We learn in ACOSF Azriel is not a fan of “hand-to-hand” combat, as it is “too close” for his tastes. Azriel, whose hands were burned in childhood by his brothers, who is quite introverted, quiet, and selective with his touch, humor, and presence, does not readily touch many people in the series. One person he consistently and almost exclusively offers his hands and time to, is Elain.
In my opinion, Sarah brought his dislike of hand-to-hand combat and closeness to our attention to show us something. I believe that something is his selectivity, exclusivity, and gentleness as it pertains to closeness and touch. I have seen some discuss Azriel’s gentleness with Elain as a bad thing, but I disagree.
Azriel is extremely gentle, dare I say, even when he’s using his hands for torture…which we’re meant to see in this contrast that Sarah makes about the dynamic nature of Azriel’s character. I would argue that Azriel isn’t brash in the violent use of his hands- he’s thoughtful and considerate in a different way- but by no means brash. I would never describe Azriel as irreverent, even when he is engaged in torture.
“Cassian could have sworn Nesta’s fingers stalled on the laces of her boots. He drawled, “Nothing at all. We’re starting on hand-to-hand combat.”
“My least favorite,” Azriel said.
Toeing off her boots, Nesta asked, “Why?”
Az observed her, striding barefoot into the ring. “I like swordplay better. Hand-to-hand is too close for my tastes.” (ACOSF, p 340)
Azriel, graceful as any courtier, offered her an arm. I couldn’t tell if she was looking at his blue Siphon or at his scarred skin beneath as she breathed, “Beautiful.” Color bloomed high on Azriel’s golden-brown cheeks, but he inclined his head in thanks and led my sister toward the back doors into the garden, sunlight bathing them. (ACOWAR, p 347) set her down gently on the foyer carpet, having carried her in through the front door.
He set her down gently on the foyer carpet, having carried her in through the front door.
Elain peered up at his patient, solemn face.
Azriel smiled faintly. “Would you like me to show you the garden?” (ACOWAR, p 346)
“I can help her,” said Azriel, stepping to the table as Elain silently rose. No shadows at his ear, no darkness ringing his fingers as he extended a hand. Nesta monitored him like a hawk, but kept silent as Elain took his hand, and out they went. (ACOWAR, p 426)
“It has never failed me once,” the shadowsinger said, the midday sun devoured by the dark blade. “Some people say it is magic and will always strike true.” He gently took her hand and pressed the hilt of the legendary blade into it. “It will serve you well.”
Elain looked up at Azriel, their eyes meeting, his hand still lingering on the hilt of the blade. (ACOWAR, p 811)
Azriel still cradling Elain to his chest. He dripped blood behind him the entire time—a trickle compared to the torrent that should be leaking out. Contained only by the patches of power he’d slapped on it. Help—he needed a healer immediately. (ACOWAR, p 774)
Then Azriel, gently taking Elain’s hand in his own, as if afraid his scars would hurt her. (ACOWAR, p 645)
Azriel gently removed the gag from her mouth. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head, devouring the sight of him as if not quite believing it. “You came for me.” The shadowsinger only inclined his head. (ACOWAR, p 763)
“She gave it back,” I amended, failing to block out the image of the black blade piercing through the King of Hybern’s throat. But Elain had given it back—had pressed it into Azriel’s hands after the battle, just as he had pressed it into hers before. And then walked away without looking back. (ACOSAF, p 60)
But Azriel only took Elain’s heavy dish of potatoes from her hands, his voice soft as night as he said, “Sit. I’ll take care of it.” (ACOSAF, p 135)
Azriel is gentle and considerate when offering touch to others besides Elain. The only other times he does so is with Feyre’s wings, with which he thoroughly asks permission and Mor, who pulls her hand away. He also grabs Cassian’s hand when he tries to dig-in to the meal Elain assisted in preparing ahead of her return to the table (if that is not husband and wife vibes…) He is careful. He is considerate. And he is…gentle.
Azriel’s hands, for all their scarring, were featherlight as he grasped and touched certain areas, patting and tapping others. (ACOWAR, p 285)
Mor opened her mouth, but Azriel laid a scarred hand atop hers.
She snatched her hand back as if she’d been burned—burned as he had been.
Azriel’s mask of cold didn’t so much as waver at the rejection. Though Eris chuckled softly. Enough to make Azriel’s hazel eyes…(ACOWAR, p 368)
Azriel’s scarred fingers wrapped around his wrist. “Wait,” Azriel said, nothing but command in his voice. (ACOFAS, p 135)
Getting Azriel to take any time for himself that didn’t involve work or training was nearly impossible. And when I pointed out that he did go to Rita’s with her whenever she asked, Mor simply informed me that it had taken her four centuries to get him to do that. (ACOMAF, p 507)
And I think Elain—Elain would like it, too. Though she’d probably cling to Azriel, just to have some peace and quiet.”
I smiled at the thought—at how handsome they would be together. (ACOWAR, p 654)
That I would never be a gentle grower of things, or someone who burned like fire—but that I would.. (ACOMAF, p654)
Elain, who Nesta would have killed and whored and stolen for. Elain, who had been gentle and sweet. Elain, who was to marry a lord’s son who hated faeries … (ACOMAF, p 807)
Spring bloomed—the air gentle and scented with roses. (ACOMAF, p 829)
Elain had always been gentle and sweet—and I had considered it a different sort of strength. A better strength. To look at the hardness of the world and choose, over and over, to love, to be kind. She had been always so full of light. (ACOWAR, p 215)
Elain sat silently at one of the wrought-iron tables, a cup of tea before her. Azriel was sprawled on the chaise longue across the gray stones, sunning his wings and reading what looked to be a stack of reports—likely information on the Autumn Court that he planned to present to Rhys once he’d sorted through it all. Already dressed for the Hewn City—the brutal, beautiful armor so at odds with the lovely garden. And my sister sitting within it. (ACOWAR, p 351)
These two are peak comfort and peace. Peak hand-on-hand gentleness. Marital bliss.
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