jasmineandcedar

[jasmineandcedar]

“You can sleep now”

An Elriel one shot (Azriel's POV)

In which Azriel finally falls asleep in Elain's arms.

Remember to sometimes stop and look up at the night sky.

Warning: There's sleep depravity and sadness but it ends on a sweet note and Azriel finally sleeping.

This one comes with a soundtrack:

----

Azriel didn't know what drew him to fly to the townhouse garden in the middle of the night. Perhaps it was because it was the only place where he had ever truly found rest. Perhaps it was the thought of the female that had brought him true peace for the first time in his life. Perhaps it was because that garden was the place where their quiet worlds had first collided, a sanctuary from a loud world that never understood.

All he knew was that tonight, like countless other nights, sleep eluded him. And he was searching for a peace he knew he had only ever found in her.

Heavy eyelids drooped under the weight of his exhaustion, but razor-sharp thoughts drifted untethered. Visions of her swirled through his mind, light as twilight’s mist and impossible to grasp. No matter how he fought to pull them with him into sleep, if only just to allow himself the dream of her, they slipped through his fingers and refused to settle.

He had spent so many nights wearing his body out on the training grounds at the House of Wind, but tonight, he had nothing left in him. Nothing but the racing thoughts that refused to free him of their clutches, consuming what little energy remained.

He landed heavily in the garden, feeling his knees buckle under the weight of that same exhaustion. Every muscle in his body aching, he didn’t bother tucking in his wings; he simply let them fall to the ground. Glancing up, he caught a glimpse of the ghost of himself reflected in one of the darkened windows of the townhouse. Shadows haunted his eyes. The dark circles beneath them betrayed his fatigue, but they had nothing on the bruises on his soul.

He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. A faint trace of jasmine clung to the crisp night air, putting pressure on that bruise on his soul. A heavy ache seeped into his bones, making every breath feel like an effort.

He wished more than anything to be numb. Regardless of what others said of him, Azriel's heart had always been bound to every emotion, leaving him raw and exposed. And now, the strength to keep it all hidden seemed to be fraying at the edges.

He breathed in that scent of jasmine once more.

He could never escape her, not even in the dead of night. The feel of her soft hand in his was imprinted on his skin. She lingered in his every breath. The echo of her laughter, soft like the chirping of a dove, was carried on every wind.

He inhaled deeply once more, heavy shoulders rising and falling, wings drooping behind him. There were traces of honey in the air too, mingling with jasmine.

He must truly be going mad.

He turned away from the window. And—as if conjured by the very thoughts that had led him to this sanctuary—there she was.

Elain was sitting on the chaise lounge where Azriel had once sunned his wings. Back when they could still sit beside one another without accusation. Before he had realized he desperately needed her like shadows need light. Before he was ordered to stay away from that light that truly made him feel seen. The light that was her.

The unearthly grace of her made her look as though she belonged to the garden itself. Illuminated by soft moonlight, her unbound golden-brown hair flowed like sweet honey over the pale blue coat that covered her white nightdress. Her pale cheeks and nose were stained pink, touched by the cool night air.

Azriel had always thought there was an ethereal beauty about Elain, as though she was not quite of this world. He stilled, afraid she might vanish if he so much as blinked.

She was watching him. A gentle serenity radiated from the warm embers of her chestnut eyes.

He ached to touch her. But he dared not cross the invisible line they—he—had been forced to draw between them.

He knew he ought to leave, that he should turn away before his need to stay close to her overtook him. But as he stood before her, as he could finally let his tired eyes rest upon that warm gaze of hers, Azriel realized he didn't have the strength to stay away any longer. Not tonight. Not even half a millennium of relentless suppression of his very being was enough to turn around and leave.

Or perhaps it was finally enough.

Perhaps he had finally tortured himself enough.

“Sometimes I come here when I can't sleep,” Elain whispered.

Azriel closed his eyes and let out a trembling breath, the sound of her voice washing over him like a gentle caress. He felt it soothe the tension in his muscles with bittersweet relief.

When he opened his eyes again, Elain glanced over at the empty space beside her in a silent invitation only he would recognize. Without a word, he slowly moved to sit next to her.

For a long moment, they simply sat there in silence, watching each other. No words cluttering the night air—only the still beating of their hearts, the reunion of two quiet souls that had been kept apart for too long.

Then, her head found its place on his shoulder. He surrendered, and gently lowered his head to rest against hers.

For a long while, it felt as though everything stilled—the faint rise and fall of Elain’s chest the only sign that time itself hadn’t stopped.

“I want to show you something,” she murmured at last.

With that ethereal grace, she rose to walk across the grass, then lowered herself to sprawl out upon it.

“The world looks so much more peaceful from the ground up,” She spoke softly, the calm of her voice carried to him on the cool breeze. “Especially in the dark”.

She turned to face him, eyes glowing with quiet invitation.

“The sky seems so much bigger and everything else just… fades away”.

Azriel watched her, wholly and utterly captivated.

“Don't you want to see?” she asked, patting a slender hand on the grass beside her.

He wanted to see what Elain saw. He wanted to be able to gaze upon the world with hope in warm eyes. Slowly he stood up and walked over to her.

As he lay down on his side to face her, and the world slanted around him, she was the only constant. She was a glade in the middle of a dark forest, grounded as an ancient oak.

Slowly their hands found each other, just like they had that first time when she had spoken of him with a word that had shattered something ancient and destructive within him.

Beautiful.

In that moment, Azriel knew, that his hand would always find hers.

Without hesitation, Elain laced her fingers with his, as though it were the most natural thing in the world—as though his hands weren’t abominations but something to be held.

He watched her intently, trying to imprint the vision of her like this in his mind and finally be allowed the dream of her. Elain glanced over at him, a gentle smile gracing her lips. She tilted her head up, gesturing to the night sky.

Azriel finally tore his gaze from her and lifted his tired eyes to the night sky to see what hidden knowledge she had found there.

The secret of the night sky stretched vast and endless above them, deep indigos and black woven together like an immense tapestry. Brilliant stars scattered across it, some glowing sharply, others pulsing as faintly as the quiet beating of his heart. His mouth felt open, and he let out a deep breath. The infinite reach of the night sky seemed to absorb the worst of his troubles and shrink the edges of his exhaustion.

As he lay there gazing up at the stars and holding the hand of the one who seemed to understand the depth with which he felt every emotion, peace wrapped around him. Elain didn’t ask him to explain himself, hadn’t needed him to reveal any of his scars or fears, and yet her eyes had seen his soul. With her hand in his, the darkness around him felt safe for the first time in his life.

“Do you see it?” she whispered after a long while.

Azriel swallowed thickly, trying to smooth out the crack in his voice. He wasn't sure he could speak.

“I see it,” he managed, voice catching in his throat. But lying next to Elain, being on the verge of tears was no source of shame. For some reason, in this moment, lying next to Elain on the brink of tears felt like the most natural thing in the world. He knew she was aware he felt things more deeply than most. So deeply it threatened to drown him if he lingered on any of it too long. So he hid it all.

And she saw it all.

His eyes fell on hers again.

“You’re cold,” she whispered.

He hadn’t noticed.

Perhaps he had been cold for so long that the ice in his veins had seemed like part of him.

“Let me...”

Elain didn’t need to finish the sentence; Azriel understood her as if the thought had been his own.  He tucked in his wings tightly and leaned over to gently rest his head against her chest.

“... hold you,” she finished.

His hand slipped around her waist. Her hand came to rest on his upper arm, the other on the nape of his neck.

As if it were the most natural thing in the world.

He felt her fingers gently caress the skin just under the neckline of his shirt. It sent a wave of warmth through his body. Jasmine, honey, and that warmth enveloped him. He felt it thaw his very bones, like the first sip of tea on a cold winter’s morning. Or the blanket of sunlight on a warm summer’s day.

Azriel closed his eyes and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, the chaos in his mind stilled entirely. The weight of his exhaustion lifted as the sound of her heartbeat calmed him.

They stayed in silence for a long while.

No words were needed to describe it, anyway, because the words to describe it simply didn’t exist.

“Azriel?” Elain whispered into his dark hair at last.

He hummed against her warm body, too tired to form words.

“You can sleep now,” she murmured softly.

And in that embrace of jasmine and honey and warmth, sleep finally took him, as if it had been waiting for her touch before it could claim him at last.

In the garden where it all began, with the Mother as their only witness, night’s embrace wrapped around them, as soft and quiet as the two of them. A stolen moment in the dead of night, and the shadowsinger and the seer were finally at peace.

As if it were the most natural thing in the world.

[jasmineandcedar]

The bargain

An Elriel one-shot (Elain’s POV).

This one-shot is inspired by @violetasteracademic's beautiful theory post about Azriel and Elain’s future bargain. You’ll find her post here.

My headcanon is that they can choose where to put their bargain tattoos, although it doesn’t seem like they can from canon. But if they could, this is one way I imagine Elain and Azriel entering a bargain could play out during a clandestine meeting in the townhouse garden…

I had so much fun writing this, although dialogue is difficult for me as English is not my native language. But I decided it was time to give it a go! I hope someone might like this as much as I liked writing it.

Warning: Fluff, kissing, sexual undertones.

-----

Elain laid sprawled across the soft grass of the townhouse garden. She knew there would probably be grass stains on her dusty pink dress. She didn’t mind that at all. That was one of the points of lying in the grass, after all. She had never liked when things were too perfect. She had secretly collected many grass stains throughout the years. Some of her favourites were the ones she had obtained during the times she spent in this particular garden with a particular shadowsinger, basking in the warmth of the sun.

She had left her shoes inside to feel the gentle touch of the lush grass under her feet. Her eyes were closed, afternoon sunlight caressing her skin like a warm blanket of the most delicate silk. The unique warmth of sunlight had a way of making her feel weightless, like she became part of the surroundings.

She opened her eyes just in time to see two starlings twirl and dance across the blue sky above, seamlessly shifting between sailing on the summer breeze and beating their wings with a cadence only nature could inspire. The hydrangea shrubs swayed in the gentle breeze to that same cadence. Heavy blossoms of crisp white weighed down their delicate branches, soft streams of hazy afternoon sunlight seeping through them to throw gentle shade across the warm grass.

Elain closed her eyes again and let the sound of the softly swaying shrubs and the delicate floral scents of the early summer blossoms connect with her senses.

Then, of course, there were those undertones of night-chilled mist and cedar, which could only mean one thing.

Azriel was sprawled on his side next to her, his head resting on a tattooed arm. Elain opened her eyes and turned to lie on her side to face him. Even surrounded by the wonders of the natural world, he was the most wondrous of them all. His dark hair caught the sunlight like a raven’s wing under moonlight. The black of his tattoos unfurled across his arms like intricate tree roots weaving across unscathed earth. His wings of jet black were sprawled gracefully behind him, illuminated by reds and golds in the early summer sun.

But most wondrous of all was that gentle soul of his that spoke to hers as tenderly as the stillness of early morning.

In this moment, sleep had finally found that gentle soul.

A soft breeze rippled through the rose bushes lining the walls of the town house, whispering of the blissfulness of early summer. It rustled lightly through Azriel’s dark hair. Elain studied his features. His lips were slightly parted, his breathing calm and slow. Rouge strands of midnight black fell across his brow, the furrow between them dissolved. He looked pristine in peaceful slumber against the floral backdrop. It was rare to find him so relaxed and for a moment Elain’s heart ached. She felt the vision of him softening her already melting heart.

How long they stayed like that she didn’t know. It could have been eons. She would have liked to stay there for eons. Maybe by then things would have changed, and a female’s choice would be enough to dictate her future.

She had made her choice already. She was looking at him.

It was unfortunate that the only acceptable choice was the one that was no choice at all.

If her choice wasn’t enough, she wished there was some other way to unravel the fabric of fate. She wanted to put a needle in it and stitch her own path across it. She was surrounded by bonds, magic, and threads but all of them seemed to just tie her in place.

Threads.

Something was tugging at her memory. A conversation Feyre had with her and Nesta shortly after they were Made.

Not threads...

Bindings. Magical ties.

Bargains.

Feyre had warned her of Fae bargains. Magical bargains that bound souls to each other, with the threat of great danger should the bargain be broken. Why Elain thought of that now she had no idea. Perhaps it was the Mother herself that gave her the idea. Or perhaps it was wishful thinking—the wish that love could trump a mating bond making her hope for things that could never be. Some would say she should have banished such foolish fantasies long ago.

But she hadn’t. Wouldn’t.

And perhaps this was it. Perhaps she could spin a new thread, superseding the stitches of fate.

Her heart soared at the thought.

Perhaps love could trump a mating bond. Her love, who was sleeping peacefully in front of her in the garden they had made theirs.

“Love,” she whispered, watching him carefully. Something stirred in the shadowsinger.

She was bursting with the need to tell him. But she couldn’t bring herself to wake him. So, she forced the thoughts aside as she waited for him to wake up. If being Made had robbed her of choice, it had given her plenty of time. They were immortal after all, a concept that had been so inconceivable from the human perspective she hadn’t yet fully grasped it.

She could wait until he woke up.

As if he had sensed her excitement, Azriel stirred again. Slowly his eyes fluttered open and Elain was met with a sleepy smile.

“Hello,” she whispered.

She let one hand travel slowly across the soft grass in the space between them.

“Hello,” he answered in a drowsy, tender voice. His hand mirrored the movements of hers.

There was freedom in the quiet collision of their fingers. The thrill of feeling his skin brush against hers was another form of weightlessness—an even better one.

“Let’s make a bargain,” Elain whispered after a few moments of silence.

“What?” Azriel said dazedly, still in that blissful space between sleep and awareness that had that sleepy smile plastered across his features. His hazel eyes moved lazily from her fingers grazing his hand to look into her eyes.

“A bargain,” she repeated.

Silence.

He blinked hard, in a way that made him scrunch his nose. Elain felt butterflies taking flight in her chest.

When he opened his eyes again, realization seemed to have dawned on him, and he narrowed his eyes to study Elain’s features.

“You do know about Fae bargains, right?”

“I do,” Elain said. “Feyre told me.”

Azriel reached out a hand to touch her shoulder. He retrieved it, holding his index finger in the air between them, eyes focused on the ladybug that was climbing up his scarred finger.

“And you know about the consequences of not upholding one?” He asked hesitantly, his eyes flickering to Elain’s before returning to the ladybug.

“I do.” She responded, following the ladybug's ascent.

“And you are aware the bargain will be marked on your body in ink?” he continued.

“I am.”

“It won’t fade until the bargain is fulfilled,” he stated plainly, his gaze returning to study Elain as the ladybug took flight, aiming for the rose bushes lining the walls of the townhouse.

“I know that too.”

“And you want to make a bargain,” he said slowly.

“I want to make a bargain with you,” Elain corrected him. She reached out her hand and swept an ebony curl from his forehead.

They watched each other in silence. She knew there were 500 years of relentless restraint battling his heart in that moment. She waited until he was ready to speak.

Finally, he laced his fingers with hers again and broke the silence.

“Let’s make a bargain then,” he echoed, curiously indulging in her peculiar pursuit. Something sparkled in his usually shadowed eyes—shadows that were nowhere to be seen now.

It was perhaps a little mad, to enter into a magical bargain on a whim. But the normally prudent shadowsinger had a soft spot for the lovely seer. Elain knew it and treated it with great care.

“What do you have in mind?” he asked.

His thumb stroked hers gently. Elain knew of the demons he had battled to be able to do that.  These days, he seemed to be winning that battle.

She looked around. Her eyes fell upon the rose bushes. Then at the wrought-iron table beside them, where she had sat with a cup of tea as Azriel sprawled on the chaise longue, sunning his wings, that first time he had taken her to the garden. Two chubby house sparrows were strutting around the area beneath the table now, looking for even more sustenance to satiate them. She smiled. That first time in the garden she had no idea how much Azriel would come to mean to her. But those rose bushes were a constant reminder of where it all had started.

“How about this,” she started and inched a little closer to him in the grass, feeling as though she was about to convey something very secret.

He would always let her have the last word. So, she weighed her words carefully.

“Whenever we see a rose, we will think of each other,” she suggested, chestnut eyes wide.

He hesitated for a moment.

“As long as there are roses you will always be bound to that bargain,” he whispered. “It can’t be fulfilled.”

“Are you saying I would be tied to you as long as there are roses in the world?” Elain asked.

Azriel’s eyes fell upon their intertwined fingers.

“That’s one way of putting it,” he said slowly, a smile crawling up the side of his face.

“Then I’ll make sure there are always roses in the world.” Elain said through a smile of her own. “I’ve been told I’m very good at planting things and keeping them alive.”

“That, you are.” It was his turn to swipe a rouge strand of golden-brown from her face. She felt her skin warm at his tender touch.

His fingers lingered, caressing her cheek. He bit his bottom lip as his gaze landed on that blush that was undoubtedly spreading across her cheeks. Elain had always found her tendency to blush a particularly bothersome one. Azriel seemed to think otherwise.

His eyes were on hers again.

“How will you explain that you suddenly have a tattoo?” he murmured.

“I don’t intend to show it.” She smirked and saw it mirrored on his beautiful features.

“Sneaky seer,” he said lovingly through his smirk as he grabbed her chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“I could put it under my foot,” Elain mused.

Azriel chuckled softly. “Clever.”

Then he leaned over, and Elain felt herself fall back into the soft grass.

“Oh, goodness,” she gasped softly.

“Indeed,” said the still smirking shadowsinger.

Suddenly Elain was looking up into his hazel eyes. The dark hair falling on his brow contrasted with the blue summer sky above them, like the blue windflowers she had only seen in books, with their dark centers and delicate blue petals. Leaning on an elbow, he swept his free hand into her hair. His thumb drew soft strokes along her cheek as his eyes travelled over her features. Elain’s hand moved to gently rest on the back of his before her eyes fluttered close. Her lips parted in a silent yes to his invitation. She felt his breath gently whisper along her cheek before he moved to press a tender kiss to her lips in the way that always made her heart flutter.

“Any other ideas?” he husked, voice vibrating against her lips.

Another kiss.

There was no demand in his kisses when he kissed like this—when he kissed her like it was the first time. Not in the way his eyes closed before he slanted his mouth over hers and slowly, tenderly, pressed their lips together. Nor in the smooth rhythm of his movements, like the quiet pulsing of waves against the sunny shore. When Azriel kissed like this, his kisses were slow and enticing, intimate and inviting—a polite question mark at the end of a mischievous suggestion of something he knew they both desired. That desire, which they so rarely got to act on, swirled between them. It tangled around them like grapevines reaching for the sunlight, full of sweet fruit ready to be picked and tasted.

They deepened the kiss, falling into their perfect rhythm. Just like they did when he so often led her into a slow dance even without music to guide them. Under starry skies, safe from watchful eyes.

Elain felt his body settle against hers, their lips locked in dance like those starlings that twirled in the summer sky. She raised her fingers to graze the sensitive skin of his neck and felt him shudder at the touch.

She wanted to explore all the ways she could make Azriel shudder.

Slowly, she let her fingers travel upwards into those soft curls of midnight black. She could swear he was smiling. She knew she was.

His hand moved to tenderly stroke her neck before he leaned back slightly, lingering in the space where their lips barely touched. His nose brushed gently against hers.

It was so quiet, as if time itself had stopped, just so they could have this moment undisturbed.

“Mmm...” he murmured softly against her lips, and she felt the smile on his. “You were saying?”

For a moment, Elain had forgotten all about bargains and tattoos, except the ones underneath his clothes.

She collected herself.

“Perhaps we could make the tattoo a tiny one behind my ear,” she whispered breathlessly, still caressing the back of his neck. She opened her eyes, only to feel that familiar warmth spread across her cheeks at the sight of him.

He leaned in again and pressed a kiss to that flush on her cheek, so featherlight that Elain almost shivered at the touch.

She let one equally featherlight finger glide down his neck in reciprocation.

“I think you can do better than that.” His voice was husky against her skin. His teeth nipped playfully at her bottom lip. “I can think of a few places.”

So could the lovely seer.

“Perhaps…” She paused and locked his gaze with hers in the way she secretly knew could bring him to his knees. “On my inner thigh.”

Azriel stilled, his face barely an inch away, eyes an unblinking swirl of hazel on hers. There was a storm beneath that calm surface. The slight shift in his scent gave it away.

“Yes,” he breathed, a little too quickly.

Excitement overtaking her, Elain pressed a hand against his chest to push him back into the grass. Azriel’s eyes widened at the sudden movement. But as they lay there on their sides again, face to face, she simply hooked her pinkie with his.

“Promise?”

He chuckled softly and hooked his pinkie with hers, eyebrows raised in puzzlement.

Nothing happened.

He watched her in silent amusement.

“I know about Fae bargains, but I don’t know the details of how you enter one,” she admitted. “I was told I shouldn’t do such things.”

Azriel laughed—quietly but unrestrained. Elain's breath caught as she took in the sight of him, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

She would kill another king to keep him laughing like this.

He bit his lower lip to collect himself.

“Is this how humans bargain?” he chuckled and wiggled his pinkie against hers.

“Some of them,” Elain said through laughter of her own. “How do we do it?”

“This… would work, actually,” he said in surprise, perhaps mostly to himself, as he watched their interlinked pinkies.

“Repeat the bargain,” he commanded, hooking his pinkie more firmly around hers.

“Whenever we see a rose, we will think of each other,” Elain recited, eyes widening in anticipation.

“Agreed,” he said.

She was still staring into those hazel eyes of his as she felt what could only be magic zap between them. It rippled through their interlinked fingers and spread through her entire body. She let out a gasp as she felt a tingle on her inner thigh.

A few silent seconds passed.

“Is it done?” she asked.

Azriel only inclined his head.

She scanned his body, the already tattooed golden-brown skin visible on his neck and arms.

“Where is your tattoo?” she asked.

“I guess you’ll have to find out,” he said through another smirk. “But perhaps not here, because I would have to take my clothes off.”

Once upon a time, she would have blushed at the suggestion.

Now she laughed.

And blushed.

The townhouse may not be used much these days, but there was no guarantee of privacy.

“You would take your clothes off for me elsewhere then?” she asked cheekily.

“It’s not like I haven’t done it before,” he said, flashing her a wicked grin.

Suddenly visions flashed before her eyes. Tanned skin under moonlight. Her back against his chest, his hand in her hair, lips on her neck and praise in her ear, the roll of his hips, and his name on her lips like a prayer.

Azriel.

Not visions. Memories.

His voice brought her back to the present.

“You only need to ask.”

Offer and permission.

She had a feeling he would do anything she asked of him. She vowed to never misuse that devotion. Azriel was far too precious to her for that.

After a long pause, his brows furrowed.

“Are there any roses that don’t look like normal roses?” he asked a little hesitantly. “What if I don’t recognize it’s a rose?”

“You will!” Elain said confidently. “I hear Fae bargains are very painful if you don’t adhere to them.”

She gave him a grave look before her smile broke free once more.

And there it was again. That unrestrained smile of his. She’d figure out all the ways to pull it out of him. She had come to find out she was quite good at that. Perhaps all that work in the gardens had taught her a thing or two about nurturing precious things to life in more ways than one. Those hazel eyes that hid so much kindness were made for smiles and laughter and love. She would make sure he knew of it.

There was also some self-indulgence in her desire to see more of that smile of his. But the way he stole glances from her, brushed his fingers against hers, or threw her wicked smirks when no one saw them had her thinking he wouldn’t mind that at all.

There was liberation in that smile.

For both of them.

“It won’t matter much, whether I know how to recognize all the roses of the world, I guess,” he said through that liberating smile of his after some contemplation, leaning over to pin her to the grass once more.

“It won’t?” Elain asked, running a hand through his hair.

He smiled against her neck as he spoke.

“I think about you all the time, anyway.”

[jasmineandcedar]

“Put it on me”

Elriel and gendered views on lust and agency

I discovered ACOTAR in 2018. They became like comfort books during the pandemic, and I have reread them many times since then. Particularly, it was Azriel and Elain that grabbed my heart with both hands and wouldn’t let go. Still, I feel equally as impacted by their story six years later. Specifically, it’s the depiction of a deep connection developing between two quieter individuals and how SJM has written them to be the key to the other's character progression in such a tender way, that I seem unable to get over.

When I joined this fandom two months ago, a lot of things surprised me.

One thing being how parts of the fandom have framed Azriel and Elain’s relationship when it comes to lust, after Azriel’s BC. It has fascinated me and made me reflect on my own reading of the introduction of lust into their relationship, and since this blog is where I put my Elriel ramblings, I wanted to write down my thoughts on it.

Lust, agency and consent

Did Azriel feel lust in his BC? Yes. Thank the Lord. However...

I would like to start not with Azriel, but with Elain. Because what puzzles me the most is not that Azriel is at times mischaracterised as only lusting after Elain. This mischaracterisation seems mostly rooted in denial over where SJM is heading with Azriel and Elain, and the preference for another direction. I think it is rooted in shipwar discourse, and I don’t want to get involved in that. It doesn’t bother me what people ship. And after four books of sweet Elriel moments and the very clear thematic trajectory SJM has put Elain and Azriel on, we know it is an obvious mischaracterisation. I’ll just ignore it.

What puzzles me the most is not that. What puzzles me is that Elain’s agency is often removed when SJM's depiction of Azriel and Elain is criticized. And I wonder, why is Elain's lust disregarded? Elain is the driver of everything that happens in that almost kiss of the BC, and it’s so beautiful. It is such a good and heart-stopping sneak peek into the direction of her book that I was ready to join Azriel on my knees before Elain when I read it.

“It's beautiful," she whispered, lifting it from the box. The golden faelight shone through the little glass facets, setting the charm glowing with hues of red and pink and white. Azriel let his shadows whisk away the box as she said softly, "Put it on me?" His head went quiet. But he took the necklace, opening the clasp as she exposed her back, sweeping her hair up in one hand to bare her long, creamy neck. He knew it was wrong, but there he was, sliding the necklace around her. Letting his scarred fingers touch her immaculate skin. Letting them brush the side of her throat, savoring the velvet-soft texture. Elain shivered, and he took a damn long time fastening the clasp. Azriel's fingers lingered at her nape, atop the first knob of her spine. Slowly, Elain pivoted into his touch. Until his palm lay flat against her neck. It had never gone this far. They'd exchanged looks, the occasional brush of their fingers, but never this. Never blatant, unrestricted touching. Wrong -- it was so wrong. He didn't care. He needed to know what the skin of her neck tasted like. What those perfect lips tasted like. Her breasts. Her sex. He needed her coming on his tongue -- Azriel's cock strained behind his pants, aching so fiercely he could hardly think. He prayed she didn't peer down. Prayed she didn't understand the shift in his scent. He had only allowed himself these thoughts in the dead of night. Had only allowed his hand to fist his cock and think about her then, when even his shadows had gone to sleep. How that beautiful face might appear as he entered her, what sounds she'd make. Elain bit her lower lip, and it took every ounce of Azriel's restraint to keep from putting his own teeth there. "I should go," Elain said, but made no move to leave. "Yes," he said, his thumb sweeping in long strokes along the side of her throat. Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent. He'd beg on his knees for a chance to taste it. But Azriel just stroked her neck again. Elain shuddered, drifting closer. So close one deep breath would brush her breasts against his chest. She looked up at him, her face so trusting and hopeful and open that he knew she had no idea that he had done unspeakable things that sullied his hands far beyond their scars. Such terrible things that it was a sacrilege for his fingers to skin, tainting her with his presence. But he could have this. This one moment, and maybe a taste, and that would be it. “Yes" Elain breathed, like she read the decision. Just this taste in the dead of the longest night of the year, where only the Mother might witness them. Azriel's hand slid up her neck, burying in her thick hair. Tilting her face the way he wanted it. Elain's mouth parted slightly, her eyes scanning his before fluttering shut. Offer and permission. He nearly groaned with relief and need as he lowered his head toward hers.

Azriel is in the backseat in that scene. Every action of Azriel’s is a reaction to Elain’s consent. Elain is the opposite of an object of his lustful thoughts in that scenario. She’s steady as a rock, initiating every escalation of their almost kiss, even if her hands were trembling when she gave him her gift. I have to admit, I might have had tears in my eyes when I read that the first time. There was Elain, hands trembling, acting on her deeply held value that love can trump a mating bond. And Azriel is the antithesis of someone simply lusting after another when he responds to her cues of consent.

That kind of lust? Wholly dignifying. Holy and dignifying. If I had a religion, that stuff would be it. Beautiful. It's a timeless essence of romance.

This is Elriel’s kind of lust:

Elain sneaking out at night, defying the social expectations and pressures that have plagued her all her life. And when she finds Azriel there too, like a wonderful manifestation of her reclamation of agency, she acts. Confronted with yet another expectation thrown at her – the mating bond – she has decided to not fall in line this time. She is coming to know herself and her values – that “love could trump a mating bond”, that a mate is not entitled to her time and affection, that she “belongs to no one”, and that she can give her heart to whom she wishes. And then she acts. She chooses the one who always saw her.

What more? Azriel’s desperate longing, him staring at her gift for a year. Nesta noticing the pain in his eyes. Cassian noticing he is troubled. Azriel staying away for a year because they can’t have each other. And then, as he is miserably brooding in the sitting room after everyone has gone to sleep, there she is, like a lovely manifestation of the sunlight he was robbed of all his childhood. Only this time, he doesn’t stay away – because she invites him in. The substance of Azriel’s lustful thoughts? He’s thinking of her pleasure. Wanting desperately to make her feel good. Waiting for her invitation. Wanting to fall to his knees. Being mindful of how her noticing his arousal might affect her. And then, there it is – she’s aroused too! And then, her invitation - offer and permission – simultaneously one of the most beautiful and hottest lines in the series.

Elain has had such an impact on Azriel that her actions and encouragement (throughout the entire series) has him starting to slowly win his centuries long battle against demons telling him he’s not worthy of romantic love. Azriel pre-Elain is stagnant and miserable. Azriel after meeting Elain is on a trajectory towards character progression. Like Elain has done with Azriel since day one, she once again leans into his touch and encourages it in the BC, and he is fighting his intrusive thoughts of self-loathing because of her.

And what does Azriel do for Elain? He holds back and is attentive. He sees her, like he always has, and doesn’t act without invitation – he waits for her to exert that agency that is the key to her character progression. There is so much beautiful consent between them, I feel like I’ll evaporate into dust if I think too much about it because my brain can’t handle the beauty of it all... I'm starting to evaporate...

This kind of lust? DIGNIFYING.

The good stuff is in between the lines

I get that Elain and Azriel are quiet and subtle, and most characters in ACOTAR aren’t. We have to read them a little differently. There’s nearly only showing instead of telling when it comes to them. But that means we need to really look at what we’ve been shown - we have to read between the lines (which is so exciting!). SJM has shown a beautiful connection between them being built across several books. It was such a blessing to get a tiny sneak peek into Azriel’s mind and see how they communicate without words. We have seen it on page throughout four books, ever since the first dinner with the three brothers and three sisters when Elain sought quiet reassurance in Azriel, and he gave it to her without using a single word.

After all of those sweet moments across several books, if there’s one relationship that cannot reasonably be stamped with the “just lust” label, it is theirs. We didn’t need to hear Azriel describe the intricacies of his love for Elain’s personality in the BC. We have been shown how he’s drawn to her, without lust involved, for two years across several books. Lust is the natural next step.

That doesn't mean he didn't show us his love for her personality in the BC.

Isn't connecting the dots part of what makes reading exciting?

Here are some dots to connect:

The headache powder

Azriel mentions he has had it on his bedside table at HoW to simply stare at when he’s trying to fall asleep. That tells us that the headache powder is profoundly meaningful to him. It also tells us that Azriel is not just some dark and stone-cold torturer and Spymaster. He is, in fact, a deeply sentimental person. Someone who feels a lot. Someone who is profoundly impacted by a meaningful gift. The headache powder that Elain gave him, which made him feel joy that Feyre had never seen in him before, during that Solstice night which was the turning point for Azriel’s feelings for Elain. The point where his feelings for her became so strong, he had to stay away because the torment of them not being able to be together was too much (the torment that Nesta sees in his eyes during their second Solstice).

All of this is in the same BC (and in the books), and it is Azriel implicitly describing the process of falling in love with Elain because she’s kind and attentive and caring, because the gift of the headache powder is a product of those personality traits of hers.

To communicate without talking

Azriel struggles to talk about his emotions – Rhys says no one really knows how he feels. Not even his family whom he’s known for 500+ years.

[Rhys about what Azriel feels about his job as interrogator/torturer] “But Azriel … Cassian tries, I try—but I think the only person who ever gets him to admit to any sort of feeling is Mor. And that’s only when she’s pestered him to the point where even his infinite patience has run out”’ (ACOMAF).

Azriel didn’t need to be pestered. All he needed was peace and quiet, someone like Elain. Because here we have Elain, and Azriel lets us know she understands his emotional struggles without him putting them into words.

He offered her a smile back. "I wasn't sure if I should give you your present." He left the rest unspoken. Because her mate was here, sleeping a level up. Because her mate had been in the family room and Azriel had needed to stay by the door the whole time because he couldn't stand the sight of it, the scent of their mating bond, and needed to have the option of leaving if it became too much. Elain's large brown eyes flickered, well aware of all that. Just as he knew she was well aware of why Azriel so rarely came to family dinners these days.

This is in the same BC, where Azriel also acknowledges that he has never dared to utter any of these thoughts out loud. Yet he didn’t need to for Elain to understand him. This is, again, Azriel acknowledging Elain’s attentive personality and what she means to him – what kind of connection they share.

Honestly, the BC is simply a mirror to their story so far. We don’t need it, but I’m glad we got it. It’s like SJM took a mirror and held it up to Elain and Azriel’s story across four books, condensed it, introduced the element of lust, and said: “remember what I've shown you – because here’s what’s next”. (Kind of like she did with Nessian’s bonus chapter…)

The pinnacle of SJM’s writing

To round off, I think their lust is simply a beautiful and natural progression of their clearly developing romantic relationship. I think it gets misunderstood partly to support a direction of the story that is clearly not where SJM is heading, but also partly due to our gendered views on lust and agency (which is the more interesting misunderstanding in my eyes).

The way SJM progressed Elriel’s relationship in ACOSF + the BCs (both of them) perfectly sets up Elain’s book and the external and internal conflicts Elain and Azriel will have to face to continue on their arcs towards character development. To reclaim her agency (Elain), and to acknowledge his self-worth outside of his duties and usefulness to others - to see himself as worthy of romantic love (Azriel). It challenges deeply ingrained views on gender and agency in society and is such a narratively powerful story.

For me, Azriel and Elain are the pinnacle of SJM’s writing so far. She’s outdone herself with them. This is also why I trust her fully with Elain’s book. I really, truly hope SJM writes more characters like them in the future, because she knows how to write captivating yet quiet, more introverted and introspective characters – and not many do within the romantasy genre. It’s an amazing skill, and a needed one.

I think that almost kiss is one of the best depictions of consent and mutual sexual and romantic desire in the series. I’m sure there will be much more of that beautiful offer and permission when Elain’s book is out. Come to think of it, I think SJM better take all the time she needs finishing up that book because I’m not sure I’m ready for it, even after all these years.

I’ll be questioning my belief system too when Elain goes all “put it on me” again.

[jasmineandcedar]

Pathetically obsessed

An Elriel one shot (Azriel’s POV)

This is just one long racing thought of a pathetically obsessed male and the female that makes his head go quiet.

I was scrolling fanart of Elain during lunch and realized I might be pathetically obsessed. Then I thought, what better way to release my pathetic obsession with Elain than to write an unhinged inner monologue of Azriel’s. And I had been wanting to try and write something a little comical, because I haven’t tried that yet. So here we are!

Warning: sexual content.

------

Azriel found himself by a window overlooking the garden in one of the smaller bedrooms of the town house after Rhys had pulled him aside. He had forgotten all about why he was even there the moment he stepped up to the window and laid eyes on Elain going about her gardening. Rhys had said something about unfinished business that was dragging. Azriel thought the only unfinished business of any significance was the one that Rhys had most inconveniently made sure remained unfinished when he interrupted that kiss with Elain that surely would have been the pinnacle of Azriel’s life.

Elain, that perfect angel, was currently kneeling in the cold garden in perfect view. Small puffs of air left her perfect lips with every perfect exhale. Yes, perfect was the word.

Was she cold? She looked cold. What if she was cold? Those delicate fingers. They needed to be kept warm. Azriel would make it his life’s purpose to keep the hands of that sweet angel warm. It would be an insult to the natural order of things for her to be cold.

"So, any news on Bryaxis?" Rhys asked.

Bryaxis. Azriel snorted internally. That wretched being faded in importance to the lovely creature that was currently blessing his eyeballs with her mere existence. Everything faded in importance to her. She was the sun, and he was lucky just to be in her orbit. She was perfect. From the way her perfect hands could nurture even the smallest and most insignificant things into spectacular creations of greenery and blossoms, to how she could look upon misery with hope in those perfect eyes. And then of course… Azriel tilted his head. Perhaps he shouldn’t go there, but that categorically perfect ass... It would be a sacrilege not to go there with the absolutely sacred view he currently had of her as she knelt in the garden. She was a wonder.

The way his hand could make contact with that perfect behind so delectably if she wanted it. Maybe twice if she really liked it. Or more. Enough to leave a mark if that’s what she desired. Should she want that, it was only polite to oblige after all. The right thing to do, and Elain made Azriel want to do the right thing for the first time in his life. Her will, his law. Azriel would happily indulge in her desire for his hand to connect delectably with her behind repeatedly should she invite it. The stuff of legends. He would go to war to have his palm delectably connect with Elain’s perfect behind.  

Azriel realized then that he had been wrong when he told Cass not to show all his cards at once and to save some for later. He was a foolish male then. Insufficiently experienced in the realm of being pathetically obsessed. He understood now. He was a different male now. He had become enlightened. Because even the way that literal angel breathed had him wanting to pin her to the nearest wall and show her all his cards at once and then some.

He had some aces up his sleeves, alright, and she deserved them all. He had one in his pants too, but he would save that one for last. He knew which card he would start with. The one that started with him on his knees and ended with her coming on his tongue. That's how all his fantasies began. He felt that ace in his pants stir.

Fuck. Not now.

Thank the Mother he had his shadows to conceal his scent, or he would have been done for. It wouldn't do to get a raging hard-on at an intel meeting about Bryaxis of all miserable things. Rhys would never let him hear the end of it. He had to think of something unappealing. Quickly.

He looked at Rhys, who raised his eyebrows.

That motherfucker. Azriel loved that motherfucker but sometimes he was a motherfucker. Rhys might have ordered him to stay away from that perfect angel in the garden, but he should know what Azriel’s mind was capable of cooking up.

"Bryaxis?" Azriel asked calmly.

That should keep Rhys going for a few minutes. Despite the headaches it induced, in moments like these it was a blessing that the High Lord had an affinity for blabbering. Just nudge Rhys a little in whatever direction, preferably a direction pointing at himself, and he could go on and on. As long as you knew how to shut it out, you'd get a few blissful moments of peace and quiet. A male needed some privacy with his pathetically obsessive fantasies, after all.

Peace and quiet. He was looking at it right now. She was peace. She was the quiet of early morning. The sun incarnate. Was he spouting poetry again? He would resort to it for her. He would spout poetry on his knees, throwing his cards at her all at once. He had once told her he was born hearing the song of the wind. He was quite proud of that one. He had practically melted into a puddle internally at her response.

That’s very beautiful.

More beautiful words had never been uttered. He sighed longingly. Internally, of course. Azriel knew all too well how to keep up appearances. He watched Elain rise to her feet and wrap her coat more firmly around her. He hadn't known there was such a thing as a perfect curve to an elbow. But that was only because he hadn't met Elain. He hadn't seen those perfect elbows of hers. They were prefect because they were Elain’s. Elain. Even her name was like a caress to the vocal cords when he whispered it into the night as he touched himself to the thought of him touching her to completion. She was perfection. He didn’t even have to speak, and she understood his miserable soul. How was that even possible? She was divine and he had seen the light. Divinity. That is what she was.

And Divinity was currently looking up at him through the window.

His head went quiet.

"Have you been able to confirm Bryaxis..."

That motherfucker. Was he still going on about that wretched thing? How could Rhys even think about something as insignificant as Bryaxis when there was a literal angel in his garden? Did he not see? Had he not seen the light? Were his eyes not open to the wonders of the fierce and quiet female blessing their unworthy souls with her presence? Azriel was not one to draw attention to himself, but he wanted to scream at the world to just look at her. Mother above, how was he supposed to be in the same room as her and not make a fool of himself when she was...

"Az?"

"...so fucking beautiful". He looked at Rhys. Had he said that out loud?

"Thank you. Now tell me something I didn’t already know."

(Please don’t think I dislike Rhys after reading this. I just wanted to light-heartedly depict some of Azriel’s potential pent-up frustrations with Rhys after ordering him to stay away from Elain. I love Rhys, but sometimes he is a motherfucker 😉).

[jasmineandcedar]

On Elriel, themes, and character arcs

This blog is for my Elriel ramblings, and I feel like rambling about Elriel tonight.

I quite like to explore theme and buildup and such things, and I really like how SJM has set up Elain's story and arc. So I wanted to write something about both Azriel and Elain's character arcs.

I'm just going to pour out some thoughts here on a whim before I'm going to bed. Everything I say here will be an exploration of canon but it is not a judgement on shipping outside of canon. Fandom is where fiction gains a life of its own. Fandom is where we can ship based on vibes, whereas fiction is where ships are built on themes. And this specific post is about canon and themes.

Something I think often happens when people discuss their views on where ACOTAR is heading is that discussions revolve around individual plot points, quotes or individual character traits, but do not relate them to theme. That becomes quite fruitless if we are interested in getting to the bottom of where canon might be heading (which can be fun!). It's a good example of not seeing the forest for the trees.

So, I want to take a step back and look at the bigger picture. I want to look at the forest (theme) instead of inspecting single trees (individual plot points, individual character traits etc, seen in a vacuum). Then it becomes so clear to me where this story is going, and I’m just left with peace and quiet, and appreciation for SJM’s skills in utilizing theme to effectively convey messages - and the beautiful character arc she has created for Elain! (And I happen to really like where she is going with Elain and Azriel.)

What is a theme?

I think of themes as the underlying messages that a work of fiction is exploring, which often ties to moral and ethical dilemmas and the human condition (the Fae condition?). It can be: good vs. evil, fate vs. choice, or forgiveness/redemption for example. They are the most fundamental drivers of a story as they shape the entire story and all its components.

How? Let’s look at three basic components : plot, characters, symbolism.

Plot: The theme shapes the plot by guiding the direction of the story.

Character development: The theme shapes character development, by making characters confront and in various ways relate to the theme. 

Themes equip character with different traits, virtues, and vices (which can be nuanced) that guide their behaviour in relation to the theme. Here we also have character arcs - how characters develop in their confrontation with the theme. There will be a starting point for the character, there will be some form of turning point that sets them on a trajectory to develop/change, they will face moral and ethical dilemmas that connect to the theme and eventually there will be a resolution where the outcome shows how the character has progressed from where they started.

Symbolism: the theme determines how symbolism is used, because symbolism is often there to enhance or reinforce the theme.

By tying all these components to an overarching narrative, message, themes give the story a common thread. Cohesion if you will. A story without themes will be all over the place.

I’ll focus here mostly on the realm of characters and character development. We have followed Elain and Azriel over four or five books. We have seen enough of their character arcs already to have a very solid understanding of the direction SJM is heading with these characters and to understand what character development for them would be, and what would be regression.

What I think is important to point out, is that SJM has stated that the ACOTAR books are about female main characters and their male love interests. The male love interests take a little bit of a back seat in ACOTAR (compared to for example TOG). This is in itself also a theme - female empowerment - that is present throughout all the books. So when looking at love interest, I think it is how the male love interest ties into his female love interest's arc that is most important (this is certainly true for Nessian and Feysand). The female main character in ACOTAR will never take a backseat to her male love interest. (And I'll get to why I think Azriel is pretty much a manifestation of Elain's progression as a character because they complement each other's arcs so well).

So, enter Elain.

Elain’s arc

How can we explore an arc? Identify themes? We can start by looking at a character in their starting point. What are their weaknesses? What obstacles are there for their happiness and fulfilment? Whatever that is, is what that character will have to face in order to progress. And in that, we can identify themes.

Elain’s arc has been constructed around the theme of reclaiming agency. Underpinning Elain’s journey is also her discovery of identity. To have agency, to make choices, she needs to know who she is and what she wants outside of expectations that shaped her in childhood.

Let’s look at her arc so far to understand why I consider these relevant themes for Elain.

Starting point

Elain starts out as someone heavily influenced by her mother's expectations, moulded to be an asset for marriage. Her mother quite literally says she (11 year old Ellain) has no wants or ambitions, she's just a pretty face and her and Nesta's (who was 12) "maneuverings" will secure an advantage marriage for Elain. Elain was groomed into having no say. Her sense of purpose seemed tied to her ability to live to up to the expectations put upon her. We see this in her holding onto hope that her relationship with Graysen would work out, even when all feasibility was gone, because it had been her life’s purpose to marry - it is how she was to bring prosperity to her family.

Turning point (What sets her on a trajectory to change)

When Elain is Made into High Fae and Graysen rejects her, she faces an identity crisis. Her carefully constructed future crumbles, and she is removed from the childhood environment where she was groomed. All of this pushes her to eventually have to confront her own wants and desires rather than the obligations forced upon her through childhood. Of course gaining seer powers is also extremely relevant here, but I'm focusing on the romance in this post.

Conflict

As she is Made, she is also given a mate, and within Fae society it is expected of you to be with your mate. It is a mirror to the expectations put upon her by her mother. But, removed from her childhood circumstances, we see her actively having to confront the expectations put upon her. She rejects the notion of a mate, refusing fate to dictate her life. And over time, we see her starting to learn to navigate High Fae society. She finds friends, hobbies, and purpose. She is learning to identify what she wants. She is beginning to develop an identity of her own.

We also see this in how she in ACOFAS and ACOSF acts “out of character” if compared to Elain of ACOTAR and ACOMAF. We see that in her sense of humour, in her standing up to Nesta, and wanting to get in on the action of the IC. That tells us that who she was in her starting point was a suppression of her true self and she is now in the process of confronting the expectations that dictated her life and finding her identity.

She was groomed by her mother to fit in a mould, but she is not who she was forced to be. Rhys has noticed, Feyre has noticed, Nesta has noticed, Amren has noticed. We all have noticed.  She also develops feelings for Azriel, and in his bonus chapter we find out she is ready to act on them. She is on a trajectory towards character development, and clear conflicts have been laid out that relate to her reclaiming agency - fate vs. choice.

Resolution

We have of course not reached the resolution yet, we have only barely touched on the conflicts and dilemmas she has to confront, because we don’t have her book yet – we only have its setup. But, given the arc that has been set in motion, what is the next, thematically cohesive, step? It is for Elain to move from being a passive participant in her own life, doing what is expected of her, to an active one. To becoming a subject, a being that acts upon other things, rather than an object that is acted upon and pushed around. To make her own decisions based on her values and desires.

Despite not having her book, we have already been introduced to some of her values and desires in regards to romance. That love would trump a mating bond. That a mate is not entitled to her time and affection because he is her mate. She desires choice in love. For her arc to be complete – she would have to go with her choice in love, Azriel. She would have to reject the external expectations put upon her and let her choice trump those expectations.

What would be regression for Elain?

The antithesis to exerting agency is to obey and fall in line. What could such regression look like for Elain?

Elain gives in to external pressures by accepting Lucien as her mate (despite wanting Azriel) for the sake of political alliances and social expectations. By doing so she loses her independence by once again conforming and prioritizing her duty over her desires.

Elain suppresses her emotional connection with Azriel and her own values – that love would trump a mating bond – and forces herself into a relationship that is “correct” by societal standards, but personally unfulfilling – once again acting out of duty instead of choice.

By doing the above, she would end her arc exactly where she started it, or worse. She would end as a trapped and powerless individual.

This would be an unhinged story to tell.

Lucien

Could SJM write Elain to change her mind and choose Lucien? As a hypothetical, yes. But it removes all the narrative impact of Elain’s choice. Because she doesn’t need any progression to make that choice - there is no growth! Elain’s choice would be the one that is socially expected, the one that is determined by fate, outside of her influence. So it is not an arc of character development, it is one of regression or stagnation. That is not how a story is told. It is not the story SJM has written.

The idea of Elucien often relies on SJM’s tendency to write fated mates. It is true that she often does (but not always). But that is irrelevant if it breaks thematic cohesion to follow that same pattern in this story. This story doesn’t follow the thematic buildup of other stories. It’s its own story.

It seems to sometimes be forgotten, but Lucien does not  want this mating bond either. A mate was thrown at him, like it was at Elain before they even knew each other. Lucien, having grown up within Fae customs, is reluctantly trying to entertain the idea. But Lucien had known real love, and the one he loved was nothing like Elain (sometimes people aren’t into each other). I think Lucien and Elain have a thematic buildup that is leading them both to find purpose away from each other – which I think sets them up to tell the story of a rejected mating bond - of reclaimed agency. But that’s maybe for another post. Lucien's arc is one I look forward to.

Azriel’s arc

Azriel’s arc revolves a lot around themes of self-sacrifice vs. self-worth.

What have we seen of his arc already, and what is the thematically cohesive continuation of it?

Starting point

Azriel starts out as guarded, self-sacrificial, perfectionistic, full of self-loathing, and as prioritizing duty and his Court over his own fulfilment. He never expresses wants or needs that are rooted in his emotional well-being. This entails that he believes his value lies in how useful he can be for others. He beats himself up if he doesn't perform his duties perfectly. But we have seen that the work he does with his hands (as interrogator and torturer) and the childhood trauma that is manifested on his hands have made him emotionally guarded, feeling self-loathing, touch-aversion and unworthy of romantic love.

Turning point

When Azriel meets Elain he starts behaving differently. He is drawn to touching her like we don’t see him with anyone else, and she never recoils from his touch – she encourages it. Her small acts of kindness (like gifting him the headache powder) has him feeling joy in ways we haven’t seen before. He relaxes with Elain in the garden and during Solstice.

He chooses his desire to save Elain above the security of his Court by, without hesitation, risking his own life to save her right before they are about to go to war, knowing how important he is for his Court as Spymaster, rare shadowsinger, interrogator, and warrior. This is a self-sacrificial act, but not one born out of duty. The difference from his previous self-sacrificial tendencies is that he is choosing to do it despite dire consequences of his choice for his Court if he dies in the process just before a war is about to begin. Before this, we’ve seen him prioritize politics and his Court over his own wants and needs (like choosing the alliance with Keir over Mor’s contentment, despite how we know he cares for Mor). His rescue of Elain is narratively important, and SJM gave it pages upon pages, and keeps pointing this rescue scene out in the books.

He also lends TT to Elain, which he has never done to anyone, telling her he wants her to use it.

Something is shifting his internal narrative about himself that has him behaving differently, and in opposition to his self-loathing and workaholic tendencies, when Elain came into the picture. (Don't forget the secret glances and brushing fingers - very much not ACOMAF Azriel behaviour!).

Before this, he seems to have been stagnant for 500+ years. Remove Elain, and he would still be stagnant.

Conflict

Azriel develops romantic feelings for Elain and is torn between his deep feelings for her and his belief that he should stay away because she has a mate. After ACOFAS we see how his choice to stay away is ruining him throughout ACOSF. He can’t sleep, he is isolating himself because he can’t attend family dinners, he is throwing himself at work and training again. All of this creates tension between his sense of duty (staying away from Elain out of respect for the bond and the political ramifications of getting romantically involved with her) and his personal wants, needs and fulfilment.

The discovery that Elain wants him too, Rhys ordering him to stay away, Azriel questioning the Cauldron and then discovering that the Cauldron is corrupted are clear conflicts and dilemmas he will have to tackle to set him on the trajectory to discover how he can learn to find himself worthy of romantic love and reach self-acceptance.

Resolution

Of course we don’t have the resolution to his arc yet. It will happen in the book. But based on what has been laid out – what would a thematically cohesive resolution be? His self-loathing is tied to his inability to see himself as worthy of romantic love, not friendship (he does have friends). So his arc would conclude with him accepting that he is worthy of romantic love - not because he is useful but because someone simply loves him as he is - and choosing to prioritize his own emotional needs and wellbeing over his duties and orders. All of these things are thematically tied to Elain – she has been depicted as the one that accepts and invites his touch, that Azriel chooses to relax with, the one he wants and that wants him too.  

What could be regression for Azriel?

The antithesis to Azriel acknowledging his self-worth would be to retreat back to his work and duty. How could this play out?

Azriel rejects the possibility of being with Elain, thinking he is too tainted by his work and his past to deserve it. He remains trapped in his viscous circle of self-sacrifice, putting duty, work, training and the well-being of others ahead of himself.

He retreats further into training, duty and work. This would deepen his feelings of self-loathing. His touch-aversion would probably get worse, and he might become more closed off from everyone in the IC because of his avoidance of Elain and his suppression of his feelings for her (since she is part of the IC).

He would end up exactly where he started, or even worse.

This would be an unhinged story.

Just to touch on G/wynriel very briefly: Azriel character development needs less duty and training, and training and duty is all that ties Gwyn and Azriel together. Because he is just her trainer. So, G/wynriel is not where we're heading because it breaks any and all thematic cohesion. It cuts the current thematic trajectory off like Gwyn cut  that ribbon and starts from scratch with nothing - leaving both Azriel and Elain stagnant or regressing, which is not going to happen after all this buildup (Azriel has also nothing at all to do with Gwyn's arc).

All in all,

As the character arcs of Elain and Azriel has been thematically laid out, it is Elain and Azriel this story is heading towards when it comes to their love interests. This is only reinforced if you further include plot and symbolism.

For Azriel to fulfil the trajectory of his character arc, as SJM has written it, he needs to prioritize his wants and wellbeing – his romantic feelings for Elain. He needs to de-prioritize duty, defy Rhys orders and act on his and Elain’s mutual feelings. To not do so is character regression.

Elain has to choose her wants, needs and values – manifested in her choosing Azriel – and defy societal expectations for her character arc to reach its resolution. To not do so, and once again obey societal expectations, is character regression.

Azriel and Elain are the manifestation of each others progression and the antithesis to each other's regression. They perfectly complement each other's arcs.

To not follow this thematic trajectory would be as if Frodo, when he had finally reached Mount Doom, about to complete his arc of the reluctant hero whose humble resilience saves the world, would have decided that he is actually not very heroic, handed the ring to the nearest Ringwraith and headed back to the Shire. It would be a bad and absolutely unhinged story.

This is why Elain and Azriel are ending up together. Because it really is the only thing that makes thematic sense for Elain’s story.

And then, when I have taken a step back to see the forest and not get stuck on the trees, I can go back an admire all the individual trees of their story in peace. But now I'm going to sleep.

[jasmineandcedar]

Get a grip

An Elriel one shot (Azriel’s POV).

(jump down to “keep reading” if you want to go straight to the one shot - mind the tags)

I see adoration, connection, and beautiful consent in how SJM has written Elain and Azriel’s relationship. We see how they narratively lift each other as characters, just like Nessian and Feysand. Azriel is Elain’s choice - her breaking free of the stifling expectations that have plagued her. With Elain's encouragement, we see self-sacrificing Azriel finally rest and able to fight his feelings of being unworthy of touch and romantic love.

On top of how they care for each other, there is also mutual lust - in the most beautiful slow-burn of the ACOTAR series (if you ask me).

Whilst I will always have a weakness for Elriel's quiet and gentle love, here’s a celebration of the sometimes misunderstood aspects of their developing romance - lust and desire. Inspired by Azriel's bonus chapter, it's my attempt at depicting how Azriel’s racing thoughts and desire for Elain might manifest at night, when only the Mother might witness him. It's also a celebration of Elain and the desirable things about her. A light-hearted vindication of the shadowsinger and the seer - whose only crime seems to be desiring each other, both sexually and romantically. (I love me a forbidden romance! 🤭)

I shall let them.

Warning: smut (sexual fantasies, jerking off), angst

(This is my first attempt at writing something even remotely smutty. It’s all in good fun!).

I wrote this thinking of it as a continuation of my one shot Wingspan (you’ll find it here, but you don’t need to read it to read this one).

_______

Azriel arrived at the House of Wind with hot frustration pulsing through his normally icy veins. Shadows swirled at his feet as he ran a hand through his windswept hair, tucked in his wings, and entered the lower levels of the House. With Nesta and Cassian already fast asleep, he hurried through the corridors towards his room. His steps were guided by muscle memory alone, his thoughts racing with images of Elain.

Since fate had cruelly decided they couldn’t have each other, the thought of her would have to do – for now.

And it would do.

Thoughts of her fingers grazing his. The jolt that went through his body as their eyes met. Her golden-brown hair falling in waves like a silken waterfall down her back. How the chilly night air painted her cheeks and nose in a lovely shade of pink. The gentle care with which she nurtured life into being in every garden she touched.

It was curious. How one single memory of her could satiate him more than sharing shallow corporeal pleasures with another had ever been able to. He hadn't seen the point in any of that in a long time, couldn’t understand why he ever had, now that he could steal glances from Elain Archeron, secretly brush his fingers against hers, or simply watch her be.

The ache in his chest was rivalled only by the ache in his pants. As it were, he could only do something about one of those aches. He fully intended to. He would take advantage of that ache currently throbbing in his pants until he was a throbbing mess in his bed. It was the only way to even hope of getting any sleep.

He entered his room, grateful for the solitude of the late hour. He closed and locked the door and only managed a few strides inside before he fell back against the stone wall, spreading his wings along the cool and smooth surface for some relief. He let his shadows, the ones that weren’t already asleep, seal his room off from any unwanted attention.

Then, he closed his eyes and let out a deep breath.

His lips parted slightly as his fingers travelled to his waist. He pulled at his shirt to undo the fasteners of his pants. His fingers were cold from his flight to the House and he shuddered as they grazed the sensitive skin of his lower abdomen. He leaned his head back against the wall and let out another deep breath before he bit his lower lip. Hard.

He inhaled.

Thoughts of her flashed across his mind. Her delicate fingers twirling the string of her apron. The way she swept strands of golden brown behind her ear as she knelt in the garden.

He exhaled.

Fuck me, he thought behind closed eyes, letting his head fall back against the wall again, a little harder than necessary.  

Perhaps it was pathetic, the level of detail with which he had committed to memory even the most minute of encounters with her. He could live with that. Somehow, he didn’t mind it at all. Those minute encounters seemed to be what kept his heart pumping, after all. What he couldn’t live with was that raging ache that threatened to rip through his pants if he didn’t deal with it soon.

He groaned with relief as he finished unfastening his pants to grip his cock. He was painfully hard, to a degree only Elain Archeron could induce in him. He wrapped his fingers firmly around his length and let them glide over it.

"Elain Archeron," he sighed at the thought of her. To his shock, he heard himself almost giggle at the sound of her name.

Then, because no one was there to witness the fearsome Spymaster, he whispered her name into the night one more time, as if to taste it. Despite his misery, he still couldn’t help but smile at the sound of it. Just like her gentle soul that understood both the words he spoke and didn't speak, it was sweet like honey, the way it took shape on his tongue.

His grip around his cock tightened, hand wrapping around it much in the same way he was wrapped around Elain’s finger.

His heart had belonged to her and her alone since she had given him that headache powder and had him feeling genuine happiness for the first time since he didn’t know when. It had been hers since she chose to spend her first Solstice night with him of all people and confided in him all her plans for the gardens. Her eyes of molten chocolate had lit up and he had looked at her in awe, undisturbed, until dawn. He wasn’t sure if he had even blinked. He hadn't wanted to miss a single second of her elation. She had taught him about joy that Solstice, and it had stunned him.

He wanted desperately to return to that night. To be able to look into her warm brown eyes without suspicion or accusation from anyone over what his heart desired. He wanted to go back and give her his heart again, just to make sure she knew it was hers.

But perhaps she had already wrapped his heart in her soft hands when she looked upon his brutalized ones and breathed the last word he would ever have associated with himself, regardless of how many times others spoke it of him.

Beautiful, she had breathed.

And he had believed her.

Yes, he was hers already.

The things he would do to not just be hers, but to call her mine.

The thought of it had him tightening his grip on his cock. Slowly and firmly, he let his fingers glide from the base of his length and stop just below the head. The pleasure of it all was excruciating. He had always thought the line between pleasure and pain was a rather fine one, a proclivity he now reaped the benefits of.

He groaned, his breathing becoming heavier. He wanted desperately to bring himself over the edge, but he wasn’t done yet. He rolled his head back to focus, exhaling deeply and feeling the muscles of his core contract. Then the ache in his chest mirrored the ache he gripped between his fingers as he stroked himself again, even harder, for good measure. He felt his body twitch at the impact.

That’s it, he thought to himself as he got himself closer to that blissful edge and forced himself to hover in that space where pleasure and pain intermingled.

If she would let him, he would grab a hold of her and not let go. Yes. If she wanted it, he would hold onto her.

Hard.

With both hands.

From behind.

And fuck her slowly.

He almost came at the thought of it. That wouldn’t do. He wasn’t ready for this to end just yet. He shook his head, relaxed his grip on himself and let out another trembling breath.

What he could do to her from behind, though, should she want it. He would wrap those golden-brown waves around his fist like a belt and pull her up against him. He would tilt her beautiful face the way he wanted it - the way they both wanted it - like he had done that second Solstice night, giving him perfect access to her lovely neck.

That neck of hers. He sighed desperately at the image that flashed before him. Of course, Elain had to have the most delectable neck in all of Prythian.

Unable to hold back, his grip around his length tightened again as he clenched his jaw, held his breath, and stroked himself fiercely to the thought of it.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

He let out his breath and loosened his grip again.

That second Solstice night was etched on his mind like the tattoos etched on his upper body. He had been the luckiest bastard in all the realms combined when she had let his fingers taint the velvety skin of her neck. No, when she had urged him to stroke the velvety skin of her neck, with the way she had leaned into him.

He groaned as he gripped himself harder, the implication of her actions that night almost bringing him to completion once again.

She had wanted it. Wanted him. He knew that now. And that was enough for him to keep battling those demons that told him otherwise.

“Get it together,” he panted, the muscles in his upper body once again contracting with each exhale. He resorted to dazedly letting his fingers glide in long motions along his length as he further indulged in the memory of her.

It was a fruitless endeavour. He knew he would be frantically stroking himself again in a few moments anyway.

He was insatiable. And she was too lovely.

That neck.

He had let his thumb draw lazy circles on that immaculate neck. No, there had been nothing lazy about it. His focus on her that night had been sharper than any duty had ever commanded his attention. And when that delicious scent of her arousal had reached his nostrils, he had almost fallen to his knees. An unusual urge almost anything Elain did seemed to inspire in him.

Azriel wasn’t one to kneel before anything or anyone. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. He had done it once. That one time he had knelt before Elain when he rescued her from those Hybern scum. She was the exception to that rule.

No, kneeling before Elain was the rule.

He’d live his life by that rule if she would let him.

She could hold his gaze with those beautiful eyes that looked upon this miserable world with such fierce hope, and it was like a kick to the back of his knees. He would be on the floor begging already if he only let go of what was left of that restraint he hung onto for dear life whenever she was around.

Eyes closed, his shirt clinging to his hot skin as he leaned heavily against the wall, he tilted his head to the side. His racing thoughts returned to her soft waves of golden brown that would wrap so perfectly around his fist. The cool touch of the stone walls against his wings added to the sensation as he rolled his hips to let his cock glide through his tight grip with slow and hard thrusts, just like he would fuck her if they ever got the chance.

How many thrusts would it take before she collapsed in his arms? He chuckled. It didn’t matter much. As if one time was enough. Since he was apparently known for being such a cruel bastard, he would show her all the ways he could make her come until it was her turn to beg for mercy. He smiled at the thought before he felt that sting in his chest return.

Skin to skin was where they belonged. Breathing the same air. With his hand still in her soft curls, he would whisper praise in her ear, shower her soft skin with the equally soft kisses she deserved, her back pressed against his chest as he made love to her. He had a feeling she would like that just as much as he would. Maybe she would even treat him to a moan. The mere thought of her moans was like a fist around his cock.

He could certainly make her moan.

Oh, the ways in which he could make Elain moan. Perhaps he would even make a quest of it.

With his tongue, that’s how he would start. Her inner thigh. And, Mother save him, when he got between those inner thighs.

When he had Elain coming on his tongue.

When she wrapped those inner thighs around his face as he had her coming on his tongue.

He almost sobbed at the thought of it as he fisted his cock ferociously, grip rough and brows furrowed as all thoughts of restraint dissolved.

“Fuck it,” he panted.

He felt every muscle in his body tense when he came with her name on his lips, skin overheated and body quivering. His head tipped back against the wall once again. Pleasure pulsed through his veins, like the tremor he had felt ripple through him when she met his gaze earlier tonight. His lips parted involuntarily as a low moan, followed by a string of curses, escaped him.

A few moments passed as he caught his breath, dazedly stroking himself through the last waves of pleasure before he opened his eyes. He looked around lazily. Then, realization dawned on him. He swore again, low and dirty, at the mess he had made.

His eyes fell upon the headache powder at his bedside table. Unused, as it would remain. He felt that familiar sting in his chest at the sight of it. He was left only with the empty feeling of her absence, unsure of how emptiness could feel so substantial. His chest clenched again at his own misery where he stood alone, his cock still in his hand, staring at the soiled floor.

“Pathetic,” he muttered at the thought of himself. He hadn’t even made it to the bed. That must be a new record. He would have to get that under control, should he ever get to spend a night with Elain.

He sighed deeply as he looked out the window across the room at the pitch-black tapestry that was the night sky. Just like the realization of his own misery had dawned on him, dawn would be emerging in a few hours. Soft pastels would spread across the night sky. It made him think of her again, like everything seemed to do these days.

He thought of that dusty pink gown she often wore that made her soft skin appear even softer. As if that was even possible. He wanted to rest his head against that softness and fall asleep.

Azriel had never yearned for arms to hold him. Not until Elain.

Something burned behind his eyelids. It would crush him to dwell on it.

“Get a fucking grip,” he muttered to himself, even as his hand returned to once again grip his hardening length.

It would be a long night.

(I just want them to fall asleep in each other’s arms. Is that too much to ask? 😭 I'll be back with an Elain POV next - full of fluff!)

[jasmineandcedar]

The Seer and the Shadowsinger

An Elriel drabble (Elain's POV).

Welcome back to the garden.

________

The garden was quiet, save for the soft hooting of a lone bird somewhere in the distance.

The seer and the shadowsinger were not the only nocturnal beings daring to face the solitude of the hours between dusk and dawn.

Night-chilled mist and cedar blended with jasmine and honey, like shadow blends with shadow in the dimness of night.

Elain ran her fingers through his curls of midnight black as Azriel rested his head in her lap. She felt him relax, the last traces of tension in his muscles evaporating at her touch. He was still in his Illyrian leathers - he had come straight to the town house as he returned from the duties that had consumed him for far too long.

His eyes were closed. He looked so peaceful and serene, yet the fighting leathers told a different story. He was like a beautiful statue carved from mist and shadows. Impossible to grasp. But not for her.

Elain saw all of him.

She ran a featherlight finger over the swirl of tattoos that peaked over the neckline of his leathers. She felt him hum at the sensation, like a cat purring at a gentle touch.

“I could do this forever,” she whispered.

“If that is what you wish,” he murmured.

He kept his eyes closed. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, like some curious bird getting a little too close to the unknown, defying deep-rooted instincts to satiate its curiosity. Elain thought she could live off of that smile of his. Off of all the tiny things he did in her presence that would surprise others, but which she had seen in him that first time he took her to the garden.

Beautiful. He was beautiful.

She saw it, in more ways than one.

“I see you, Azriel,” whispered the seer and the lover in her in unison.

“And what do you see?” asked the shadowsinger, opening his eyes.

“The future.”

[jasmineandcedar]

Wingspan

An Elriel one shot (Azriel's POV).

I find the scene where Feyre asks Rhys about wingspans very amusing, so I wanted to recreate it - Elriel style (with a little bit of Nessian involved). I wanted to capture Elriel's more subtle playfulness. And I wanted to combine the playfulness of that scene with the impact of sharing a gaze with the one you're not supposed to want.

I decided to try and write from Azriel’s POV. I like to watch Elain through his eyes and think of what he sees compared to the others. Because he sees her more than the others, it almost feels like the equivalent of a slow-burn toward getting Elain’s POV (I almost dare not go there, because I’m so excited to get inside her head).

So, this happened. I'm a little embarrassed to post it. I’ll go hide under a rock now.

I fully intended to write something playful and fun, but being a sucker for slow burn and yearning, I couldn’t help myself from venturing into hopelessly romantic territory towards the end...

Warning: sexual undertones

(Please excuse any mistakes, as I’m new to writing and English is not my first language).

-------

“I’ve heard that the size of an Illyrian male’s wingspan says something about the size of another body part”, Nesta said, leaning back in her chair and scanning Cassian sitting across from her. Wicked delight coated her every word.  

Azriel paused, slowing down his chewing. He glanced across the dinner table at Elain, who was clutching her fork as if her life depended on it, her unblinking eyes focused on the food in front of her. Azriel swallowed. The faintest blush was spreading across her face. Were he not entirely in control of his faculties, a smile would have bloomed across his own face at the sight of it.

“And…” Nesta continued, twirling her fork tauntingly between her fingers, her gaze still on Cassian. “I heard Azriel has the biggest wingspan”.

She nodded towards Azriel, gaze still on Cassian, the smirk on her face a willful provocation.

A brief moment of silence passed, broken only by the cluttering of Cassian’s fork as he dropped it to the table.

“That’s it! Bring out the measuring stick,” Cassian boomed, getting out of his chair. The daring look in his eyes was a match to Nesta’s. “We’re settling this once and for all!”

Azriel’s gaze was still on Elain, who looked like she wanted nothing more than to know how to winnow with how her body stiffened, her eyes fixed on her food. Still, he could swear he saw the slightest trace of a smile wanting to break free in the tightening of her jaw. The delicate tensing of her lips. Were he not the Spymaster of the Night Court, and more importantly, irrevocably wrapped around the finger of the middle Archeron sister, he probably wouldn’t have noticed her quiet amusement.

“Az?” Cassian urged.

Azriel finally shifted his gaze from Elain to face his brother. He bit down the smirk that had threatened to spread across his face.

“What?” Azriel said calmly, not betraying his thoughts of the enthralling female sitting in front of him.

“Wingspans”, Cassian said, crossing his arms over his chest. “We’re settling this”.

Azriel rose from his seat.

“I don’t need to resort to it”, he said coolly.

“Come on, Az!” Cassian argued, amusement in his tone.

“You should thank me, Cass”, Azriel said, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he patted Cassian on the shoulder. “At least now it’s not confirmed you don’t have the biggest wingspan”.

He left the room.

-------

“Is it true?”

Elain’s soft voice blended with the gentle crackling of what was left of the dying fire. It was late. The others had already gone to bed, but Azriel had lingered in the sitting room as Elain finished up her preparations for the morning.

And there she was. Emerging from the kitchen, delicate fingers twirling the strings of her apron. Azriel couldn’t fathom how such a simple act could have his stone-cold heart fluttering in his chest. He’d rip apart the fabric of the universe for her to have a lifetime of aprons to twirl between her fingers if she wanted it.

Her gaze was fixed on the floor, lit up by the last traces of the fire that had brazed in the hearth an hour earlier, framing her lovely face in hues of gold. She had let her hair down, loose waves of golden brown spilling over her shoulders.

The sight of her stole his very breath.

Lounging on the sofa, one arm on the armrest, Azriel angled his head, his gaze fixed on the female he could never resist. The one who had shown him so much kindness when he thought he deserved nothing of the sort.

Elain.

“Is what true?” he replied, voice low. He leaned back to rest his jaw on his fist, openly observing her like he could never do when they weren’t alone. He watched her twist a little at the spot, to his delight.

A few seconds passed before her tender voice broke the silence to once again bless his ears.

“What they say about wingspans?”

Something glinted in her eyes, still fixated on the floor. Azriel bit back a chuckle at her bold display, a stark contrast to her sweet demeanour. The paradox of it all made him burn in all the right places.

Wrong places, he corrected himself.

Still, she wouldn’t meet his gaze. A pity. He might drown in those chestnut eyes of hers if she’d let him. Granted, he wasn’t sure he’d survive it. Perhaps this was for the better.

Against that better judgement, he got up and approached her slowly, unable to stay away. After all, they didn’t call him dark without reason. Although, he was certain drowning in Elain Archeron’s chestnut eyes was not the kind of danger they envisioned when they assumed his proclivities. But he wasn’t one to argue. He had hidden behind a protective layer of preconceived notions for centuries. Until her. She could see right through him, and he let her.

And yet, she stayed. Twirling her apron between her fingers.

“What do you think?” he whispered into the night.

He was right in front of her where she stood in the doorframe separating the kitchen from the sitting room. She had gone motionless as he neared, but didn’t shy away as he stopped in front of her, close enough for their breaths to mingle.

Which they did, as a few exhilarating moments passed.

Her gaze flickered to his before dropping to his chest. It was electric, that moment their gazes met. As it had been for a while now. He wasn’t sure when it had started. Wasn't sure what had shifted between them. Or if it had always been there. But that charge between them had become like a tether to him. Something pulling him towards her.

He was desperate for it.

That familiar blush spread across her neck again. He wanted nothing more than to put his lips to it. To taste that immaculate skin of hers. To feel her scent of jasmine and honey on his tongue.

She tilted her head upwards, still not quite meeting his gaze. It drove him mad, and she knew it. Her breath fluttered over the sensitive skin of his neck like a gentle caress. He felt a tremor pass through his body. It settled somewhere low and entirely indecent. Should she come any closer, she would learn all about that wingspan of his. He clenched his jaw to control his shudder at the thought of her pressed against him, starved for her as he was.

The shift in her scent echoed the shift in his. Equally improper. Forbidden, as it were.

Yet it was holy to him.

“I don’t know”, she breathed.

A pretty lie. And he knew that she knew he was aware of it. He also knew that he was the only one to whom she would show this side of her. Daring. A sweet, quiet, intoxicating boldness that would have him on his knees at her invitation. For the second time that day, he resisted the urge to smirk at that quiet boldness. Resisted the urge to grab her flawless chin between his fingers and make those beautiful eyes meet his.

It did not escape him that she did not resist the same urge. An irresistible smirk was spreading across her beautiful face. Feathery lashes rose to reveal her large brown eyes. Azriel felt his breath tighten in his chest when she finally met his gaze and didn’t drop it.

Mother above.

He was drowning.

Unable to resist, he let his fingers brush the string of her apron, where hers had been just moments earlier.

She let her fingers brush his.

Between the two of them, she was the fearless one. He saw it in the quiet moments they collided. Half a millennium of hidden emotion, and yet she could make a mess of him with a single brush of her fingers.

He must have forgotten how to breathe, but he didn’t seem to need it.

He stretched out his wings, to the extent the cramped space would allow it. It hid the two of them from the fading embers of the fire that had painted the room golden. In the darkened silence, he dropped his face closer to hers, his gaze flashing to that irresistible flush traveling up her neck, reaching the delicate line of her jaw.

“I’m sure you can imagine,” he murmured, voice sensual as sin as he shifted his gaze to pierce hers again.

She gasped softly, eyes darting between his wings. Perhaps she hadn’t imagined this.

She would now.

He leaned in further, his mouth brushing her ear as he let a single word escape his lips in answer to her question, no more than the shadow of a whisper.

“True”.

She let out an involuntary sound, something between a moan and a whimper. It rippled over his skin, and he didn’t care to hide his shiver at the sensation. It was barely a breath, but Azriel would remember it. Would think of it as he touched himself to the memory of her tonight, secretly shameless as he was where she was concerned.

He liked to think she’d be equally shameless.

The look in her eyes told him that she would be. In the dead of night, with no one to witness and only her fantasies as company. What he would give to be shameless with her. Not just in thought but in flesh and bone. To show her pleasure beyond imagination.

If only he would be deserving of it.

Yet, something about how she seemed to see right through him and still choose to remain in his presence had a small but desperate part of him believing that he could be. That tiny spark of hope had become his lifeline.

Still not dropping her gaze, he tucked in his wings, finally letting that smirk spread across his face to mirror hers.

“Sleep well, Elain”.

He felt his chest tighten at his own words, wiping away that playful smirk on his face. He saw his reaction reflected in the way her body stiffened. The implication that he always had to leave before they had even begun once again dawning on her.

What he desired more than anything was to fall asleep next to her. To wrap himself around her and stay. To shower her with praise as gentle as her body and spirit until she fell asleep in his arms. His heart was bursting with words meant for her ears only. Words he repeated in his mind over and over but could never release.

It was suffocating him.

He wanted to bury himself in that warmth of hers until it thawed even the darkest parts of him. And he wanted to love her. In every garden, in the night sky, in her bed.

But fate had been cruel to them, and it was too much to ask.

The last embers of the fire flickered and stilled, the sitting room lit only by the cool glow of moonlight.  

“Sleep well, Azriel”.

His name on her tongue was his salvation, but the sadness consuming her was his damnation, a mirror to his wounded soul.

Fate was indeed a cruel and wicked thing. He wanted to crush it with his bare hands for what it had done to the female he loved.

He took a step back and felt the loss of her warmth like the loss of a limb as he did.

“Elain, I…“ he started.

“I know,” she whispered, the touch of her hand featherlight on his as she met his gaze again. Chestnut to hazel. He saw pure understanding in those eyes of soft, warm brown that felt like the only home he had ever known. That sense of connection he felt with her had once shocked him to his very bones. That time he had vowed to get her back when she had been taken. He had cradled her to his chest, terrified to lose her again. Of course, she knew. She knew all of it.

They had never felt the need to clutter their solitude with words.

They didn’t need words; they just needed time.

And he was patient.

He took the hand she had placed on his and laced his fingers with hers like she had twirled that string of her apron. His stomach clenched at the sweet thought of it. A sacrilege it may be, to taint her with him, but he had sworn to never be the one to stifle her.

Sliding his free hand into the soft golden-brown waves framing her face, he leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead, lingering a little longer than necessary.

“One day”, he whispered against her skin. Or perhaps he thought it.

One day he would stay.

“One day,” she replied, so quietly it could well have been a thought. She leaned into his touch, like she always did, sacrilege be damned.

Then, shadows swirling, he was gone, leaving her breathless.

As was he, whenever she was around.

(Click here to read part 2)

[jasmineandcedar]

Flower crowns

An Elriel poem.

The other day, I was thinking of what I find to be two of the most poetic Elriel scenes. I was thinking of the moment where Azriel and Elain are sitting in the garden the first time, and Feyre questions mating bonds over them. And then I thought of the Hybern rescue scene, and I was just filled with such sadness. At that moment in the garden, both of them had no idea about the things they would go through, and the things they would do for each other. He was just sunning his wings, and she was sipping her tea. The theme of romance between them was reinforced in that scene, through Feyre’s eyes, but there was no blatant romance between them just yet. But there was another kind of connection growing. And perhaps, in the despair of the Hybern kidnapping, they’d think back to that moment in the garden, and that’s when something like love began to bloom. So I wanted to connect the two moments in a poem.

I was also thinking about choices versus bonds. I think the direction SJM is heading is for Elain and Azriel to have a Mother blessed bond. But I like the idea of a choice before a bond. So, I like to imagine the Mother blessing them with a bond after, or perhaps because, they chose each other despite the Cauldron. So I had the Mother bless them with a bond like that in the poem.

In my culture (I’m from a Nordic country) flower crowns have a special place in both Norse mythology and our modern-day traditions. They symbolize life and re-birth, and they always make me think of Elain. And from that thought, the theme of this poem was born.

Him.

There was an angel sitting beside him in the garden

Armoured with sorrow, when she should be wearing flower crowns

A day would dawn when he’d look away

And fate would draw her to its den

He’d remember then that angel in the garden

Would see her glow like the sun in a flower crown

She had smiled at him, despite her pain

He’d vow to bring her back again

That angel would fight demons with bare feet for him

And in that moment, he would know

That losing her would clip his wings,

But it’s not the wings that he would mourn

There was an angel who had sat beside him in the garden

The stems of her flower crown, entwined with his heart

So, although his life was draining

He held his angel in his arms

Her.

There was an angel sitting beside her in the garden

Clad in dark armour, when he should be wearing flower crowns

A day would dawn when she’d wander astray

And fate would shackle her again

She’d remember then that angel in the garden

Would see him sunning his wings in a flower crown

He had seen her pain yet chose to stay

She’d vow to free them from their chains

That angel would shred his wings for her

And in that moment, she would know

She’d kill kings, kick demons, and conquer fate

To see him sun those wings once more

There was an angel who had sat beside her in the garden

The stems of his flower crown, entwined with her heart

So, although her life was shackled

She kissed her angel, safe from harm

The Mother

There were two angels sitting together in the garden

Both wearing armour, when they should be wearing flower crowns

A day would dawn as darkness held its sway

And fate would taunt them with disdain

She’d remember then those angels in the garden

Souls entwined like the stems of a flower crown

As choices bloomed and shadows waned

She’d vow it wouldn’t be in vain

Those angels would face an army for each other

And in that moment, she would know

That she’d twist the vines of fate herself,

For their flower crowns to grow

There were two angels who had sat together in the garden

She blessed them with flower crowns, entwined them with their hearts

So, although she’d keep their secret

They would not be kept apart

[jasmineandcedar]

Petals

An Elriel poem.

A simple poem about Elriel's kind of desire and affection (sweet and bold).

Him.

A faint smile bloomed upon his face, that none but her would notice. She looked away, but there it was, a flush of dusk and roses. Like petals on her neck and cheeks, he’d pluck them with his teeth.

Her.

She took his outstretched hand in hers, as she breathed a word of praise. He inclined his head, but there it was, petals spread across his face. On each cheek, a faded rose, she’d make him bloom if he’d let her.

Fate.

It was indeed a daring act, to defy what Fate had settled. To twist and bend it to their will, and all they needed were some petals. The courage it took had left its mark, Fate couldn’t help but let them.

I am no writer, and I don't claim to be. This fandom is a little scary. So please, bear with me as I simply explore creative writing out in the open, in what is not my native language.

Inspiration: The line “and on thy cheek a fading rose” in La Belle Dame sans Merci. A Ballad by John Keats had me thinking of Elriel this morning (when I was supposed to be studying...).

Canon inspiration:

“Azriel offered her a small smile that Elain quickly looked away from.”

“I always thought she was born on the wrong side of the wall,” Elain admitted. “She made ballrooms into battlefields and plotted like any general. Like you two,” she said, nodding to Cassian, and then, a bit more shyly, to Azriel. Azriel offered her a small smile that Elain quickly looked away from. Cassian tucked away his puzzlement. Lucien was certainly not here to snarl at any male who looked at her for too long (ACOSF).

“Color bloomed high on Azriel’s golden-brown cheeks”

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?” She seemed so small before him, so fragile compared to the scales of his fighting leathers, the breadth of his shoulders. The wings peeking over them. But Elain did not balk from him, did not shy away as she nodded—just once. 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).

[jasmineandcedar]

For now | To convince fate         

An Elriel drabble (dual POV).

I woke up today thinking, or perhaps I was dreaming, what if Elain and Azriel convinced fate itself, even for just one night? So, I decided to write something about it.

Warning: Non-explicit intimacy in the first paragraph.

Him.

He looked up at her. Into the warmth of those chestnut eyes he could never resist. For once, he let himself feel it. All of it. Let himself revel in their union. In her softness. Her delicate fingers on his chest. The affection she poured into him with every touch. Her boldness. His name on her lips as she rocked against him where their bodies became one. The sound of his name on her tongue fluttered through him, whispering promises to his heart. He couldn’t help but press himself against her, hands reaching to keep her close.

His eyes travelled across her face. He couldn’t stop it. The awe. At the smile blooming on her lovely face. He breathed her name like the vow it had always been. Since that first time in the garden. He wanted nothing more than to be hers. To bind himself to her. To call her mine. To tie their fates together through sheer will. To love her so fiercely even fate changed its mind. To love her with so much devotion even fate itself would have to rectify the mistake of not giving him to her. He would do that. Oh, he would love her. He would give himself to her.

And perhaps in that moment, fate was convinced. For one night, he was hers. She was his. And it was enough.

For now, he thought.                     

Her.

She looked down at him. Into the depths of those hazel eyes that had seen so much darkness, now filled with something delicate and sacred. She felt his strong body beneath her. His gentle touch on her skin. A paradox he was. Yet she wondered how anyone could ever think he was dark. After all, shadows need light to be seen. And there was light in him. In the depths of those hazel eyes. Hope. She wanted to tie herself to it. A bond of their making. Born out of love and choice. Since that first time he had shown her the song of the wind. She would find a way to do it. To tie herself to that hope. She would carve a way out of fate itself if she had to. She had made that choice long ago. Had chosen him. Chosen herself. Chosen them.

His name slipped between her lips, as it so often did when they were alone. The whisper of a promise. She felt his body react, as it so often did at the sound of his name on her tongue. A smile bloomed on her face. His voice was as soft as the shadows of the night, his eyes consumed by devotion, as he breathed her name in response. A vow.

And perhaps in that moment, she had carved out a corner of fate for them. For one night, she was his, and he was hers. And it was enough.

For now, she thought.

And then, as his vow and her promise were etched into the night, a faint smile bloomed within the depths of Fate itself.

For now.

[jasmineandcedar]

The blurb: A Court of Mr. "Chain me to a tree" and Miss "I hope they all burn in hell"

Azriel to Rhys: "You can't order me to do that".

Elain to the IC: "Find me when you wish to begin".

That's it. That's the next book.

[jasmineandcedar]

Them

It’s him—he, who never thought himself worthy of love—wanted by her, who never thought she had a choice.

It’s her, longing to truly be seen. And him, seeing her as capable and needed when others saw her as mad.

It’s him, scars testifying to the terrors he has endured. And her, seeing his beauty where others saw only those scars.

It's her, feeling lost and confused as her life is turned upside down. And him, taking her to the garden and keeping her quiet company.

It's him, avoiding physical touch but constantly reaching for her. Gently. And her, always welcoming his touch, encouraging it. Equally gently.

It’s her, sidelined and forgotten. And him, crossing enemy lines at the risk of death to get her back.

It’s him, expected to do everyone’s dirty work, surrounded by death and terrors. And it’s her, bringing life into the world and telling him about gardens. And him listening. Coming alive—his eyes brightened, shadows vanished.

It’s her, whom everyone thinks is cowardly and spineless, kicking monsters in the eye for him. Killing kings with his dagger. And him, whom everyone thinks is full of darkness, tilting his head back in joyous laughter because of her. Picking out jewelry for her. Spouting poetry for her. Setting the table for her. Sentimental over her. Blushing over her.

It's he, who always puts himself last, who has learned to manage pain beyond reason. And she, who saw his headaches and brought him a cure. Who saw his lack of sleep and brought him relief.

It’s her, plagued by expectations all her life, sneaking out at night for him. And him, having never expressed a want or need in his life, questioning his religion for her.

It’s them, sharing secret glances and brushing fingers. Then blatant, unrestricted touching. Reaching for each other and reading each other. Secret, consensual, daring. Both sweet and bold.

There’s no antagonism between them, never has been. Not one single instance. There’s no banter or bickering, no games, no playing hard to get. Just connection. Peace and quiet. Sunlight bathing them. There’s kindness and want. Every obstacle between them is external, forced upon them.

They are subtle, never loud. But their actions speak louder than words ever could. And with one brief glimpse into one of their inner worlds, we heard his thoughts screaming for her. Razing. Tormented by staying away.

Is this not, plain as day, the timeless romance? The ultimate love story? Two lovers full of desire for each other, pulled apart by their circumstances—by fate, religion, politics, and power.

And then—the possibility of fate being corrupted. The confirmation that it was. The sliver of a chance. He, who did all of the above for her, wouldn’t rest as long as that sliver of a chance exists. Neither would she, who did all of the above for him. Because despite their circumstances—they have already chosen each other, fate be damned. Their story is the road toward freely living that choice.

To not see it is to close your eyes. Elriel is coming, our preferences and the Cauldron be damned.

And thank the Mother for that.

[jasmineandcedar]

Synopsis: The quiet ones and defiance for love

Today I was minding my own business, thinking about Elain, then thinking about Azriel, then thinking about them, as one does.

I thought about the quiet ones, where you’ll have to look a little further than their sleeve to see what’s in their hearts. And I thought of how they saw each other. Of faint smiles and an outstretched hand. Of sunlight bathing them as he saw her needs. Of her seeing beauty where others saw scars. Of a voice soft as night, and her throat bobbing. Of a thoughtful gift that lit up his eyes and found its place on his bedside table. Of time spent together well into the night. Of shy glances and small smiles.

I thought of charged gazes and brushing fingers.

Then I thought of a cruel fate. I thought of Elain, choice taken from her once again. I thought of Azriel, pained to the point of torment. Of sleepless nights and razing thoughts. Of wants and needs and overheated skin. Of the agony of staying away. Of Elain, well aware of that as she pivots into his touch. Of the two of them, “in the dark and quiet, with no one to see”. Of one secret taste. Of her breathing “yes” as she reads his decision. I thought of his hand in her hair, her lips parting. Of relief and need, and eyes full of trust and hope. Cauldron be damned, the Mother as their witness. Of being right on the edge of bliss as fate, corrupt as it were, once again makes its presence known.

I thought again of how this type of attraction, this depth of connection, the yearning, the longing to the point of agony, the secret boldness, the quiet reassurance, the consent, the kindness, the bond that needs no words. The choosing each other. It is the very substance of romance. It is what you sneak out at night for, “subtle and unnoticed”. It’s secret and forbidden and intoxicating and irresistible. It’s deep and profound and devastating and beautiful. It’s what you question your belief system over. It’s “what if the Cauldron was wrong?” and “you can’t order me to do that”. It’s defiance, for the sake of love. And surely, this is what happily ever afters are for, if there ever were one.

[jasmineandcedar]

“Shadows gathered in the corners of the room, like snakes preparing to strike”

A little too often I think about that time when Azriel’s shadows were ready to strike when Nesta’s words hurt Elain.

And then I remember exactly what it was Nesta said. She implied Elain wasn’t interesting. Which Azriel, naturally, couldn’t stand.

[Nesta, after Elain confronts her] “Look who decided to grow claws after all,” she crooned. “Maybe you’ll become interesting at last, Elain.” Nesta saw the blow land, like a physical impact, in Elain’s face, her posture. No one spoke, though shadows gathered in the corners of the room, like snakes preparing to strike.

Azriel, in fact, found her so interesting that, after all their sweet interactions, all it took was Elain giving Azriel a headache powder and talking to him about gardening until past 3AM and that had him so into her he had to move to House of Wind and exercise well into the dead of night to the point of exhaustion to try to calm his razing thoughts about her so as to not cause a political scandal by acting on their mutual feelings for each other.

That (and much, much more) is, my friends, how interesting Elain Archeron is.

I’m inclined to agree.

(The shadows are quite clearly Azriel. But just to be thorough and keep assumptions and overanalyzing to a minimum, the exact same expression is used just a little earlier when Azriel is arguing with Nesta about giving Cassian a hard time. And just to be extra thorough, the same expression is never used to describe Rhys's shadows.)

Azriel’s mouth curled up at the corner. “I hope you’re not giving my brother a hard time.” She set down her teacup. “Is that a threat, Shadowsinger?” Cassian took a long drink from his own tea. Drained it to the dregs. Azriel said coolly, “I don’t need to resort to threats.” The shadows coiled around him, snakes ready to strike.

[jasmineandcedar]

What it means to be a ribbon

I quite recently found out about the ribbon that I suppose some view as the end of Elriel (after years of enjoying ACOTAR offline, I joined the fandom a few weeks ago, but have been sticking to the Elriel tag). I really don’t want to add to the ship wars, but I find this so incredibly amusing I have to get it off my chest. Because there are some very amusing, probably unintended, implications of the ribbon theory (sorry if this has already been pointed out, but it is new to me). If any Gwynriel shippers come across this, please keep enjoying ACOTAR in the way your hearts desire. I mean you no harm. And if you find I’ve spouted any Elriel content with funny implications, please feel free to point it out if you wish. I will probably laugh with you about it.

‘“Remember how Gwyn was with the ribbon?” Nesta winked and clapped the shadowsinger on the shoulder. “You’re the new ribbon, Az.”

This is the now infamous ribbon that turns Elriel on their heads. But how?

“You’re the new ribbon, Az” is of course a sentence entirely void of meaning if we do not know what the old ribbon signified. Because Azriel is, of course, not a literal ribbon, an inanimate object. He is whatever the old ribbon signified. Which, if you read the book, actually is challenge, because Gwyn is competitive and wants to improve. Azriel, their trainer, proposed a new challenge - the obstacle course - and suggested they wouldn't finish it. That became the new ribbon, the new challenge to overcome. A challenge Gwyn, by the way, most stellarly did overcome – so by now she has probably moved on to a new ribbon, a new challenge. Because that's the kind of character she is (competitive!).

But, for this ribbon theory to work, the old ribbon has to have signified romance. Otherwise, being the new ribbon can have no romantic implication. Meaning the answer to Nesta’s question “remember how Gwyn was with the ribbon” would have to be: Gwyn was romantically interested in the ribbon, or Gwyn was romantically involved with the ribbon, and is now moving on to a new love interest. I’m not entirely sure what the exact nature of Gwyn’s romantic involvement with the ribbon is supposed to have been according to this theory, and in turn what exact implications this is supposed to have for Azriel and how on earth he is supposed to even respond to such a peculiar declaration, thrown at him out of the blue...

No... That doesn't make sense. I don't think Gwyn was romantically interested in the ribbon.

I don’t think this is the end of Elriel. And I don’t think it’s the start of Gwynriel either. But it is a very amusing theory.

[jasmineandcedar]

"No shadows at his ear, no darkness ringing his fingers as he extended a hand."

I've seen there's some discussion in the Elriel tag about the meaning of Azriel's shadows vanishing. I know the idea of them vanishing having negative implications for Azriel is pushed a lot and somehow it seems a lot of people have accepted this as somehow rooted in canon. It isn't. Now, I absolutely don't want to police how people engage with canon, it is a work of fiction and it is totally fine to take creative liberty in how we engage with it. That is not an issue. But I don't like to see people be made to believe that what they've read didn't happen, or to see obvious misrepresentations of canon be pushed as canon if it is to the point that people seem to worry or be confused. I hope this explains my intention with this post. We should all feel free to keep engaging creatively with works of fiction.

Take this as a gentle reminder of the circumstances under which Azriel's shadows vanish.

I've written a longer post where I explore the behaviour of Azriel's shadows (here). But I wanted to post the section about his shadows vanishing in a separate post, so here it is:

We don't really need an explicit explanation of what it means for Azriel for his shadows to vanish to tell the circumstances under which they do, because SJM has quite clearly showed us (which in my view, for my reading experience, is a preferred narrative technique because I it makes me actively engage with the text).

It is true that there is very little overall consistency in the depictions and descriptions of his shadows behavior. One pattern is that if they move around a lot or gather closer to Azriel, he is usually in some form of emotional and/or physical distress. However, this pattern is not entirely consistent. They sometimes do when he is seemingly not in distress.

But there is one pattern of behaviour that is entirely consistent, meaning it is so consistent we can say with certainty that given the current status of canon - we know under what circumstances this happens. The only entirely consistent pattern about the behavior of his shadows is that they are only described as vanishing, fading, or lighting up when he is happy, content, and relaxed. In all five books, this has to my knowledge only (as in, being explicitly mentioned) happened around Feyre, Elain, and Mor (because of Mor, but in the presence of more members of the IC).

[When Feyre first meets the IC] Mor patted Azriel on the shoulder as she dodged his outstretched wing. “Relax, Az—no fighting tonight. We promised Rhys.” The lurking shadows vanished entirely as Azriel’s head dipped a bit—his night-dark hair sliding over his handsome face as if to shield him from that mercilessly beautiful grin. (ACOMAF)

[Feyre, about Azriel] Yes—Azriel, who kept a step away, whose shadows trailed him and seemed to fade in her [Mor’s] presence. (ACOMAF)

[Feyre, flying with Azriel] Then we tilted, shooting straight. Azriel’s body was warm and hard, though those brutalized hands were considerate as he gripped me. No shadows trailed us, as if he’d left them in Velaris. (ACOMAF)

[Feyre introduces Cass, Az, and Rhys to her sisters during their first meeting] “Cassian,” I said, inclining my head to the left. Then I shifted to the right, grateful those shadows were nowhere to be found as I said, “Azriel.” I half turned. “And Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court.” (ACOMAF)

[Banter during dinner with the IC] Cassian only grimaced at Rhys and Azriel. “I told you that the moment we started letting females into our group, they’d be nothing but trouble.” “As far as I can recall, Cassian,” Rhys countered drily, “you actually said you needed a reprieve from staring at our ugly faces, and that some ladies would add some much-needed prettiness for you to look at all day.” “Pig,” Amren said. Cassian gave her a vulgar gesture that made Lucien choke on his green beans. “I was a young Illyrian and didn’t know better,” he said, then pointed his fork at Azriel. “Don’t try to blend into the shadows. You said the same thing.” “He did not,” Mor said, and the shadows that Azriel had indeed been subtly weaving around himself vanished. “Azriel has never once said anything that awful. Only you, Cassian. Only you.” (ACOWAR)

Azriel arrived first, no shadows to be seen, my sister a pale, golden mass in his arms. He, too, wore his Illyrian armor, Elain’s golden-brown hair snagging in some of the black scales across his chest and shoulders.  (ACOWAR)

[During flying lesson with Feyre] Azriel only sat on his heels and offered me a hand up. My flesh burned as I gripped his fingers, a mortifying number of pine needles and splinters tumbling off me. My back throbbed enough that I lowered my wings, not caring if they dragged in the dirt as Azriel led me toward the lake edge. In the blinding sun off the turquoise water, his shadows were gone, his face stark and clear. More … human than I had ever seen him. (ACOWAR)

[Azriel at the town house with Feyre, Cassian, Nesta, and Elain] Cassian’s dark brows narrowed. I dragged a hand over my face before going to Elain and touching her too-bony shoulder. “Can I set you up in the garden? The herbs you planted are coming in nicely.” “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)

[Solstice night] Elain sucked in a soft breath that whispered over his skin. His shadows skittered back at the sound. They'd always been prone to vanish when she was around. (Azriel’s BC)

I think the above examples show his shadows’ behaviour is consistent with the idea of the shadows being there to protect him, by shielding him and informing him (in the longer post I explore how we need to know what the shadows provide to know what it means for them to vanish, see the longer post for excerpts from the books).

If the above is accepted as true. What does it mean for the shadows to vanish? It means there is no need to be shielded, and there’s no need to gather information. Because there’s no need for protection. He is safe and content. The shadows vanish when he is safe and not under any form of emotional or physical distress. This view seems entirely consistent with canon (as seen above).

It is also true, if we look at canon, that Azriel's gentle and soft traits come out the most around Feyre and, even more, around Elain - two of the only three people in whose presence his shadows are described as vanishing or fading (again, there are excerpts from canon in the longer post that show this). To say that his shadows vanishing is somehow indicative of the shadows not liking that person, or that person being evil or bad for Azriel is simply not aligning with canon. Canonically, the shadows only vanish when the opposite is true.

Shadows vanishing coincide with Azriel being able to express his caring and gentle side, not needing to be stone-faced and shielded. As such, his shadows vanishing cannot be described as anything other than positive (meaning Azriel is in a positive situation). Not needing his shadows is character development for Azriel, as it seems to mean he is letting go of being unreadable and guarded and constantly informed of his surroundings. He is joking and connecting with Feyre by the lake during her flying lessons (shadows vanished). He is relaxed, happy and content (and smitten, to put it lightly) around Elain (shadows vanished).

To conclude, who is the only person around whom the shadows are described by Azriel himself, the one the shadows keep company, as “prone to vanish” (Azriel’s BC)? Elain. It now becomes quite clear what it means for his shadows to vanish.

[Azriel flies Elain to the town house] Azriel arrived first, no shadows to be seen, my sister a pale, golden mass in his arms. He, too, wore his Illyrian armor, Elain’s golden-brown hair snagging in some of the black scales across his chest and shoulders. 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?” She seemed so small before him, so fragile compared to the scales of his fighting leathers, the breadth of his shoulders. The wings peeking over them. But Elain did not balk from him, did not shy away as she nodded—just once. 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)

[Elain and Azriel in the garden] 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)

With the two quotes above, I want to tie this to the symbolism of light and dark surrounding Elain and Azriel. So I will now perhaps speak a little in symbolic terms: Azriel relaxes in the presence of light. His shadows vanish. There is peace and quiet in the presence of light. He suns his wings where there is light. Why? We know how defensive Illyrian males are about their wings. Rhys didn’t let anyone so much as touch his wings for 500 years. So, what could it mean for an Illyrian male to be so relaxed as to sun his wings in someone’s company? There is only one reason any Illyrian male would be so lax about their surroundings as to sun his wings. To sun your wings is to be safe. His shadows, who shield and protect him, do not need to do so where there is light.

Around whom do his shadows vanish? Around whom are they even “prone to vanish” (Azriel’s BC)? Around the one with whom he is the most gentle and soft, because she inspires it and that is who he is when he is not in distress. Around the one who is consistently described as the very manifestation of light and sunshine. She is “like a summer dawn” (ACOMAF), “full of light”, like a “blooming spring” (ACOWAR), a “bloom of color and sunshine” (ACOFAS), “glowing like the sun at dawn” (Azriel’s BC), with a smile “as bright as the setting sun” (ACOSF).

Elain.

The lovely fawn, blooming spring vibrant behind her.

I think Feyre was partly wrong. At least, she only got half of the equation right. She said Elain would cling to Azriel for some peace and quiet (ACOMAF). From what we have seen, it goes both ways. Azriel clings to Elain for peace and quiet. In doing so his shadows vanish. Because he is safe, content, and himself.

And then, shadows vanished, he suns his wings.