdara so worked up?” She glances up to find Azriel’s gaze intent on her. He leans over his desk, his elbows against the surface and his chin resting on his fingers. She thinks she detects a hint of concern in the tilt of his mouth.
His gaze drops to watch as she worries her lower lip between her teeth, but he doesn’t ask again, just waits patiently.
Taking a fortifying breath, Gwyn decides just out with it. She’s never been the type to beat around the bush or shy away from things, so she won’t start now. She meets his expectant gaze.
“Azriel, you know my history.” His eyebrow quirks slightly.
“Yes…”
“And you’ve been training me now for a long time.” He nods, encouraging her to continue.
“I trust you.” His eyebrows raise and he swallows.
“That’s good, Gwyn.” His voice is soft. His eyes jump between each of hers, and his shadows vibrate anxiously, not used to be being a step behind.
“I’ve decided that I’m ready to learn about the ways of intimacy. And I want you to be the one to teach me.”
Gwyn leans forward, searching his face for every microexpression, every hint of what he could be thinking. His face stays exactly the same, as if he didn’t hear her at all.
“Az?”
“Sorry, I think I just had a ministroke. What did you say?”
“I want to learn about physical intimacy between two partners. Two people who care about each other. And I think you’d be the perfect person to train me.”
He blinks at her.
“Gwyneth. I think I missed something here. You’re gonna have to help me out.”
She rolls her eyes, exasperated. What is he not understanding?
“I think I’m finally ready to explore that part of human connection. And I know that you understand me and can train me and push me. And I trust you. Those seem like the requirements that I would want my sexual partner to have.”
Azriel squeezes the bridge of his nose between two fingers, looking pained.
“Berdara, wouldn’t you rather explore that with a partner? Someone you love?”
Gwyn takes a deep breath.
“Az, I think it’s a miracle that I even feel safe enough to spar with you. To be alone with you in the ring in the middle of the night. Your hands saved me that night. Your hands mean safety to me.”
Azriel’s eyes widen at this. He looks haunted by that confession.
“Gwyn-“
“I may never experience that kind of safety and security with another male again. If you’re willing, this may be my chance to explore what that kind of relationship looks like in a protected context.”
His eyes dance between hers, wide and more vulnerable than she’s ever seen them. She stands. He looks up at her, but says nothing, his lips parting slightly.
“I know this is a huge ask. And I would absolutely never want to pressure you. So just think about it. You know where to find me.”
With that statement and a small, warm smile, Gwyn leaves the spymaster in his study.
+++
Fuck.
Instant regrets.
What did I just do?
As Gwyn walks away from Azriel’s study, she’s positive she just ruined one of her favorite friendships. What could have possessed her to ask that of Azriel? Surely he would turn her down and feel so uncomfortable about it that they would never share the ease that they had developed over the last several months again.
Smacking her own forehead with her palm, Gwyn shuffles down the steps to the library, trying not to berate herself too much. She can’t take it back now. She just has to pray that she hasn’t made Azriel too uncomfortable. Maybe this is just a bizarre dream and she’ll wake up laying in her bed in the library.
+++
Fuck .
Azriel is floored. Never in a million years could he have predicted that’s what Gwyn was going to ask him. As she slides out of his office, he stares, unseeing, at the door that she disappears behind.
He can’t agree to this. Right? There’s no way. Gwyn deserves to explore sex with someone she loves, someone who loves her. This thought stutters across Azriel’s mind. For some reason, something in his chest rails against the idea that he doesn’t love Gwyn. He concedes that he does respect her and he has affection for her. But only in the way that he does for Nesta or Feyre or any of the priestesses. He spends time with these women, training and guiding them. Of course he would develop a relationship with and a fondness for them. Gwyn is not different.
Even as he has the thought, he knows it’s a lie. He spends more time with Gwyn than he does with almost anyone else. He’s come to cherish and crave their midnight sparring matches. They calm and satiate him in a way that nothing else does. Whenever a nightmare drives him from sleep or shame keeps him from it in the first place, he takes comfort in knowing if he makes his way to the ring, Gwyn will most likely be there.
Okay, so what? You’re friends, asshole. Doesn’t mean you deserve to be the one to fuck her.
Do not speak so crassly about the Valkyrie. You know that you care about her, Singer.
Azriel grits his teeth at the intrusion of his shadows. He groans, dropping his head into his hands. Sighing heavily, he pulls his head up. Spreading his destroyed hands across the smooth surface of his desk, he studies them. Gwyn is special. She is everything that is good, pure, and strong. She’s like smooth marble. It’s as if his hands are covered in soot. To touch her wouldn’t be right. Like desecrating something sacred. He doesn’t deserve to be the one to touch her like that.
Your hands mean safety to me.
Azriel’s eyes squeeze shut. That sentence reverberates in his head endlessly. He cannot reconcile it. Theses hands have delivered nothing but pain and destruction. They form a fist in front of his eyes, the scarred skin pulling taut, shifting.
A disturbing thought occurs to Azriel. He knows Gwyn. She is a stubborn, determined female. When she puts her mind to something, she won’t be deterred. If he refuses her, will she find someone else to explore this side of herself with? Azriel’s chest tightens at the thought. Another male with his hands on her pale, freckled skin. Gwyn isn’t a frail, delicate damsel in distress. But she is precious. And she deserves to be treated with care and respect. Azriel understands her. He saw her that nightmarish night. He knows what she’s endured. He understands how miraculous her softness is because he’s seen the wounds that should have made her calloused and hard. He can’t let some bumbling idiot that doesn’t understand or revere that softness hurt her. She’s had enough hurt as it is.
Fuck. I’m going to do it, aren’t I?
+++
Gwyn finds herself in the library, staring at a book and not seeing a word on the page, again. This whole situation is not good for her productivity. It hasn’t even been a full day since her conversation with Azriel. She said she wouldn’t pressure him for an answer, but she’s finding it so hard to be patient. She chews nervously on her lower lip, her leg bouncing anxiously.
Just as she’s about to get up, tired of pretending that she’s getting any work done, a shadow darts into her aisle. It dances over to her and begins to weave through the strands of her hair. It tugs gently, but insistently, on the strands, trying to get her to follow after it. Is this Azriel’s way of summoning her? She stands and follows the shadow as it leads her out of the library and to the training ring.
She finds Azriel there, eviscerating a punching bag. She stands in the stairway for a moment, taking advantage of his back turned towards her to watch him. He’s shed his shirt, sweat dripping down his muscular back. The muscles beneath his tanned skin shift and stretch as he punches in a smooth rhythm. His shadows swarm around him. He stops, breathing heavily, holding the bag to keep it from swinging.
“Like what you see, Berdara?”
Gwyn jumps, caught. She silently chastises herself. He’s the Shadowsinger, Gwyn, you can’t sneak up on him.
He turns towards her, a smirk on his sinful mouth. The shadows have stopped swarming as furiously, as if they had been trying to get him to do so all along and were now placated. He brings a bottle of water to those full lips and Gwyn has a hard time pulling her gaze away.
“I guess I still hold the title of Shadowsinger after all, huh?”
She rolls her eyes. “You summoned me?” She asks, a crook in her eyebrow and attitude in her voice, the shadow that retrieved her dancing along her fingers as she twirls them through the air.
Azriel’s eyes glance towards the shadow and a hint of confusion crosses his face, there and gone in an instant.
He crosses his arms over his broad, glistening chest. Gwyn swallows, making a valiant effort to keep her eyes above his neck.
Crooking a finger at her, he beckons her closer. Gwyn takes a hesitant step towards him, her heart pounding. He looks every inch the dangerous fallen angel. His raven black hair, damp with sweat, falls over his forehead in tousled waves. His leathers hang low on his hips, giving Gwyn an indecent view of the knife-edge angles of his hips. He stands in an insouciant position, legs in a wide stance, wings sweeping out behind him, arms crossed casually, lips tilted in a dangerous smirk. He looks like he wants to eat her alive. And Gwyn doesn’t think she would object if he tried.
She comes to stand in front of him. He leans even closer, bending towards her ear.
“So you wish to know what can exist between a male and a female?”
“Yes.”
“And you think I’m the man for the job?”
She nods, not trusting her voice.
“Say it, Gwyneth.”
“Yes, Azriel.” His eyes blaze.
His hand comes up to her jaw, fingers lightly skimming it. This is the first time he’s ever touched her like this. She can feel her heartbeat in her throat. His eyes watch as his fingertips drag across her jaw, down her neck, to rest on her pulse point. As he feels her pulse jump, his eyes flick up to meet hers. Her breath shudders out of her lips, and his eyes drop to watch that as well. He catalogs every movement, breath, reaction.
“What are you thinking right now?” His voice is a low hum, vibrating over her skin. Her brain short circuits. Thinking? Is that a thing I do?
“Uh…” Real intelligent, Gwyn.
He smirks again.
“Tell me what you’re feeling, Gwyneth. I want to know what’s going on in that brilliant little mind of yours.”
“I’m feeling…warm…all over.” Azriel laughs lightly, his breath fanning across her cheek. His smile always takes Gwyn’s breath away, rare as it is. “And I’m thinking that I want you to keep touching me.” His fingers twitch in response against her collarbone before his thumb sweeps back up the line of her throat, seating itself below her jaw and tilting her face up towards him.
His eyes dance over her face. “You didn’t come to training this morning.”
Gwyn blinks, her brain trying to shift topics with him. “Um…” Clearly, you haven’t gotten your eloquence back.
He watches her, waiting for a response, his fingers still light on her throat and jaw.
“I guess I was nervous to see you.” At this confession, Azriel’s eyes dance between hers, the slightest crease forming between his brows. She thinks if she wasn’t this close to him, she wouldn’t have noticed it. “Nervous about your response,” she clarifies. “That maybe my - proposition, would change things.”
“I don’t want things to change. You’re my friend, Gwyn, I don’t want to lose that.”
Gwyn feels something in her chest tighten. Is this the beginning of him letting me down easily? Sorry, Gwyn, you’re my friend, and that’s all you’ll ever be. Friends don’t do things like that for each other.
She nods, trying to keep her face neutral. She told him she wouldn’t pressure him, and she plans to keep that promise.
His thumb sweeps against her cheek and he takes a step impossibly closer. His dimple makes an appearance as a breathtaking smile makes an appearance across his face. “But what are friends for, if not to help each other out?”