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PART ONE
Falling in Love
GWYN
Gwyn loved falling in love. She loved it far more than the deciding to fall in love. The precursor to this latest phase of her life had been as harrowing as besting the Blood Rite. Deciding she was ready to be desired again. Deciding she’d made that decision out of genuine want, and not under the duress outside-pressure. Deciding she would pursue her current course with no regrets.
After deciding she was ready to fall, Gwyn tumbled head over heels and loved every moment.
Loved the panic that had consumed her when she’d decided to flirt with Azriel for the first time. She’d arched her back, a bit more than necessary during the stretching session of training. Azriel was making his rounds, observing everyone’s form and his eyes had lingered on her ass just a bit more than usual. She’d made sure he’d realized she’d caught him staring. Made sure he saw the subtle shift of her eyes to his flushing cheeks, and the way her lips twitched when he briskly averted his gaze.
She’d loved the flipping sensation in her stomach when Azriel mentioned it later, during their one on one session…
‘I swear, Berdara, I wasn’t staring.’
‘Hm?”
‘Earlier today. During stretches. When… well, I know you saw–’
“Oh,” Gwyn said, admiring her sparring dagger idly, “when I caught you gawking at my ass?”
Azriel’s throat bobbed, his hand reaching up to scrub the back of his neck as he paced the empty ring anxiously. “I–I wasn’t. I was looking behind you. At Roslin.”
Gwyn hoped Azriel was better at lying in his spywork than he was to her.
She sighed, letting the sparring dagger fall to her side limply, then fixed Azriel with a wry smile. “That’s a shame. I wish you had been.”
His chiseled jaw dropped, shadows twirling madly about his shoulders and wings.
Gwyn laughed, tipping her head back, reveling in the feeling of falling. She brushed off her hands and started out of the ring. “See you tomorrow, Shadowsinger!” she called over her shoulder.
Gwyn loved falling in love.
AZRIEL
Azriel loved falling in love. Later, his family would claim that Gwyneth Berdara snuck up on the shadowsinger, but that just wasn’t true. The art of Azriel falling in love had been painted by a thief. A thief who’d approached him head on with so much kindness and good humor, that trusting them came second nature. A thief who took their time walking and talking and training, all to find a way to burrow into his arms and slip their speckled fingers around his heart. A thief who had looked him in the eye before she prized the organ from his chest, asking if he’d give her this precious thing.
Azriel had said yes, gritting his teeth, and closing his eyes, as for the first time in centuries, someone had looked at him and had not found him wanting. In fact, they had seen him and coveted. Desired. Chosen him with great deliberation. It wasn’t exactly the most healthy mindset to begin a relationship in, but it was motivating all the same. He had faith that this would be good for him. Gwyn would be good for him. He’d admired her quietly for sometime, and now he could do so loudly.
All the while, the shadows chuckled, lulling him to sleep each night and repeating the same phrase: ‘ Falling in love with Gwyneth Berdara is a bigger ordeal than you presume .’
The thought scared him. Gnawed at him.
But then Gwyn would smile or make him laugh, and he would think to himself ‘ I certainly hope so .’
Azriel loved falling in love.
PART TWO
Domesticity
GWYN
Domesticity took some getting used to for Gwyn. By the time she and Azriel had decided to start sharing chambers in the House of Wind, they’d been courting for eight months, and Gwyn had recently left the priestesshood. For thirty-one years she’d lived in dorms and temple refuges. She’d shared large bathrooms and snuck into other priestess’s chamber’s in the dead of night. She’d still be sharing quarters living with Azriel, which was a slight comfort, but it was still a strange adjustment. Their relationship was more intimate than her typical roommates’.
Every morning Gwyn would wake up in the largest bed she’d ever been in, facing a beautiful Illyrian male who slept blissfully on (the comfort of her presence had that effect on him). Every morning she would slip out of bed and pad to the kitchenette, making them both tea. Azriel would only stir when the scent of earl grey permeated the air. After tea, they’d join Nesta and Cassian in the dining room for a formal breakfast.
Every evening they’d brush their teeth together, and sometimes Azriel would braid her hair. Other times, she ran her nails over his scalp in that way that made him groan. On occasion, Azriel had Gwyn proofread his reports, casually giving his partner the deepest intelligence in the Night Court without batting an eye. It was all so domestic and normal and if Catrin could see Gwyn now she’d smile from ear to ear — and probably tease her for the time she punched Azriel in his sleep.
Domesticity took some getting used to for Gwyn, but eventually she fell into the rhythm as easy as breathing. It’s an arrangement of perfect harmony.
AZRIEL
Azriel embraced domesticity. Like a starving man in the desert. He gobbled it down, not even bothering to chew, choking around the pieces that got stuck in his throat. It was worth it. Gwyn was worth it. The promise of this being his future was worth it.
He loved coming back to their chambers to find her in his shirt, reading one of his books with his ink pen holding her hair in a bun. He loved doing their laundry and arranging their clothing side by side in the wardrobe. He loved knowing exactly how she took her tea and being able to tell Rhysand ‘ We’ll be there at seven for dinner’ because it wasn’t just Azriel who was invited places anymore, it was ‘ Azriel and Gwyn. ’ Or as Rhysand, who had taken a particular liking to this development, referred to her: ‘ Your Gwyn. ’
She was Azriel’s Gwyn. Wholly and fully and as it turns out divinely?
Gwyn was also his mate. And she’d known since Sangravah and had been afraid to tell him. The bond hadn’t snapped for Azriel, and he’d been confused as to why it was delayed for him. When he expressed this, Gwyn asked him…
‘Aren’t you angry that I hid this from you?’
Azriel blinked at her where she sat on his lap. ‘No. You were always going to tell me eventually.’
Her teal eyes swam with tears. ‘I was, I swear. I just had to make sure it was me you wanted. Not a–’
He hushed her, cupping her jaw. ‘You owe me no explanation, Gwyn.’ He meant the next words he said without a shadow of a doubt. ‘It changes nothing. Although I am glad to know of it, my love.’
Azriel resolved then that the second the bond snapped for him, he’d ask her to accept it. She’s all he wanted, and he would claim her in every way possible. He wanted those domestic pleasures until his dying breath. After all…
Azriel embraced domesticity.
PART THREE
Mates
GWYN
Becoming Azriel’s mate was both monumental and irrelevant. On the one hand, they’d accepted a divine blessing on their relationship, allowing them to be aware of each other more intimately than they’d ever known. On the other, Gwyn had always known Azriel was the only one for her. There had never been a doubt, even in the darkest times.
But the ceremony was gorgeous, and Azriel’s mother had a good night amongst her son and daughter-in-law and the family they’d cobbled together for themselves. It was a perfect, wonderful night, but Gwyn couldn’t help but be impatient for what came next. For the things that this night celebrated. For a fabled event, the mating ceremony paled in comparison to what lay down the road for Gwyn and Azriel.
Becoming Azriel’s mate is both monumental and irrelevant.
AZRIEL
Becoming mated to Gwyneth Berdara was terrifying. It was all Azriel has ever wanted, and he was scared shitless of fucking it up. He made his brothers rehearse the ceremony vows with him for three hours straight, Rhysand played the role of officiant, while Cassian did his best ‘Gwyn impression.’
Eventually, Rhys and Cassian decided to get him drunk. Just drunk enough to not think so much. Two hours later, the patrons at Rita’s had all been subjected to Azriel telling them about his mating ceremony tomorrow.
‘Hi there. Did ya know I’m getting mated tomorrow?’
‘I’ll be a mated male tomorrow. Her name’s Gwyn.’
‘Tomorrow, I marry a Carynthian Valkyrie. It’s really fucking impressive.’
‘Do you know Gwyneth Berdara? She’s a priestess, she’s come into town a few times. Beautiful coppery hair? Eyes you could get lost in? Really cute freckles?’
Then when it was time for the ceremony the next day, he was back to being anxious again. He rehearsed his vows, wearing a hole in the floor as he paced before the altar.
But when Gwyn walked down the aisle she was a vision. That Azriel could not deny. All apprehension fled him, he was lighter than air. He couldn’t wait to get her away from everyone and show her just how much she meant to him. Moan her name in the deepest devotion he could offer.
That desire only intensified when she served him their mating meal. After that, his clothes feel too stricting and he began perspiring.
He needed to fuck her. Right then.
And so they left for their honeymoon, and when they arrived at the cabin and Azriel drove into her, he thought about the future he had surrendered to at the ceremony. He thought about the woman, riding his cock, and how they belonged to one another till their last breath. He thought about what makes him pound into her relentlessly. The magic of the bond they shared, urging them to breed.
It had happened to Rhys. It had happened to Cassian. Azriel knew what came next.
Being mated to Gwyneth Berdara is terrifying. In the best way.
PART FOUR
Baby
GWYN
Gwyneth Berdara loved carrying Azriel’s child. Perhaps it was because Nesta had so thoroughly rooted her expectations in hell, that she found the experience so alluring.
Nesta had been correct, that the morning sickness was a bane, and occasionally, Gwyn would encounter the most intense heartburn she’d ever felt, but the rest of her complaints felt like benefits.
The tenderness in her breasts had been uncomfortable at first, but that gave way to growth. Her chest filled out at the beginning of her pregnancy, rounding and drawing her mate’s eye. Before he’d scented her pregnancy, her meticulous mate had noticed the change in her breasts.
‘Mm,’ Azriel hummed thoughtfully, his large hand hefting the weight of Gwyn’s right breast as she ground his hips to a halt.
‘What?’ snapped Gwyn, hoping her mate would stop puzzling over her assets and would start pounding into her instead.
The shadowsinger’s brows furrowed, his thumb sweeping over her tender nipple. ‘These are bigger than last time.’
Gwyn snorted, bucking her hips impatiently. ‘No, they aren’t.’
‘They are.’
‘Then why do my training bindings still fit, hm?’
‘It’s not that much bigger,’ he conceded, still plumping her breast. ‘But I’ve noticed.’
A few months down the road, Gwyn came face to face with another one of Nesta’s complaints. Having to buy new clothes. Nesta had found her bump rather inconvenient, claiming it limited her wardrobe and caused her back pains.
Gwyn agreed that the back-pain was inconvenient, but she loved the way the new shape of her body gave her access to a new wardrobe. One that allowed her heavier breasts to be highlighted instead of hidden. Necklines that plunged displaying the white swells, and larger cleavage. She particularly liked the way such necklines drew Azriel’s attention to her chest.
She liked the way the material of her gowns flowed over her bump. She was fond of smoothing the fabric over her belly, but also, rubbing it absently. As was Azriel, always touching her bump and admiring it and sometimes even singing to it. It was worth the back pain honestly. But again, the best thing about the bump is the way it draws Azriel’s attention.
When the twins were born, Gwyn took a few days to pick their names, insisting that she and Azriel think about it. But Azriel was so in love with his son and daughter, he found himself agreeing with every suggestion Gwyn made. One pair of names stood out though. One that made him look up from the crib where his children were dozing, meeting his mate’s gaze enthusiastically.
Gwyn canted her head at him from her seat in the bed. ‘You like that one then?’
His face split into a wide smile. ‘Say it again.’
She beamed. ‘Ronen and Catrin.’
‘Ronen and Catrin,’ Azriel repeated. Then softer, so quiet Gwyn doubted he knew she could hear him, ‘Gwyn, Azriel, Ronen and Catrin Berdara.’
She fell back asleep, replaying Azriel’s whispers in her ear. Those names sounded so right. If they ever had more children, they’d need to make sure their names sounded right as well. She decided not to say this to Azriel, keen on a bit of a break before they continued growing their family. She’d be happy to do it again for him someday of course.
Gwyneth Berdara loved carrying Azriel’s child.
AZRIEL
Azriel loved when Gwyn was pregnant.
He still remembered the first time she told him, how his excitement had crept up on him. He’d whooped and laughed and cried and picked Gwyn up and spun her. The very next day, they went to the market, and Azriel told every vendor they met that his mate was pregnant.
‘You can’t tell yet, but Gwyn is pregnant.’
‘We actually just learned, but Gwyn here is pregnant with our first.’
‘Is that food safe for pregnancy?’ asked Azriel, then gingerly he placed a hand on Gwyn’s still-flat stomach. ‘She’s pregnant.’
‘Do you need to step away?’ Azriel asked loudly, as they stood in line for chestnuts. ‘I know that pregnancy can make the smell of things you enjoy suddenly terrible.’
‘I sneezed, Azriel!’ laughed Gwyn.
Azriel loved when Gwyn was pregnant. Her hair got shiny and thick, her nails glossy, her skin is luminous. He liked the way her breasts swelled, and her stomach rounded with the evidence of their love making. He loved the allure of fucking a new body every month as her figure changed and adjusted leading up to birth.
After the twins they had three more, surprising their family and coming in second to Elain and Lucien for having the most younglings. Five in three pregnancies. Elain and Lucien had six from six pregnancies. Gwyn and Azriel didn’t say so, but even if they didn’t have the same amount of children, they had defeated Elain and Lucien at procreation. Their ratio of pregnancies to children was an impressive anomaly. But there was no need to brag about it… publicly.
But then Elain and Lucien had another pregnancy, bringing their number up to eight and outdoing the Lady of Autumn. No, the math isn’t wrong, Elain had twins. Gwyn and Azriel received the news and gave each other a knowing look. If the Vanserras continued this way, they may have a better ratio than Gwyn and Azriel in just a few centuries. It was time to gain the lead again.
That’s all it was. Competition. Certainly not just because….
Azriel loved when Gwyn was pregnant.
PART FIVE
Growing Older
GWYN
Gwyn loved growing older with Azriel. It took a good many centuries before age began to touch them, but it happened eventually, to Azriel sooner than Gwyn.
He found his gray hairs two centuries before her, and she caught him plucking them out a few times before she stepped in, pulling his hands from his scalp and telling him to stop.
‘Gwyn,’ Azriel sighed, ‘I really don’t think my ego could take being mistaken for your father.’
Gwyn laughed, tossing her head back. ‘Darling, it’s a few grey hairs. You’re hardly anywhere close to how old my father would be.’
He let his hands fall to his sides, rolling his eyes. ‘I’m a grandfather six times over, Berdara.’
‘And I’m a grandmother,’ Gwyn countered. ‘Are you saying I’m decrepit?’
Azriel snorted. ‘Not yet. Give it time, Berdara, and you’ll have your own silver hair crisis to contend with.’
She rose on her tiptoes, kissing his nose. ‘Good. I look forward to getting old. It means we’ve lived.’
Azriel wasn’t wrong. Two centuries later, Gwyn spotted a single silver hair. She plucked it out, not for vanity, but to bring to Azriel, and tell him that she’s catching up. Azriel offered his congratulations and told her that when she was ready, he’d help her pick out reading glasses. He’d surrendered to them at Rhys’s suggestion after getting close to one thousand yers of age. He said it was not necessarily because it was difficult to read but to preserve his eyesight.
More centuries passed and Gwyn watched fondly as their children and grandchildren grew, and so did Gwyn and Azriel. They grow lines and cracks and change in ways that Gwyn never imagined she’d reach. She loved every version of her husband she met, and was optimistic about the years to come.
Gwyn loved growing older with Azriel.
AZRIEL
Getting older wasn’t easier for Azriel, but he loved watching it happen to Gwyn. His aging always reminded him that he’d probably die before Gwyn. That he’d leave her and their children behind. No matter Gwyn’s protests about living in the now, he mourned the day when he could no longer enjoy the Berdaras, having passed through the veil. But then he’d notice a change in Gwyn, and would feel himself filled to the brim with hope. Sometimes he’dl even grow hard at the sight. A strange sensation for the tame pleasure it brought him.
Every time Gwyn was marked by a laugh line or crows feet or silver hair, was another phase of life she’d made it to. A reassurance that Azriel wasn’t wrong to have let himself fall for her. They had a beautiful life together, and they got to age and grow weaker, and still be safe and loved.
He didn’t mourn when the tautness of Gwyn’s body softened, reveling in her soft curves and folds. He enjoyed the dissolving hardness she’d once had to develop. Her body was shedding its armor, surrendering to the happily-ever-after they had made. Every silver hair that replaced her coppery strands wasn’t a mark of stress, but a mark of a life well lived.
Even though Gwyn told Azriel all the same beauty he applied to her aging, also applied to his own, he never found himself as excited about his changing body.
Getting older wasn’t easier for Azriel, but he loved watching it happen to Gwyn
PART SIX
The End
Gwyn and Azriel went through every phase of life, not always on the same page, but they had the same destination in mind. To be happy. To be safe. To be loved.
The End came for Azriel, and Gwyn felt her soul cleave in two. Just like Feyre when Rhysand had passed. Just like Nesta when Cassian had died. Just like Elain when Lucien had drifted in the night. Just like Emerie when Mor had breathed her final breath. Such was the nature of the five powerful females being mated to fae centuries their senior.
The comfort was that their own ends couldn’t be too far away. Reuniting beyond the veil was on the horizon.
Gwyn didn’t stop living after Azriel left. She lived for both of them. She loved her family well. She lived her life well. And every night, she spoke to Azriel and his shadows that had lingered, telling him about her day.
One night, before she could say goodbye, staring up at the canopy of her bed, her eyelids had become heavy. Her body had become warm. A heady, hazy slumber had overcome her, and she’d closed her eyes and never opened them again.
But beyond the veil, Gwyneth Berdara awoke, and in the darkness, she saw a familiar scarred hand reaching for her.
A sob spilled from Gwyn’s lips and she reached back, lacing their fingers.
The next thing she saw were two hazel eyes, crinkled in a smile as they looked down at her.
He said only one word, but in it, were a million feelings. “ Berdara .”