She stopped mid-slice, whirling to face him. “I'm sorry. I
knew you all were going to the river house, so I didn't think anyone would mind if I came up here, and-”
"It's fine. I came to retrieve something I forgot." The lie was smooth and cool, as he knew his face was. His shadows peered over his wings at her.
“Happy Solstice,” she said, as much a dismissal as it was a holiday blessing.
He snorted. “Are you kicking me out?”
Gwyn's teal eyes flashed with alarm. “No! I mean, I don't mind sharing the ring. I just ... I know you like to be alone.”
Her mouth quirked to the side, crinkling the freckles on her nose. “Is that why you came up here?”
Sort of. “I forgot something," he reminded her.
“At two in the morning?”
Pure amusement glittered in her stare. Better than the pain and grief he'd spied a moment before. So he offered her a crooked smile. “I can't sleep without my favorite dagger.”
"A comfort to every growing child."
I love how she showed her sassiness once Azriel showed his. I have a feeling Gwyn clocked Azriel lying in the first scene (nothing gets past her) but she was willing to let it go until Azriel's cheeky side came out. From then on? Instant call out.
SUMMARY: A snowball fight at the House of Wind spirals into absolute chaos when Gwyn decides to provoke the Shadowsinger.
What starts as the Valkyries demolishing Cassian's dignity turns into an all-out war when Azriel gets involved. There are shadow-propelled projectiles, ice cores, strategic betrayals, and enough sexual tension to melt all the snow in the training ring.
The Inner Circle has opinions. Amren has no filter. Cassian gets buried alive (he deserved it). And Gwyn and Azriel are forced to confront what's been building between them for months—all while their meddling family watches with popcorn.
Sometimes healing looks like laughter. Sometimes courage looks like holding a scarred hand. And sometimes love starts with a snowball wrapped in shadows.
Trigger Warnings:
Brief mentions of Gwyn's past (non-graphic, canon-typical)
Discussions of trauma and healing (positive framing)
If you've read ACOSF, you can read this!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
A Gwynriel headcanon I adore is that after certain missions, Azriel realises he no longer wishes to return to empty rooms.
So he goes to Gwyn.
It’s late enough that the world feels wrapped in starlight and hush. When he knocks, Gwyn answers drowsy and warm, already smiling because she knew. She always seems to know when it’s him.
He doesn’t explain much. He only confesses, in a voice meant just for her, that he couldn’t bear the thought of being alone tonight.
Gwyn’s answer is immediate. She steps aside, opens her arms, her door, her heart and invites him in as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
She draws him close and cradles his head against her chest, fingers slipping into his hair, gentle and sure.
Azriel breathes her in, that familiar scent of sunlight and home and something softly miraculous and lets himself lean, lets himself be held.
And there, in Gwyn’s arms, with her warmth and her quiet, steadfast love, the shadows finally loosen their hold.
The most absurd thing about how this fandom treats Ginny Weasley is that she is hated for being the female love interest with the classic personality of the male love interest everybody drools over:
extremely conventionally good-looking
popular
everybody wants to date her, she only wants Harry
sometimes adorably awkward in showing her feelings for Harry
really funny
has other love interests to try and get over Harry who doesn't want her, she fails miserably
can be mean but you know she has a heart of gold
generally emotionally unavailable unless you are called Harry Potter
extremely protective of Harry
even jealous in specific circumstances but never in a toxic way
super dark backstory
conflicting relationship with her family (specifically one of her parents)
powerful
great athlete
needs to hide her true passion from her family for years because they don't support her
if you actually get to know her she is a dork
extremely gentle and caring under the though exterior
This line makes me so happy and melty like it’s so cute how she acknowledged his shadows🥹
Like I’m sure outside the IC Azriel rarely meets someone who interacts like that with his shadows. Lowkey even in the IC we never see any of them being friendly towards the shadows or treating them as sentient beings. Just as an extension of Az.
And then the shadows respond like this ugh my heart🥹
Summary: Gwyn gives Azriel an important first. He wants to give it back, he does. But he freezes. Only later does he realize he may never get the chance.
WC: 3.2k
Written for Day 1: Firsts of @gwynrielweeksofficial !!
I hope everyone enjoys! Let me know what you thought :)
~~
Gwyn took the first sip of her iced tea.
“What do you think?” Azriel asked, staring at the sunlight melting into her copper hair. The strands caught the light in a way that reminded him of the Dawn, and he had to stop himself from reaching out to touch it.
He sat close, trying to keep his voice casual. Eagerness thrummed within him as he watched her intently. Gwyn had a way of dragging his childlike sense of wonder into the light, a side of himself that he so seldom embraced. He’d never been able to explain it. Maybe because he didn’t want to pick apart the one thing in his life that felt unshakably good.
“This is amazing, Az!” she beamed, taking another long sip. “How do you make this?” She turned toward him, teal eyes bright enough to make him blink.
“It’s a family secret. Can’t tell you,” he teased. “You’ll just have to come to me whenever you need a cup.”
Her laugh rang out, warm and easy, and they fell into the kind of comfortable silence that Azriel had never known with anyone else. This kind of moment had become a common occurrence for them. Shortly after her triumph in the Blood Rite, their extra training sessions gave way to something stronger. At first, he considered it fleeting, something to pass the time as he pined after Elain. But it grew, and Gwyn quickly took over his mind. It was so different from what he’d considered affection in the past. It was warmth, sunlight, light.
Today, Azriel had pulled her after training for a picnic. He’d been away for a day and figured a quick lunch would be a perfect way to steal her away before she surely ran off with her Valkyries. So he’d set up a small blanket just next to the training ring, facing the city below them. He woke up extra early that morning to make her a spread with all her favorite fruits and small sandwiches. And of course, a helping of pistachio cake.
He had also made an iced tea drink for her to try, a recipe of his mother's. She would make it for him whenever he would be allowed to see her as a child, and whenever he was able to visit her, even now. He followed the recipe exactly, and while he couldn’t get it to taste just like his mother’s, he still relished in the idea of Gwyn trying it. He told her as much.
Azriel saw Nesta walk by from the corner of his eye, shooting a wink towards him and Gwyn. He sent her a playful warning look in return. Gwyn only waved before turning her attention back to Azriel.
“Are you working in the library today?” he asked.
“No. Shockingly, Merrill gave me the day off. I’m spending the day with Nesta and Emerie… but I’m yours in the evening. If you’ll have me, that is.”
Azriel rolled his eyes, moving to wrap his arm around her, “Always.”
She leaned against his bare chest like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her touch didn’t spark the frenzy of affection he knew so well. Instead, it calmed him — a weight in the right place. Quieting some chaos deep within him that he hadn’t even known about.
“What about you?” Gwyn questioned.
“A quick report at the River House. Then paperwork. Nothing but paperwork.”
“Paperwork?” she tsked in mock horror, “What a thrilling aspect of the spymaster life.”
He laughed, brushing a hand through her hair. “Says the priestess who spent yesterday buried in record logsy.”
“That’s different. Mine had poems in the margins.”
Azriel was smiling wider than he had in a century. If his brothers could see him now, he’d never hear the end of it.
Then-
“I love you,” she said, simply. No ceremony. No buildup, although he could hear the slight breathlessness that took over her tone.
Azriel’s hand stilled on her arm. His breath caught.
She…loved him?
She loved…him?
Love. I love you.
Something icy, something foreign, filled his head, and all he could do was stare at her.
A silence overtook them again, heavier and so far removed from the comfortable silence they had enjoyed earlier.
A few seconds pass. Then a few more. Azriel wills himself to do something, say something. But the muscles in his body grew heavy, and every word he wanted to say stopped on his tongue.
Slowly, Gwyn pushed herself from his side, moving to support her own weight. She carefully avoided gazing at him, and all he could do was stare at the back of her head.
By the Mother, he needed to say something.
He screamed at himself internally, a chasm growing within his stomach.
“Um…sorry. I didn’t mean to- it just slipped out. Don’t worry about it,” her voice came out shaky, and all he wanted was to bury her face in his chest. To kiss her.
“Gwyn-” he finally managed to say, his voice cracking over the word.
“It’s fine. Sorry.”
“Gwyn.” he tried again, but she cut him off once again.
“I have to go. I’m late to meet Nesta and Emerie. I’ll see you later,” she rushed the words out as she stood, turning to leave without looking at him.
Do something, he screamed at himself, but all he could do was stare at her as she left.
He didn’t follow.
What the hell did I just do?
~~
Azriel fucked up. Fully, brutally fucked up.
No one had ever said those words to him — not like that. Not romantically, that is, and certainly not with the weight Gwyn had given them.
And he had never said them to anyone else. Not aloud. Not where they could matter. He’d thought them before, of course — to Elain, when he’d been lost in the soft dream of her, and to Mor, through centuries of ache that never eased. In those days, the words had lived in his head like a caged bird, fluttering against the bars, waiting for a perfect moment to break free.
He knew he loved Gwyn. He did.
But it wasn’t the way he had “loved” before.
With Mor, it had been the fever of longing, sharp and unrelenting, every interaction laced with an ache for something that could never be. With Elain, it had been a fragile vision, beautiful and untouchable, something to be admired from a distance. Both had been edged with restlessness — the constant hum beneath his skin, the need to flee and pursue in the same breath. His shadows would fall silent around them, not in peace, but in watchfulness, as though holding themselves back.
But with Gwyn, there was no sting, no cloying ache. The quiet between them wasn’t tense or loaded; it was whole. Solid. There was no waiting for the moment to end, no itch under his skin. His shadows curled lazily around her as if they’d found where they belonged. Being with her was like stepping into sunlight after a lifetime in the cold — not blinding, but warm enough to sink into. It wasn’t fire consuming him; it was the steady heat of a hearth, something he could lean toward for the rest of his life, basking in it.
It made him question what kind of “love” he’d ever truly known before her.
His Gwyn was peace. His Gwyn was home.
And he had sat there, mute, when she’d offered him the very thing he’d been sure he felt.
Her breathless voice replayed in his mind, over and over, her teal eyes dimming as she pulled away, and he wondered if he could even remedy the taint he’d put on their relationship.
On their love.
Gods, he was pathetic.
~~
By the time Azriel finished his report, Rhys was watching him — that infuriatingly perceptive look in his violet eyes, as if he was peeling back every layer Azriel had worked years to build.
“You’re distracted,” Rhys said lightly, leaning back in his chair.
Azriel kept his gaze fixed on the desk. “I’m fine.”
A raised brow. “No, you’re brooding. Brooding more than usual.”
Azriel’s jaw worked. The silence stretched until he finally exhaled through his nose. “I fucked up.” The words landed between them like a blade. “Gwyn probably despises me, and I am not sure I can fix it.”
Rhys’s eyes soften slightly. “What happened?”
Azriel relayed the events of the day to Rhys, eyes repeatedly darting to the floor in shame.
Rhys was quiet for a long moment after Azriel finished. Too quiet. Azriel hated it. It immediately transported him back to this morning, sitting on the ground with Gwyn.
“So,” he drawled, “let me see if I understand this correctly. She told you she loved you… And you just sat there?”
Azriel growled under his breath. “Don’t—”
“Just clarifying,” Rhys said innocently, holding up his wine as if it were evidence.
Azriel slumped back in his seat, running both hands over his face. “I froze. I—I didn’t even look at her.”
Rhys let out a deep sigh. “Did you want to say it back?”
Azriel’s hands dropped into his lap. He looked down at the scarred skin of his palms. “Yes,” he said quietly.
“You love her.” It wasn’t a question, barely even a speculation. It was clear as day to anyone who knew him, let alone his chosen brother.
Azriel didn’t look up. “Yes.”
“You’ve known for a while.”
Azriel nodded once, jaw tight. “Yes.”
“And yet, when she told you first—when she gave you that—” Rhys’ voice didn’t carry judgment, but something heavier. Understanding. “You said nothing.”
Azriel finally lifted his eyes. “I couldn’t. I don’t know why. My body… it just shut down.”
“Were you afraid?”
“No,” Azriel responded immediately. “I’m not afraid to love her. Of loving her. I just… I don’t know.”
“She’ll forgive you,” Rhys said eventually. “But only if you stop sitting in your guilt and start fighting for her. Don’t wait. Not with Gwyn.”
Azriel swallowed. “What if she won’t hear me out?”
“Say it anyway.”
Before Azriel could respond, a shadow darted around him, panicked. His shadows never panicked. “The House. Attack. Our Priestess.”
Azriel looked up to find Rhys staring at him, eyes unfocused as if he was communicating in his head.
~~
They arrived in less than a minute.
The world narrowed to the sight before him—Cassian kneeling with Nesta beside him, a cut bleeding freely across her temple. And lying on the floor in front of them was Gwyn, crushed against the marble, her body curled unnaturally, a dark stain spreading beneath her.
He was moving before thought could catch him, shadows whipping out to encircle her as if they could shield her from what had already happened.
Azriel’s vision tunneled.
“Az…” Cassian started, his voice hoarse.
Azriel dropped to his knees, gathering her into his arms before Cassian could finish. Her weight felt wrong, slack, unresisting. Her head lolled back against his arm, and the sight nearly stole his breath. And that’s when he saw it. The wound in her stomach, deep and gaping.
A savage, gaping tear across her stomach, the kind that didn’t just steal blood — it stole time. Stole futures. Stole her.
Something in him splintered, sharp and violent, but underneath the panic was a deeper terror — the knowledge that this wasn’t just someone he cared for lying in his arms. This was the only person who had ever made him feel peace, the only place his restless soul had found a home. And she was slipping away.
“Rhys…,” Cassian croaked. “Madja, get Madja.”
Rhys vanished, but Azriel barely registered it.
He was going to be sick.
“Gwyn. Gwyn.”
His voice shook as he pressed his hand to the wound, fingers trembling. Hot blood surged up between them.. Far too much of it. And she didn’t move. Not even a twitch.
“Gwyn. Stay with me. Please.”
Her lips were parted, her eyes closed.. Her skin had lost its glow, the freckles across her cheeks stark against pale skin that made something in his chest seize. There was too much blood. The smell of iron filled his lungs.
“I’m here,” he whispered, the words cracking under the weight of them. “I’m here, love. I won’t leave. Just… stay with me.”
Earlier today, he had let her leave, unspoken words on his tongue. Now, he begged her to stay.
“Open your eyes.” His voice frayed apart. “Please, please. I love you.”
He didn’t think about the words. They were instinct, a confession pulled from the deepest part of him, the part that had frozen in the morning light earlier that day. He wrapped his wing around her, trying to hold in what was spilling away — her warmth, her light.
It was a dark, cruel mirror to this morning, sitting on the training field, holding her.
He looked up for air, breathing raggedly, and in that, the world lurched. It wasn’t magic. It wasn’t his shadows; they were already woven through her hair, coiling around her body in a protective shroud. It was something else. Ancient. Primal. Something that he had never dared hope for out loud.
A thread snapped taut in his soul, anchoring itself to hers — new, yet somehow as familiar as his heartbeat. Something deep and wordless reached out to her, flooding his body with warmth, with sunlight, with the scent of open air after rain. Its song filled his ears, the melody one he’d been straining to hear his entire life.
A mating bond. His and Gwyn’s mating bond.
Rhys appeared with Madja, stepping closer. A deep instinct surged within like a blade unsheathed, and a level of rage that he had never known filled his chest. Azriel let out a snarl that split the air, raw and dangerous. His wing snapped over her like a steel-forged barricade.
“No.”
Madja only stepped closer, unfazed, “Let us help her, Azriel. Let me heal her.”
But the bond raged inside him, flooding his veins with the certainty that no one could care for her as he could. No one else could be trusted to shield her properly, to protect her as he could. To place her in another’s hands felt like leaving her in the open during a storm.
They had only just found each other. The thought of her slipping away — of the bond severing before it had truly begun — was unbearable.
The truth slammed into him — if he didn’t release her now, she might not have the chance to breathe again. She may never open her eyes again, and would never hear of his love for her.
With a sound that was half a growl, half a broken plea, he forced his hands to loosen. Every muscle rebelled, his body screaming its protest even as Rhys moved in, swift and sure, to lift her. Every part of him screamed, his shadows wailed. She must stay with him. They must stay together.
Madja was already at his side, but Azriel barely registered her. His gaze stayed locked on Gwyn, even as she was pulled from his arms.
Azriel could only watch as Rhys carried her away, Madja hot on his heels. He knelt there, on the floor and covered in her blood, as she was taken from him.
His soul pried open, reaching out for her.
Again, he was frozen. Watching as Gwyn left him sitting on the floor.
A scream tore out of him before he realized it, raw and guttural, filled with rage and grief enough to shake the ground beneath him. Then he collapsed forward, his palms smearing red across the marble as the weight of the moment drove him closer to the floor.
~
Four days had passed. Gwyn was healing, though she had yet to wake up. The wound on her side was knitting together slowly, and Madja told them that now, it was a waiting game. She couldn’t say for sure whether she would stay or slip away.
She would wake up. Azriel could not comprehend the possibility of any other outcome. His mind refused to form the thought. All he knew, all he could bear to know, was that his mate, his light, the only true peace he had ever known, lay still and silent on the bed.
The newfound bond within him chafed and pained, reaching out towards Gwyn, only to be met with a wall. Every part of his body ached with the weight of it.
He kept vigil almost every hour of every day, allowing only Nesta or Emerie to take his place when exhaustion clawed at him. No one else was to be alone with her; he had made that clear in his rage.
When they’d first taken her to be healed, he’d collapsed on the floor, the blood still wet on his hands. Nesta had tried to hold him, but he’d ripped free, his cries echoing through the stone halls. He had screamed her name, screamed that he loved her, hoping somehow she would hear and follow his voice back to him.
Now he said it constantly. Whispered it against her ear, into her hair, into her limp hand. He begged her to wake up, not to leave him.
His shadows had stationed themselves along the edge of the bed and the door, silent sentinels. They didn’t roam now — they waited, still and sharp, as though anything that crossed the threshold without permission would never leave alive.
And when she woke, when all was well, he would hunt the bastards who had done this and skin them alive. Illyrians, Nesta had said, and Azriel had already set his network to work. There was a cell in Hewn City waiting for them. That was the merciful option, if she survived. Should the worst happen, Rhys would have to clear out a mountain for the carnage Azriel would bring.
He took her hand again, pressing it to his lips. The taste of her skin mixed with the salt of his tears, a flavor he’d come to know too well these past days.
“I love you, Gwyn. I love you. Please come back to me,” he murmured. The words had become his prayer, repeated so often they had worn grooves into his very being.
Her face was so still. Pale, except for the freckles scattered across her skin. He wanted to kiss each one, to feel her smile against his mouth again.
His vision blurred. He stared down at his boots, heavy with the weight of too many tears. He was so tired of crying.
“You said you loved me,” came a voice, hoarse and slurred and tired. But unmistakably hers.
.The sound struck him like sunlight cleaving through storm clouds, warm and blinding. His head snapped up, and there they were — her teal eyes, heavy with exhaustion but open, seeing him. A small smile tugged at her lips, and something inside him broke and mended all at once.
The bond flared like a struck match, flooding every vein with molten gold. His shadows surged toward her in a frantic rush, curling along her hair, brushing her cheek, as if confirming for themselves that she was truly here. As if they, too, had been holding their breath for four endless days.
His chest swelled until it hurt. The tears pricking at his eyes spilled freely, streaking hot down his face without restraint.
“I did,” he said, voice rough but steady, the truth vibrating in every word. “Sorry it took so long.”
• Ch. 51 The Ribbon: Cassian "Az told me you also started preliminary work with the steel blades while we were gone." He nodded to Gwyn and Emerie, the former glancing toward Azriel, who watched in silence. "So show me what you learned. Cut the ribbon in two."
"We slice the ribbon in two," Emerie asked Gwyn warily, "and our training is complete?"
Gwyn again glanced to Azriel, who drifted closer.
• Ch. 55 Private Tutoring: Azriel had winnowed her (Nesta) and Cassian here after training, but hadn't lingered. Apparently, Gwyn wanted him to go over dagger handling, so he'd left them with a promise to return in an hour.
Winter Solstice, and the bonus chapter, is Chapter 58
• Ch. 60 Showing Support: Cassian glanced over at Az, but his attention was fixed on the young priestess, admiration and quiet encouragement shining from his face. (Ribbon cutting)
• Ch. 60 Banter: Gwyn asked Az, her teal eyes bright, "What do we get if we finish the course?"
Az's shadows danced around him. "Since there's no chance in hell any of you will finish the course, we didn't bother to get a prize."
Boos sounded. Gwyn lifted her chin in challenge. "We look forward to proving you wrong."
• Ch. 60 Banter: Indeed, Azriel and Cassian had just leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and smiled at them the entire time.
Gwyn threw Azriel a withering stare as she strode past him. "See you tomorrow, Shadowsinger," she tossed over a shoulder.
Az stared after her, brows high with amusement. When he turned back, Nesta grinned. "You have no idea what you just started," she said. Az angled his head, hazel eyes narrowing as Gwyn reached the archway.
"Remember how Gwyn was with the ribbon?" Nesta winked and clapped the shadowsinger on the shoulder. "You're the new ribbon, Az."
• Ch. 51 The Ribbon: Cassian "Az told me you also started preliminary work with the steel blades while we were gone." He nodded to Gwyn and Emerie, the former glancing toward Azriel, who watched in silence. "So show me what you learned. Cut the ribbon in two."
"We slice the ribbon in two," Emerie asked Gwyn warily, "and our training is complete?"
Gwyn again glanced to Azriel, who drifted closer.
• Ch. 55 Private Tutoring: Azriel had winnowed her (Nesta) and Cassian here after training, but hadn't lingered. Apparently, Gwyn wanted him to go over dagger handling, so he'd left them with a promise to return in an hour.
Winter Solstice, and the bonus chapter, is Chapter 58
• Ch. 60 Showing Support: Cassian glanced over at Az, but his attention was fixed on the young priestess, admiration and quiet encouragement shining from his face. (Ribbon cutting)
• Ch. 60 Banter: Gwyn asked Az, her teal eyes bright, "What do we get if we finish the course?"
Az's shadows danced around him. "Since there's no chance in hell any of you will finish the course, we didn't bother to get a prize."
Boos sounded. Gwyn lifted her chin in challenge. "We look forward to proving you wrong."
• Ch. 60 Banter: Indeed, Azriel and Cassian had just leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and smiled at them the entire time.
Gwyn threw Azriel a withering stare as she strode past him. "See you tomorrow, Shadowsinger," she tossed over a shoulder.
Az stared after her, brows high with amusement. When he turned back, Nesta grinned. "You have no idea what you just started," she said. Az angled his head, hazel eyes narrowing as Gwyn reached the archway.
"Remember how Gwyn was with the ribbon?" Nesta winked and clapped the shadowsinger on the shoulder. "You're the new ribbon, Az."
i love that gwyn, an “unimportant side character in someone else’s story”, got her own bracket in the sjm competition. as you can see, perception is not reality
