Pairing: Azriel x Gwyneth Berdara
Synopsis: It's Gwyn's birthday!
This is a continuation of this story. But it can be read as a standalone. Wrote this after having a few drinks so it might not be as good. But, here is a fluffy piece. Hope you enjoy this :)
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It’s been almost a month since Solstice night. A month since Azriel decided to let Gwyn in. And to be completely honest, he has never felt better.
On the surface, nothing’s changed. Every day, they train with the other priestesses, then have breakfast with Cassian, Nesta, and Emerie. After that, Gwyn heads to the library while Azriel works in his room. He even started attending the evening service, thanks to Nesta dragging him to it. Then it’s back to work before dinner with his family. At midnight, he trains with Gwyn.
The routine is the same, but something has changed.
It’s in the quiet moments. Their hands brushing when they pass each other, their faces leaning a little too close when they talk. It’s in how Gwyn instinctively grabs his hands and massages them after every sparring session, and in how he tucks her hair behind her ears when she tells him about her day.
It’s the littlest things but they mean the most to him.
Today is Gwyn’s birthday, and Azriel has been planning for it for months. He knew exactly what he wanted to give her. But ever since Solstice, a part of him worries it might not be enough.
Last night, Gwyn stayed over at the House of Wind with Nesta and Emerie. Meanwhile, Azriel, already on edge about the gift, woke up in a foul mood. Cassian, once again, had refused to sleep alone.
Throughout the night, Azriel had to keep pushing Cassian off him. The idiot kept mistaking him for Nesta and pulling him in for a cuddle.
After the hundredth shove, Azriel gave up. Sleep wasn’t going to happen. He decided to start his day early. At precisely 3:54 a.m. Great.
Still, if there was a silver lining, it was time. Now he had more of it to prepare Gwyn’s gift. Maybe, just maybe, he could even bake her a cake.
Determined, he marched into the kitchen with a mission. To his surprise, the House had already laid out all the ingredients he’d need.
He grabbed the flour and started making the batter.
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Several hours and three failed attempts later, Azriel had completely lost track of time.
The first cake? A disaster. He’d accidentally used salt instead of sugar. He only realized his mistake after the House hurled a pan at his head, knocking him straight into the bowl. One taste confirmed it. It is going straight to the trash.
The second? Too dry. There’s no saving it. Attempt after attempt failed. But this time, finally, it felt right. All that was left was the decoration.
With shaky hands, he picked up the piping bag. He knew exactly what he wanted to draw. He wasn’t Feyre, but he was sure Gwyn would love it only if he didn’t mess it up.
Slowly, carefully, he began decorating the cake. He was so focused, he didn’t hear the soft footsteps behind him.
“What are you doing, Az?” a voice whispered, just behind his ear.
“Mother, save me!” he yelped, clutching his chest in mock horror. His shadows rushed towards Gwyn in a playful greeting. Those little traitors, once again, forget to warn him about Gwyn.
Gwyn stood wrapped in a blanket, her hair a wild tangle. She wore Pegasus pajamas the House had conjured for her, paired with bunny slippers Azriel was fairly certain were cursed.
She looked absolutely breathtaking.
He had to pause just to take her in.
“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, a crease forming between her brows.
“You’ve got drool on your face,” he said, deadpan.
She yelped and scrubbed at her cheek. Azriel just smiled, soft and unbothered, which, of course, only made her glare at him.
“Well, not everyone can look as pretty as you do when they’re sleeping, Shadowsinger,” she snapped.
“You think I’m pretty?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
She rolled her eyes. “You didn’t answer my question. What are you doing here?”
That’s when it hit him. He’d forgotten about the cake. If she saw it now, the surprise would be ruined.
But it was already too late—she was walking toward it.
He squeezed his eyes shut as she approached. A second later, he heard it—a gasp.
When he opened his eyes, Gwyn was standing over the cake, her hands covering her mouth, eyes wide. She wasn’t breathing.
She didn’t respond. Didn’t even blink. Her face had turned pink, and her shoulders started to shake.
Then he realized, she was trying not to laugh.
This little devil, he thought to himself.
“Is that supposed to be me?” she managed between gasps.
Azriel glanced at the cake. He’d tried to draw Gwyn slicing a ribbon. But… yeah. It hadn’t exactly turned out like the image in his head.
“You might be a little disproportioned—”
“A little?” she wheezed. “Azriel, my head is bigger than my body!”
She wasn’t wrong. He’d spent so long perfecting her face that it took up half the cake. The body? Basically, a stick figure. With some very muscular arms that he’d just started before she interrupted him.
“Well, I—” he sighed. “I think you look good.”
She burst out laughing again, and Azriel couldn’t help but join her. They leaned into each other, laughing so hard they could barely breathe.
“I really do appreciate the effort,” she said between breaths. “But you should probably sign up for Feyre’s art classes.”
“I will. But only if you promise to be my muse.”
“I promise,” she whispered.
And then, with a wicked grin, she swiped frosting from the counter and smeared it on his nose.
Azriel’s eyes lit up. Right now, in this moment, he had never felt happier.
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“So… is the cake my only gift, or is there more?” she asked, tracing the scars on his hands as they sat on the kitchen counter eating the cake he had just baked.
“Greedy little thing,” he whispered, kissing her forehead and pulling her along with him.
“I do have something else for you. I was planning to give it later, but since you asked so nicely…”
They reached his room. He opened the door and let her inside. It looked just as one would expect from Azriel, dark, clean, bed neatly arranged. Azriel guided her to sit on the bed, then disappeared into his closet.
A few moments later, he emerged, hiding something behind his back.
“Is that really necessary?” she pouted.
She groaned but closed her eyes. Azriel stepped closer, cupped her face, brushed his thumb across her cheek, and kissed her nose. Then he gently laid the box on her lap. “Open your eyes, Gwyneth.”
She did and stared at him first, eyes wide. Then she looked down and opened the box. Inside was a necklace. A beautiful, delicate locket with twin constellations etched onto it.
“Azriel… this is beautiful,” she whispered, tracing the stars. “What do these represent?”
“These two constellations are what the stars looked like on the days we were born,” he said.
“It’s to remind us that our paths are always intertwined.”
She smiled, eyes shining. “I like that,” she said. Looking up at him, she whispered, “Put it on me?”
He nodded and took the necklace from her. She turned around, and he gently brushed her hair aside. His fingers grazed the back of her neck, and she shivered. He smiled to himself, clasped the necklace, then leaned in to kiss her nape before turning her to face him again.
“Happy birthday, Gwyn,” he whispered.
They stood there, lost in each other’s gaze. He leaned in pressing little kisses across her face. “I have one more gift for you.” He cupped her cheeks. “Do you want to see it?”
Azriel walked over to his desk and pulled something from the drawer. When he returned, he looked nervous. His shadows coiled anxiously around him.
“I had Feyre draw this for me,” he said, voice rough. “I’m not sure how accurate it is, but... If you don’t like it, you don’t have to keep it.”
“Azriel, I’m sure I’ll love it,” she said gently, cutting off his nerves. He handed her a painting.
She pulled the cover back and everything stopped.
It was a painting of two girls, arms slung around each other, smiling like the world hadn’t touched them. One had copper hair and teal eyes. The other had black hair, webbed fingers, and those same teal eyes.
Tears filled her eyes as she stared. Feyre had brought Catrin to life. What could have been, what should have been.
Without a word, Gwyn threw her arms around Azriel.
“Thank you, Azriel,” she whispered, her voice shaking. He only hugged her tighter.
After a moment, Azriel broke the silence.
“You know, I could’ve drawn you both,” he said, grinning into her hair. “But let’s be honest, Feyre did a better job than I ever could’ve.”
Gwyn laughed. The sound never failing to make him happy.
“Don’t worry, Shadowsinger. I’ll talk to Feyre. You’re going in her next class.”
Before he could reply, they heard Nesta calling for Gwyn. Azriel pressed one last kiss to her head. “It’s just the beginning of your day, Berdara. Go have fun with Nesta and Emerie. I’ll see you tonight.”
“See you tonight, Shadowsinger,” she said with a smile and disappeared down the hall.
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Two days later, Azriel found himself sitting cross-legged among a group of children in Feyre’s art class.
He had never been more serious in his life.
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