#Rhys being a busybody... as usual

[aldbooks]

Gwynriel Week 1 Day 4 - "You're the new ribbon Az"

Vaguely inspired by this lovely artwork.

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Rhys approached the small crowd that had gathered in the training ring, having been summoned by Feyre, who had been training with the Valkyrie that morning. The tension and concern quickly drained out of him, morphing into bemusement, as he observed what was happening. Unsurprisingly, he spotted Mor and Amren perched on lounge chairs nearby, glasses of wine in hand as they observed the show. 

Cassian stood a few feet away, arms crossed over his massive chest, shaking his head as he watched. Beside him, his mate and Emerie were half hunched in silent laughter. Rhys carefully made his way to his mate, who stood next to Cassian, also clearly amused. The priestesses still lingering to watch, quickly bowed out of his way as he passed them and he greeted them with polite nods.

He had a better view once he joined them and nearly burst out laughing himself. Gwyn and Azriel stood across from targets, blindly firing arrows as they glared at each other. Or, more accurately, Gwyn was glaring, and Az was smirking. It did not escape Rhys' notice that the Shadowsinger's shadows would stealthily snap out on occasion to either straighten the path of Gwyn's arrow, or knock their masters' slightly off course. A small group of nervous looking acolytes stood behind them, dumping arrows into their quivers as they emptied and the targets were littered with arrows, some broken or split in half and he was half surprised they hadn't fallen from the weight. 

"How long have they been at this?" he murmured. 

Feyre snorted. "Oh, about... a quarter hour?"

He blinked, somewhat startled. Cassian shot him an amused grin. "They started with daggers." He nodded to the opposite end of the room where Rhys found a pair of practice dummies riddled with an alarming amount of knives. 

Brows lifted, his attention turned back to the dueling pair who were still glaring at each other. "Have they even looked once at the targets? Who's keeping score?"

"Oh, we gave up on that about 5 minutes in when they started throwing daggers too fast for us to tell who landed what," Emerie explained, still laughing. "They kept trying to hit each other's targets, as well as their own."

"And, of course, the more Az goaded her, the more determined Gwyn became to beat him. Hence that truly impressive scowl," Nesta's silver eyes flashed with vicious delight. 

He flashed her a grin. "Do you think they're even aware anyone else is still here?" he asked no one in particular. "Or do you suppose they think their quivers are being magically refilled?"

"Who knows," Feyre chuckled. "I'm not sure they've said a word for at least ten minutes. And I'm afraid if she glares any harder, Azriel will burst into flames."

Just then, Azriel's crooning voice drew their attention back to the spectacle. "Give it up, Berdara. You can't beat me without cheating. Admit it." Casually tossing aside his weapon, Azriel's smirk turned condescending. "Your aim has improved, but you're still leagues behind me, sweetheart."

Emerie hissed quietly and winced as Gwyn bristled, tossing down her bow. "Don't call me sweetheart," she said through gritted teeth. "You- decrepit old bat."

The acolytes carefully backed away from them as Azriel let out a menacing chuckle and stepped closer. To her credit, Gwyn didn't back down, just balled her fists at her sides and continued glaring up at him. 

"Well, this old bat is still kicking your ass, little one." 

A snarl curled her lips, and Rhys could've sworn her hair seemed to glow a brighter shade of red. "Yes, that's quite the boast, Spymaster. A female with barely a year of training, nearly bested your centuries worth. Perhaps you should practice more, your skills are bit dusty- sorry, rusty. Oh, ancient one."

This time, it was Azriel who bristled, even as he tried to play off his pricked pride with a scoff. "You only hit as many targets as me because my shadows decided to help you out."

Gwyn's snarl slid into a smirk as she taunted, "Because they like me better." As if in confirmation of that bold fact, Rhys saw- to his astonishment- a few brave souls dart out to wreath the priestess' shoulders. 

At that point, the argument devolved into childish bickering. All the while, the two gradually inched closer until they were nearly chest to chest, their faces a breath apart. Mor, he noticed, was on the edge of her seat, watching intently and he swore he spotted gold changing hands between Cassian and Feyre when, instead of the kiss that seemed inevitable, Gwyn sniffed and shoved past Azriel, ignoring them all. The remaining priestesses quickly scattered.

For a long moment, Azriel stared at nothing, looking vaguely disturbed, as Nesta and Emerie burst into laughter and Feyre tsked in annoyance. Mor fell back into her seat with an annoyed huff. And Cassian... grinned while counting out ten gold coins. For his part, Rhys just observed, caught between confusion and amusement. 

He'd noticed Azriel's protectiveness towards the young priestess before, particularly after she'd been taken into the Blood Rite but, at the time, he'd written it off as concern for one of his students. He was not unaware that Azriel was the reason Gwyn had been brought to the Library, but she was certainly not the only female he'd had a hand in rescuing over the years and, unlike most, she seemed almost bizarrely unfazed by him. Utterly unafraid to challenge him.

An admirable quality to be sure.

Now, he wondered if perhaps there was more going on up in the House of Wind than he'd previously been aware of. 

To round out the strange morning, he watched his brother startle when Nesta sauntered over, and slapped a hand on his shoulder. Like he'd been snapped out of a daze, Az blinked and shook his head before glancing down. "I told you Az," Nesta teased. "You're the new ribbon." 

At that curious statement, Rhys glanced towards his mate who shrugged. With one last contemplative glance at Azriel, Rhys turned back for the house. "Where are you going?" his mate's voice spoke in his mind.

"To have a chat with a priestess."