#a questionable attempt at a birthday tale by offtorivendell

[offtorivendell]

A Long-Expected Party: Part I, The Fellowship of the Fling

Otherwise known as Elain's Eleventy-First Birthday Bash

This was written for @nikethestatue, and inspired by our joint love of anything The Lord of the Rings and Elriel, with a side of my own experience in throwing a surprise 21st for a loved one.

Read it on AO3, if you'd prefer.

Credit:

My endless gratitude goes out to the amazing @gopeachllama for being my beta.

Thank you to the lovely @wingedblooms for naming Elain's dagger.

The orphanage that Elain volunteers at was inspired by @nikethestatue 's own wonderful, ongoing multi-chapter fic, Of Fawns and Shadows.

The first part of the prologue was heavily inspired by the beginning of The Fellowship of the Ring, and other easter eggs are included throughout the rest of the fic (all chapters).

'Andwise' was the name of Samwise Gamgee's uncle.

Parts II and III to come.

Disclaimer: based on the characters and world owned by SJM, with a splash of Tolkien.

Trigger warnings: language, discussion of non-canon death of a character.

PROLOGUE

When Mr. Azriel Archeron, Shadowsinger and Spymaster to the Night Court (as well as Prince of the Court of Nightmares) quietly announced that he and his wife would shortly be celebrating her eleventy-first birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement around the land. None of it within earshot of the birthday-fae herself, though, as everyone understood that Azriel and his family intended to surprise Elain with a night she would never forget.

Elain was very kind and very friendly, if a little peculiar in her choice of husband, and had become beloved by the people of Velaris, the Court of Nightmares, and Rosehall’s local village alike over the last eighty odd years, ever since the remarkable events that surrounded her being turned from a human into a High Fae, and the two resulting wars, became known. Not the whole story (never that), but enough that she, along with Feyre and Nesta, had become a local legend, and it was popularly believed that the three Archeron sisters, all now faeries, were blessed. And if that was not enough for fame, there was also her unnervingly accurate visions--touched by the Mother, was the whispered conclusion--not to mention her incredible healing magic and skill with potions; those whom she treated often marvelled that it was as if they had ‘been reborn.’

There were some who shook their heads and thought that this was too much of a good thing; it seemed unfair that any one faerie should possess (apparently) perpetual goodness and a (reputedly) inexhaustible healing power. Others, though, believed that Elain, who was generous with both her time and magic, helping with community gardens and baking for local charities in addition to her duties as a member of the High Family, along with her sisters, to be one of the best things to happen to the Night Court in many a century.

***

Long before Nesta had decided to celebrate her own one hundred and eleventh birthday, over a year earlier, all three Archeron sisters had learnt that the milestone was akin to a human's twenty-first birthday, which both Nesta and Elain had neglected to mark, as their means at the time had not extended to a Sunday roast, let alone something so grand and frivolous as a birthday party. Elain hadn't even had real flowers when she turned twenty-one, as the harsh January weather had made any attempts to grow or procure them either impossible, or outlandishly expensive. The closest she had ever come to flowers for her birthday were the seeds that Feyre would gift her when she could, often bought the year before and hidden away, or wooden figurines that her father had carved for her when he'd had the inclination.

Suffice it to say that Azriel, on learning his wife--for that is what Elain insisted on being called, no matter that they were also carranam--had missed her true twenty-first birthday out of necessity rather than desire, went straight to her sisters the next chance he got, followed by her two closest friends, and began planning a party for their nearest and dearest, that ended up expanding in scope to include their local town, and friends far and wide. He knew he couldn’t change the past, but he could make up for the lost experience, if nothing else.

After all, Azriel thought, Elain, who baked and cooked and prepared gardens for everyone else's major life events, surely deserved such an experience for herself.

PART I - The Fellowship of the Fling

Being the year of Nesta Archeron’s 111th birthday; approximately 85 years after the defeat of the Death Lord Koschei, which heralded the Third Age of Prythian, otherwise known as the Age of Harmony (between faeries and humans).

Nesta's good friend and fellow Valkyrie, Emerie, had once asked, decades earlier, whether Elain and Nesta would each have a seventy-fifth birthday celebration (the age at which the High Fae, at least, were considered 'mature') but the Archeron sisters had been adamant that it would be strange to celebrate a milestone that they had technically passed long before being turned. So, in order to ascertain whether or not Elain would view the High Fae version of a human’s twenty-first birthday in the same light, Azriel first sought out the opinions of her sisters.

It had been nigh on impossible to see Feyre or Nesta absent Elain for the month before Nesta’s celebration so, fortuitously spying his wife’s sisters getting in some light sparring at the training pit on top of the House of Wind the morning after Nesta’s own party, Azriel gently banked, letting his wings stretch wide; the coastal currents caught the powerful membranes, making them sing, as he coasted in to land cleanly at the edge of the ring, shadows trailing in his wake.

Feyre and Nesta had both come a long, long way from their initial lessons in the art of swordplay and, after waving at them to continue to the end of the bout, Az spent the next quarter of an hour listening to the metallic sting of clashing swords as they broke through the up-beat orchestral music that flowed from Nesta’s symphonia, enjoying the lightly briny air, and appreciating the fluidity of the sisters' movements, their skills with the Illyrian long swords that they wielded with ease, using a weathered warrior's keen eye.

When the two steely blue-eyed Archerons finally parted, panting only a little after running through drills, and then a mock battle, to clear the cobwebs of Nesta’s party the night before, Azriel stepped forward into the early morning light, shadows brightening around his shoulders.

"Nice moves you've got there," he quipped with a small smile. "Your teachers must be very proud."

Feyre grinned back, eyes bright with mirth, while Nesta simply snorted--his shadows skittering at the sound--and tapped her symphonia to silence it.

Az had slowly realised that, ever since Elain had chosen him, and he'd allowed her into his world, he was actually comfortable showing more of himself around his family than he had ever been before. He was still a male of few words, as was his nature, but Azriel much preferred this current, relative ease to his closed-off self of almost a century ago.

"To what do we owe this pleasure?" Nesta responded, monitoring him as closely as she did everyone. The corner of her mouth curling upward was his only warning before she continued, "I would have thought that you and Elain would not be making an appearance until much later today, the way you two were carrying on, out on the balcony last night."

Azriel stilled, shadows writhing against his control as he reigned them in; his cheeks reddened as he found, to his dismay, that he could not blame the harsh wind that usually raged around the training pit at this time of year, for it was unusually absent this morning.

Nesta chuckled, and Feyre outright guffawed.

"Thought no one could see you, hmm? Well, we did. Didn't your friends there let you know?" She gestured at the traitors currently peeking out from behind his shoulders.

His mask now firmly in place, Azriel still cringed internally. They had tried to tell him something, but after he'd ordered them to only interrupt him if something was drastically the matter, they had quietened down, then disappeared once more. He had quickly forgotten them once he resumed his enthusiastic ministrations of Elain’s velvet-soft neck.

Coughing lightly, he decided that simply changing the subject was his best bet. He was used to his brothers' good-natured teasing, but it was still a little odd coming from his two sisters-in-law. Nesta in particular, he found, didn't hold back.

"I was actually here with a question, if I can have a minute or so of your time?"

"Of course," Feyre said, shading her eyes with a lightly callused hand. "I could do with a drink of water. What do you need?"

"Well, it's about Elain--nothing is wrong!" He changed tactics quickly, when both sisters snapped their eyes to his. "I simply needed your opinions on something, both as her sisters, as well as the only other two people to have begun life as humans, before becoming High Fae as adults. Your notion of time, and the significance of its passing, will be closer to hers than mine ever will be."

Nesta’s blue eyes softened, while Feyre’s gaze became curious.

"Spit it out, Az. It can't be that bad."

"It's not, at all." Azriel sighed. "I've just been thinking, recently, about Elain's one hundred and eleventh birthday. I want to surprise her and throw her the party she never had for her twenty-first as a human, the one she deserves, but I don't even know if she'd want it." His eyes slid to Nesta as he continued, "I know that neither of you were interested in throwing the traditional seventy-fifth birthday celebration that the High Fae use, given you had been considered 'of age' for years when you were Made, but you chose to celebrate your one hundred and eleventh birthday last night, even though you were nearing twenty-four when you became High Fae." He paused, not wanting to stir up any bad memories. "Why was that? And do you think Elain would want to celebrate her birthday, when it comes?

Nesta hummed softly, tapping her fingers against the sheathed blade at her hip. "I can't say with complete certainty but, to most humans, a twenty-first birthday is not the same as an eighteenth."

Az arched an eyebrow, and she continued. "At eighteen we are--were--considered adults, but according to an ancient human civilisation, from the Continent, I think, twenty-one was a sacred number, because it signified the point at which a person had completed three of their ten stages of life. Really, though, it's become more of a celebration of the person themself, where friends and family share anecdotes, eat good food and dance the night away. As we did last night." She paused. "Come to think of it, why is one hundred and eleven years significant to the High Fae?"

Azriel blinked. It wasn't often that someone caught him off guard, but Nesta, with a thirst for knowledge only rivalled by Elain and Rhys, was one of those who ranked more likely to accomplish the task. "You know what? I'm not sure if it's based upon a similar principle, or something completely different." He caught himself frowning just in time to clear his expression. "Illyrians don't share the custom, so I'd have to report back to you on that."

Feyre finished her second cup of water, then looked to the sun. Az knew her talents, honed during the years she had hunted to provide for her family, extended to being able to tell the time to within ten minutes of accuracy without a clock, as long as she had a decent view of the sky. It was an impressive skill, even for a member of the High Fae.

"I think she'd love a celebration with her friends and family." She nodded to her eldest sister, "As Nesta said, we would simply be celebrating her, not an irrelevant milestone."

Azriel nodded, the shadows at his shoulders and elbows brightening at his relief. He'd assumed as much himself, but hadn't wanted to risk proving the truth of the famous old adage in the worst possible way. Hurting Elain was always the last thing he ever wanted to do.

"Thank you both. I'll let you get back to it."

Feyre grimaced. "I'm done for the morning, actually. Rhys and I will be spending the day planning Nyx’s increased role in the running of the Night Court."

Az grinned knowingly, as she continued, "He's got a good head on his shoulders, but he'd much rather be running drills and missions in the middle of nowhere with his squad. Which is fine, of course, and Lord Devlon and Cass agree that he's showing great promise--Devlon only grudgingly, obviously--but he needs to know more. Astrid is now studying education, she has grand plans of opening publicly funded schools across the Night Court, and she's only eighty-two. Nyx is coming up to eighty-five; he needs to learn how our Court runs, beyond his beloved Illyrian Mountains."

They were all proud of Nyx, their entire family. Azriel, though he might still have lingering reservations about the people from which he came, had to acknowledge the strides that Cassian, Emerie and Nyx had made in providing equitable access to opportunities for all Illyrians, high-born, females and bastards alike, especially since the Valkyries had permanently relocated their training facilities to a camp just outside Windhaven, much to Devlon's dismay. It had allowed Emerie to reclaim her place in her society, and work from there. It also didn't hurt that Azriel would never forget the moment Devlon had realised that ‘the witch’ would be living in the next valley over, his reaction to the news so comical that Rhys had even commented that the wind would change, and leave him permanently stuck ‘looking like he'd fallen face first into a pile of pegasus shit’ if he wasn’t careful.

Adjusting his wings in preparation for flight, letting them get a feel for the still-gentle air currents wending their way around the ring, Az reminded Elain’s sisters that the party was meant to be a surprise, bid farewell to Nesta, who would be heading back to Illyria with Cassian later that evening, and gave Feyre a quick wave before he strode over to the precipice and threw himself into the morning sky.

Free-falling, shadows streaming behind him like a comet's tail, he snapped his wings open at last and began to regain altitude. Elain hated it when he did that, claiming that the thought of his wings cramping up made her sick with worry during the initial plummet--not that he'd ever done it with her in his arms…well, not more than once, and not from a very tall height at that--but it felt good, to test himself against the self-preservation instincts that he had never quite completely shaken, learning to fly as late as he had. Elain knew this, but still she tightened her lips and went white as death if she saw the display, and embraced him for a little longer than usual the next time she could.

Around fifty years ago, when they had all been holidaying at the cabin one summer, having left Azriel's mother in charge of all their littles--her own grandchildren and 'bonus grandkids' alike--a series of bets between Rhys, Cass and himself had escalated to the point where they had been playing a game they called ‘wings-out chicken’ from the nearest overhang of considerable height. Feyre had realised what was happening, and winnowed herself and Nesta in to watch from the opposite peak, while Elain had used their shadows to join them in witnessing the spectacle. That evening had been… extra enjoyable, to say the least. The complaints from Rhys and Cassian the next morning had left him smug for the rest of the week; the fact that Elain's pretty flush would spread as far down as her chest whenever someone whispered ‘wings-out’ within her earshot ever since was an added bonus.

Like her sisters, Elain had also come a long way from her rigid, stifled upbringing, casting aside her certainty that she had to prove to her mother that she was the perfect lady, even to the grave, but as he could attest himself, old habits die hard; he understood lingering hang-ups. While Elain might not actually care as she used to, she couldn’t help the ingrained reaction. In any case, Az didn’t mind that his wife was a blusher; it had never affected her work on assignments, she looked gorgeous while doing so, and he did love to tease her.

Banking to aim for the River House, where his scheduled weekly meeting with Nuala and Cerridwen took place, Azriel inhaled the fresh coastal air and flew.

***

The aroma of freshly baked bread drifted out of the open windows to greet Az, dancing with the herbal scents from the kitchen garden that Elain still tended for her sister’s household, to create a veritable melody for his senses as he landed silently in the courtyard behind the River House. He could hear a trio of familiar voices inside, Elain and the half wraith twins, as he hurried through the door on cat-soft feet.

Cerridwen was facing the entrance as he appeared, shadows gracing her sides but, accomplished spy that she was, she showed no sign of acknowledging his presence on her face.

No knives, his shadows whispered to him. Only bread. Nuala is in adjoining room. It was safe to proceed, so he stepped forth, silently. Elain, with her back to him, turned a little the second before he wrapped his arms around her waist.

"You're off your game, Husband." She chuckled. "Time was, you wouldn't have let me smell you until it was too late."

He grinned into her hair, "Morning, you two."

Cerridwen simply rolled her eyes at him and joined Nuala in the butler's pantry. He’d seek them out later; he was running early, anyway.

He looked down at Elain over her shoulder, as she finished sorting the last of the still-warm bap rolls onto the trays she used to transport them to the local orphanage for Sunday lunches, then pressed herself back into his chest. He felt her relax into him, her upright posture softening to complement his form.

"You've already seen me this morning. Or had you forgotten, in your dotage?" Feigning concern, she hummed. "Maybe it's time to speak to Madja about a nursing home? Our children have barely flown the nest, I'm not sure I'm quite ready to care for another so soon."

Az laughed at that, deep and joyful, and Elain joined in after a beat, turning into him for what she called a ‘proper hug.’ He squeezed her right back, inhaling her scent of jasmine and honey, letting it settle over him like a comforting blanket. He didn't care that they weren't mates, their carranam bond ran deeper than he could ever have imagined, and he could not conceive of loving or needing anyone more than he did Elain. For the two of them, at least, a mating bond would simply be superfluous.

"Feyre dobbed you in."

"Hmm? Oh," he chuckled into the top of her head, catching up. "That was quick. How will you ‘punish’ me this time?"

Right on cue, a deep pink dusted Elain’s cheeks. “Stop it, you.”

Azriel grinned wickedly, “Make me.” A tea towel playfully slapped his thigh in response, so he tightened his grip around her arms. “Not good enough, Archeron. You call that a slap?”

“Let go of me, Mister Archeron. Give me back the use of my arms, and I’ll make you regret those words. You know I will.” Her voice was firm, challenge issued.

It was true. Elain could defend herself with fists and dagger if she must--she carried her own around, a pair to his Truth-Teller, named Sooth-Sayer--but her true skill lay in utilising anything she could find in a kitchen; she could wield a tea towel with unnatural speed and accuracy. It was almost uncanny.

Azriel thought it the most appropriate thing in the world.

“Maybe later,” Azriel whispered, voice low as his hands slid from her arms to the curves of her hips and gripped, just a little harder than was strictly polite; he wasn’t above using his wiles to get what he wanted. He chuckled softly as Elain shuddered in response.

“Speaking of children,” he wondered, “Have our own headed back to their respective holes yet this morning? Or do I actually get to say ‘goodbye’ to them this time?”

Their eldest two, Androsace and Andwise, dark-haired, brown-eyed twins who had graced them with their unanticipated presence less than a year after the war with Hybern finally ended, were off completing courses to further their studies in modern healing techniques; primarily in the Dawn Court, but also wherever they were needed. Androsace, known to her family as Rosa, while possessed of strong healing magic, had chosen to specialise in pharmaceuticals, at least for the moment, and was studying under Nuan, the brilliantly-minded fae he had met shortly after Elain and Nesta were turned. Andwise, or Andy, with a magical strength to match his sister, found he had a natural hand for surgery, and had even taken classes from Dawn’s High Lord Thesan himself. Given the number of toys and gadgets that he had taken apart as a child, this particular skill did not surprise either of his once-exhausted parents. Neither twin had wings, though both had developed their own shadows at around ten years of age--curiously, though, the twins’ shadows were much lighter than Azriel’s ever were. Having grown up with more opportunity than Azriel, they had opted to stay out of their father’s profession, to which news he had been both secretly and massively relieved. He knew they would likely see battlefields as healers, and had ensured that, like their mother, they could defend themselves as required--Rosa in particular had a mean right hook, and Andy was incredibly creative with his shadows--but to not have to worry about them every day was a blessing.

Approximately eight years after they had had their twins, Elain had come across a pair of Illyrian siblings, newly arrived in Velaris’ orphanage, where she had been volunteering since the war against Hybern. Their father had been lost in the final battle against Koschei, and their mother had struggled to provide for them by herself, eventually passing on from a nasty, consumption-like illness--or so Elain had been told. The ten year old boy, Archer, had opted to stay with his eight year old sister, Aerides, or Aeri, out of loyalty, rather than stay in training. He had been heartbroken over the loss of his training, in addition to the death of his remaining parent, but his conscience hadn’t let him abandon her; he was very much like Cassian, in that regard. Knowing their chances of being adopted in Velaris were reduced, due to both age and, sadly, the still prevalent prejudice that existed against Illyrians at the time, and having started to bond with sweet little Aerides almost immediately, Elain had told Azriel that they were coming home with them as soon as possible, and that was that.

After a year at home with the Archerons, Archer--who still wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at his newly granted surname seventy odd years later, though he hadn’t had one before--had quietly asked to resume his warrior training, wishing to honour his birth father, and finally feeling comfortable enough to leave Aeri in her new home. Archer now had three siphons, and flew in Nyx’s squad as a bowman, the two firm friends, and Aeri had developed a love and talent for baking so strong that she had been accepted into the Winter Court’s prestigious Academy of the Baking Arts, to train as a pâtissier.

Ice-cold fear had torn at Azriel, to let one of his children go so far, especially one of the two who couldn't winnow in any capacity, or wanted anything to do with a warrior’s training past basic self-defence, but the Winter Court had always been stable, excepting the years of Amarantha's reign; Elain, while sad to see Aeri go, had given Azriel a very pointed look and told him he was stifling her. Knowing Elain’s personal history as intimately as he did, this was the last thing he wanted to do to one of his own daughters, so he had simply asked her if she'd consider taking a shadow for emergencies. In true Aeri fashion, however, she had soon discovered that the shadow liked to be worn as a necklace, instead of being left at home or in her satchel, the curious being even going so far as to change decorative charms on its own whim...and so ‘Jewel’ had earnt its name.

Finally, when Archer was twenty-two years old--having just been granted the first of his three siphons--and the twins and Aeri twenty, Elain had discovered, to their joy, that she was pregnant again. Azriel never knew how much of their lives Elain had foreseen, but he didn't ask her to share details, knowing that not only would she always warn them of any emergencies she Saw, but that she also wanted as 'normal' a life as possible. The next spring they had welcomed another daughter, Asphodel, or Della. Unlike the twins, who had primarily inherited their mother’s gift for healing, Della’s magic was pure shadow. She wasn’t as powerful as Azriel, though he suspected it was only a matter of time, as her strength still grew with each passing decade; like Rosa and Andy, her shadows were also brighter than his, though at that time he still could not have told anybody precisely why this was, had they asked (after decades of thought, he had come to the tentative conclusion that Elain’s light had combined with his shadows to create whatever magic it was that had blessed their children). Della had also been born with wings, though, luckily, Elain hadn’t needed any assistance during her birth. They had joked, after her easy pregnancy with Androsace and Andwise, who had turned out to both be...generously-proportioned babes, that Elain was blessed by the Mother herself, but after Asphodel and her wings had been born without any issue at all, their jokes became more like reverent praise. True to her adventurous nature, Della had flitted around between dreams, sampling as much of life as she could. When she was in her fifties, after achieving a well-rounded education, even if none of it was specifically vocational, she had finally spoken to Nesta about becoming a Valkyrie. Now in her early sixties, she was a fully fledged Valkyrie, who also worked as a junior agent in the Night Court’s intelligence program.

After his earlier relief at the twins staying out of his chosen-for-him field, Azriel had felt like it was some sort of peculiarly nasty cosmic joke at his expense. That being said, once Della decided on a course of action with her whole heart, there was never any changing her mind. So, with a father’s innate desire to protect balanced by the knowledge he couldn’t do so forever, he had taken her under his wing (pun absolutely intended, thank you very much, his children groaned every time he used it) and given her the best grounding that he could in training her shadows in communication, self-defence and winnowing at a second’s notice, as well as a battery of highly intricate flying maneuvers that her smaller wingspan allowed her to complete with more ease than he and his brothers had ever managed.

Elain chuckled, bringing him back to the present as she shook her head. “All five of them are at Rosehall with Mama; they’ll scatter to the four winds tomorrow morning, according to Aeri. Della will winnow her back to Winter, before she collects Archer and goes with him to Windhaven and the Valkyrie camp.”

“Excellent. Family dinner tonight, then?”

“That’s the plan, Mama already knows to expect us at six o'clock, barring any emergencies.” Azriel loved that Elain was close enough with his mother to use his pet name for her. He knew her own hadn’t been kind to her--to any of the sisters, for different reasons he couldn’t begin to fathom--but she had come to love Azriel’s own mother almost immediately, just as his Mama had with her.

“Now, I’ll give you my report on the firm tomorrow morning, as we planned. I have to get this bread over to the orphanage for lunch before I check on my next batch of potions, and it’s already almost nine. If I’m not careful, it’ll be ten o’clock before I know it and I still won’t have moved an inch.”

After the war against Koschei, and learning that she and Nesta both had the unique ability to unMake mating bonds, Elain had started up a new branch of the Night Court’s intelligence operations that aimed to help any fae who didn't want to accept, or remain in, their own bond, to escape to the Night Court where she and Nesta would unMake the bonds if they wished, or they would be offered sanctuary in a facility similar to the library that had helped Nesta so much. It had taken two decades to see any regular work, and even then, not many faeries felt comfortable contacting them, given the ingrained nature of the mating bond in their culture, but Elain and Lucien, who had both felt trapped in their own bond, but were now good friends, kept an eye out for fae in need wherever they went. Lucien travelled far and wide in his role as part-time emissary and heir apparent of the Day Court, as well as consort to Vassa, to whom he'd tied his life in order to save her from Koschei and his curse. After Tamlin’s death, Vassa, together with Lucien, ruled over the now-combined Spring Court and human lands, which had since become a home for all exiles, not to mention a mecca to those from the Continent, who wanted to see what Vassa and Lucien had done to make their veritable melting pot bubble along happily, rather than boil over.

Luckily, Lucien’s true father, Helion, was still in high health, with a powerful grip on his land, though neither Elain nor Azriel envied Lucien his loyalty to so many Courts, or the decision that he'd likely face when the time eventually came; they were both impressed with his ability to keep on top of everything as it was.

Elain herself went on biannual visits to the Continent, both in her capacity as Princess of the Hewn City and one of the Night Court’s own emissaries. Her unassuming nature and innate charm made her the perfect agent to gather intel in plain sight, as no one, especially in such strongly patriarchal societies, suspected the pretty, beguiling female to possess such a keen eye or sharp mind, let alone the gumption to put those skills to use; she was also a frequent visitor to local temples, letting it be known that she had become quite devout in her worship of the Mother, so her meetings with any fleeing faeries, and the priestesses who helped them out, didn't draw much attention to their underground operation. Keeping it a secret was safest for everyone involved.

It went without saying, though, that he was so, so proud of his incredible wife…which was another card they kept hidden up their shared sleeve. Their carranam bond was known only by their family and most trusted friends, with Azriel and Elain simply calling each other 'husband' and 'wife,' so her ability to use his shadows in her work gave her an upper hand that no one on the Continent yet suspected. The thought always made him smile; he had never contemplated sharing his magic, or expected doing so to feel quite so personal, so much so that he would not have wanted this bond with any other.

Unable to resist, Azriel caressed her curves once more, one hand going to the dip of her waist, the other finding her bottom and giving it a good squeeze while he ran his nose down her neck, inhaling deeply. “Oh, my dear wife, I think I could get you to move by more than an inch.”

Elain shuddered lightly, but in the end she only sighed, placing her hands on his chest as she tipped her head back to look up at him. “It’s a wonder I can get anything done, living with you.”

He bent down to let her kiss him, while she rose up to the tips of her toes to meet him halfway, before taking a step back.

“I really do have to get these rolls to the orphanage well before lunch. Children are more demanding customers than High Lords--you should know this.”

Azriel smiled softly. “Do you need any help?”

She gestured to the shadow who had taken to following her around during the war against Koschei, when he had discovered she was pregnant, but had then absolutely refused to stand by while her family fought for their lives. “I have my assistant, this friendly little creature will get me there in no time.”

“Over eighty years have passed and you still insist on anthropomorphising my shadows,” Azriel cried in mock outrage, hands in the air. "I blame you for giving Aeri the idea to name hers, for Cauldron’s sake."

Elain simply gave him her sweetest smile and, knowing his penchant for baked goods, a fresh bap roll off the top of her tray, before she walked through the door. Heading outside, beyond the wards Rhys had set to prevent anyone but him and Feyre from winnowing directly to or from the River House, she turned at the last minute and called through the still-open window, "See you tonight at Rosehall, my love!" She laughed, “Oh, and don’t forget to bring a tea towel. I’ll have my own at the ready.”

Before long, her shadow grew to envelope her entirely, and she disappeared from view.

***

Nuala and Cerridwen, compassionate friends and employees that they were, gave Azriel ten minutes to enjoy his freshly baked bread with some freshly churned spring butter and leftover bramble jam, before they came back into the kitchen to report as the clock chimed the ninth hour of the morning.

In this time of relative peace, with all seven High Lords working together for the good of Prythian, their workload was much reduced. He could only be glad of it, but they still liked to stay up to date. It had helped them to waylay more than a couple of minor issues over the years, that would have undoubtedly snowballed into catastrophes, if they’d missed them, or let them continue unchecked.

As Azriel wiped the crumbs from the stubble he hadn’t yet shaved this morning, the twins waved him towards their office, hidden behind a false, built-in baker’s rack at the rear of the kitchen. Feyre and Rhys, both well aware that magic couldn’t always save them--that it could, in fact, be used against them--had designed the River House to have more than one secret room or corridor, in case of an emergency. It had only made sense that Nuala and Cerridwen, who, to the outside world, were simply members of their household staff, but in reality were so much more, had claimed this room for their own.

“Spymaster,” they said at once, their midnight eyes twinkling, smiles carefully serene, with voices like the soft light of dusk. “We don’t have much news this morning.”

It had taken their friendship with Elain, and her subsequent relationship with Azriel, for Nuala and Cerridwen to finally stop calling him ‘Lord.’ It had always irked him, because he was no such thing and had never felt worthy of the title, but he had eventually given up hope that his attempts to get them to use his name would be fruitful. However, after Mor had become involved with the Valkyries, vacating her role at the Court of Nightmares in favour of a job that allowed her the freedom to stretch her figurative wings and travel, and Azriel and Elain had been appointed as overseers in her place, they had taken to, when they felt the occasion called, dubbing him ‘Prince Azriel’ with great alacrity.

He knew that they loved to play up their bond as identical twins, often dressing such that their appearances were as indistinguishable as their scents, and speaking in perfect concert with each other. This not only made them more successful as spies, as strangers often didn’t realise that there were more than one of them, but was one of their favourite ways to have fun with people; they both had wicked senses of humour and, to be fair, it was good to keep those skills polished, even in times of peace.

“Nothing out of Vallahan yet?”

“No, Azriel, nothing,” responded Nuala, while Cerridwen’s face remained still. Shadows blurred their edges, their forms halfway to fully noncorporeal, as they often did when the shadow wraiths let their frustration show--mingling between the two of them, comforting each other, almost as if they were becoming the one entity. It was fitting, really, given their innate ability to function as such, and one of the many reasons that he and Rhys valued them so highly as spies and agents. Nu and Cerr were supremely smart, observant, and skilled in all they did.

Az hummed his annoyance at the kingdom of Vallahan. It had sided with Koschei’s forces during the most recent war, and none of the Prythian Courts had made much headway with forming treaties or alliances in the years since. Elain and Mor managed to calm them down when their monarchs started one of their decennial tantrums for more land, for which they were about due again, but nothing firm. Nothing concrete, to bind their nations in a much-needed peace.

Unlike Montesere, their neighbour to the southwest, Vallahan’s ruling class was as inhospitable as their ragged, mostly mountainous country. Montesere had tried to avoid war at all cost, essentially playing each side off the other, which had ended with a dead queen, her king consort in exile and a princess stepping up to the top job with the goal of building bridges with her neighbours. This forward-thinking attitude, combined with Montesere’s more arable lands and warmer climate, meant that they were no longer considered an imminent threat--though they would keep a close eye on them for at least another century.

It wasn’t ideal, but--“Fine. Mor will be heading back there for a fortnight next week, so we’ll brief her before she goes. Until then, our local agents will let us know if anything urgent requires attention.”

Mor would likely be having coffee and cake with Cassian this morning, at their favourite Velaris café, before she winnowed back to the home she shared part time with their ally Viviane’s sister, Tria, in the Winter Court, and Cassian left for Windhaven. He’d have to make sure he saw her when he and Elain went to visit Aerides later in the week, to enjoy the drinking chocolate that had become popular in the last couple of decades. Mor often joined them for such outings, anyway. She and Elain both delighted in the curiously clever creatures that dwelt in the Winter Court, as well as the fashions, and the generally cosy atmosphere of their buildings and people, so at odds with their surroundings.

Rubbing his face with both hands, he sighed. He hadn’t had his coffee this morning, and last night, however enjoyable, was catching up with him. Ever since he’d started sleeping properly, he’d become more attentive to his fatigue; while he could still function on insufficient sleep if he must, he would never enjoy it. Not that he had thought it ideal back then, to be fair, but the difference now was like night and day.

“Anything else pressing, or is it all in your reports?”

“The paperwork covers everything you need to know.” Cerridwen raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, “It looks like you need a nap. Did you not get much sleep last night?” Cultivated innocence dripped from every syllable.

Nuala snorted, knowing full well what her sister meant. The twins had been guests at Nesta’s party, bringing their own partners with them to make merry at the gorgeously appointed ball, their services as agents not required last night, though of course they would always be watching.

Az scowled, the shadows wreathing his shoulders darkening, spreading to his neck and down his arms. They must have already teased Elain this morning, if he was only getting the mild version. “I slept like any male would when he’s next to someone as beautiful as Elain.”

The twins groaned as one, with much enthusiasm; if he had heard correctly, there may even have been some booing. Nuala threw a pen at him, and exclaimed “Out! Now. We don’t get paid nearly enough to put up with that nonsense, and you know we get paid a lot.”

That was fair, maybe he had overdone the ‘husband in love’ routine, just a little bit. He let a soft smirk grace his features just as he remembered he had so far neglected to ask about Elain’s future birthday.

Mother above, he needed some coffee.

Azriel sketched a bow. “Duly noted. I’ll make sure to have Rhysand adjust your winter bonuses accordingly, to allow for such an egregious oversight on my behalf.” Scratching his chin, he then continued, “I do have a question for you both, though; and not work related.”

Eyes bright with curiosity, Nu hummed in acknowledgement, while Cerr motioned with one hand for Azriel to continue with her usual grace.

"As you know, Nesta just celebrated her eleventy-first birthday and, after speaking with her and Feyre earlier this morning, I’ve decided I would very much like to hold such a party for Elain, when she turns one hundred and eleven." He paused, considering. "This would be a surprise for her, but I think a gathering of friends and family, celebrating her, showing her how much we all love her, would be something she would enjoy. Will you help us?"

Cerridwen’s resulting grin was almost maniacal, as Nuala rubbed her hands together with glee. "Yes," they breathed. “We would love to.”

***

Azriel had hardly sat down to his coffee in a quiet, cosy corner of the kitchen--the scent of the rich brew alone beginning to rouse his senses from their insistent slumber--after having availed himself of the River House’s well-stocked larder and cooktop, when Feyre and Rhys softly knocked at the door to the main hall. Entering the room as he looked up, they joined him at his table, Feyre giving him a guilty look as they did so.

A small smile bloomed on Az’s face; that hadn’t taken long at all. “So, you’ve told him, then?”

“You planned to keep the secret safe from me for the next year, at least?” Rhys looked like the cat who had got the cream. “You know that I have experience planning lavish parties; I organised Nesta and Cassian’s mating ceremony, after all.”

He had, too. Though Azriel generally didn’t like to remember that time, and the bad memories that came along with it, he had to admit that Rhys had thrown one extravagant party for their brother and his mate.

“As you wish. Though this sounds much more like you wanting to have a good stickybeak, than anything else.”

Rhys smirked. “I’m a High Lord, ‘stickybeaking’ comes with the territory. And that’s rich coming from you; you’re the reason we have to keep solstice gifts hidden away every year.”

Azriel smirked right back. “Spymaster,” he deadpanned. “‘It comes with the territory.’”

Feyre laughed merrily, eyes shining. “For whatever reason, Rhys is now in on this. And you can be certain that Cassian will know before he and Nesta are even a third of the way back to Illyria this evening. Your hands are tied, Az. We all want to help.”

“Well,” said Azriel. “Such Council will either make everything easier, or much, much harder.”

*

If you enjoyed reading this, please consider reblogging. 💜

Part II - coming soon

Part III - coming soon

[wingedblooms]

Mother above, I adored this first part of your first fic, @offtorivendell. It was the perfect blend of ACOTAR and LOTR. I loved that we were able to see how Azriel relates and interacts with so many different characters, and all of them felt so spot on to me, especially that smug High Lord who spoils his family.

In the books, we know they haven’t fully healed and come together as a family yet. So it was even more wonderful to read about them coming together as a family in the future to celebrate Elain (who, by the way, has the most amazing dagger name ever: Sooth-Sayer. This will forever be the name of her dagger in my mind.). I can’t wait to see how the party planning proceeds in the next part!

A Long-Expected Party: Part I, The Fellowship of the Fling

Otherwise known as Elain's Eleventy-First Birthday Bash

This was written for @nikethestatue, and inspired by our joint love of anything The Lord of the Rings and Elriel, with a side of my own experience in throwing a surprise 21st for a loved one.

Read it on AO3, if you'd prefer.

Credit:

My endless gratitude goes out to the amazing @gopeachllama for being my beta.

Thank you to the lovely @wingedblooms for naming Elain's dagger.

The orphanage that Elain volunteers at was inspired by @nikethestatue 's own wonderful, ongoing multi-chapter fic, Of Fawns and Shadows.

Parts II and III to come.

Disclaimer: based on the characters and world owned by SJM, with a splash of Tolkien.

Trigger warnings: language, discussion of non-canon death of a character.

PROLOGUE

When Mr. Azriel Archeron, Shadowsinger and Spymaster to the Night Court (as well as Prince of the Court of Nightmares) quietly announced that he and his wife would shortly be celebrating her eleventy-first birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement around the land. None of it within earshot of the birthday-fae herself, though, as everyone understood that Azriel and his family intended to surprise Elain with a night she would never forget.

Elain was very kind and very friendly, if a little peculiar in her choice of husband, and had become beloved by the people of Velaris, the Court of Nightmares, and Rosehall’s local village alike over the last eighty odd years, ever since the remarkable events that surrounded her being turned from a human into a High Fae, and the two resulting wars, became known. Not the whole story (never that), but enough that she, along with Feyre and Nesta, had become a local legend, and it was popularly believed that the three Archeron sisters, all now faeries, were blessed. And if that was not enough for fame, there was also her unnervingly accurate visions--touched by the Mother, was the whispered conclusion--not to mention her incredible healing magic and skill with potions; those whom she treated often marvelled that it was as if they had ‘been reborn.’

There were some who shook their heads and thought that this was too much of a good thing; it seemed unfair that any one faerie should possess (apparently) perpetual goodness and a (reputedly) inexhaustible healing power. Others, though, believed that Elain, who was generous with both her time and magic, helping with community gardens and baking for local charities in addition to her duties as a member of the High Family, along with her sisters, to be one of the best things to happen to the Night Court in many a century.

***

Long before Nesta had decided to celebrate her own one hundred and eleventh birthday, over a year earlier, all three Archeron sisters had learnt that the milestone was akin to a human's twenty-first birthday, which both Nesta and Elain had neglected to mark, as their means at the time had not extended to a Sunday roast, let alone something so grand and frivolous as a birthday party. Elain hadn't even had real flowers when she turned twenty-one, as the harsh January weather had made any attempts to grow or procure them either impossible, or outlandishly expensive. The closest she had ever come to flowers for her birthday were the seeds that Feyre would gift her when she could, often bought the year before and hidden away, or wooden figurines that her father had carved for her when he'd had the inclination.

Suffice it to say that Azriel, on learning his wife--for that is what Elain insisted on being called, no matter that they were also carranam--had missed her true twenty-first birthday out of necessity rather than desire, went straight to her sisters the next chance he got, followed by her two closest friends, and began planning a party for their nearest and dearest, that ended up expanding in scope to include their local town, and friends far and wide. He knew he couldn’t change the past, but he could make up for the lost experience, if nothing else.

After all, Azriel thought, Elain, who baked and cooked and prepared gardens for everyone else's major life events, surely deserved such an experience for herself.

PART I - The Fellowship of the Fling

Being the year of Nesta Archeron’s 111th birthday; approximately 85 years after the defeat of the Death Lord Koschei, which heralded the Third Age of Prythian, otherwise known as the Age of Harmony (between faeries and humans).

Nesta's good friend and fellow Valkyrie, Emerie, had once asked, decades earlier, whether Elain and Nesta would each have a seventy-fifth birthday celebration (the age at which the High Fae, at least, were considered 'mature') but the Archeron sisters had been adamant that it would be strange to celebrate a milestone that they had technically passed long before being turned. So, in order to ascertain whether or not Elain would view the High Fae version of a human’s twenty-first birthday in the same light, Azriel first sought out the opinions of her sisters.

It had been nigh on impossible to see Feyre or Nesta absent Elain for the month before Nesta’s celebration so, fortuitously spying his wife’s sisters getting in some light sparring at the training pit on top of the House of Wind the morning after Nesta’s own party, Azriel gently banked, letting his wings stretch wide; the coastal currents caught the powerful membranes, making them sing, as he coasted in to land cleanly at the edge of the ring, shadows trailing in his wake.

Feyre and Nesta had both come a long, long way from their initial lessons in the art of swordplay and, after waving at them to continue to the end of the bout, Az spent the next quarter of an hour listening to the metallic sting of clashing swords as they broke through the up-beat orchestral music that flowed from Nesta’s symphonia, enjoying the lightly briny air, and appreciating the fluidity of the sisters' movements, their skills with the Illyrian long swords that they wielded with ease, using a weathered warrior's keen eye.

When the two steely blue-eyed Archerons finally parted, panting only a little after running through drills, and then a mock battle, to clear the cobwebs of Nesta’s party the night before, Azriel stepped forward into the early morning light, shadows brightening around his shoulders.

"Nice moves you've got there," he quipped with a small smile. "Your teachers must be very proud."

Feyre grinned back, eyes bright with mirth, while Nesta simply snorted--his shadows skittering at the sound--and tapped her symphonia to silence it.

Az had slowly realised that, ever since Elain had chosen him, and he'd allowed her into his world, he was actually comfortable showing more of himself around his family than he had ever been before. He was still a male of few words, as was his nature, but Azriel much preferred this current, relative ease to his closed-off self of almost a century ago.

"To what do we owe this pleasure?" Nesta responded, monitoring him as closely as she did everyone. The corner of her mouth curling upward was his only warning before she continued, "I would have thought that you and Elain would not be making an appearance until much later today, the way you two were carrying on, out on the balcony last night."

Azriel stilled, shadows writhing against his control as he reigned them in; his cheeks reddened as he found, to his dismay, that he could not blame the harsh wind that usually raged around the training pit at this time of year, for it was unusually absent this morning.

Nesta chuckled, and Feyre outright guffawed.

"Thought no one could see you, hmm? Well, we did. Didn't your friends there let you know?" She gestured at the traitors currently peeking out from behind his shoulders.

His mask now firmly in place, Azriel still cringed internally. They had tried to tell him something, but after he'd ordered them to only interrupt him if something was drastically the matter, they had quietened down, then disappeared once more. He had quickly forgotten them once he resumed his enthusiastic ministrations of Elain’s velvet-soft neck.

Coughing lightly, he decided that simply changing the subject was his best bet. He was used to his brothers' good-natured teasing, but it was still a little odd coming from his two sisters-in-law. Nesta in particular, he found, didn't hold back.

"I was actually here with a question, if I can have a minute or so of your time?"

"Of course," Feyre said, shading her eyes with a lightly callused hand. "I could do with a drink of water. What do you need?"

"Well, it's about Elain--nothing is wrong!" He changed tactics quickly, when both sisters snapped their eyes to his. "I simply needed your opinions on something, both as her sisters, as well as the only other two people to have begun life as humans, before becoming High Fae as adults. Your notion of time, and the significance of its passing, will be closer to hers than mine ever will be."

Nesta’s blue eyes softened, while Feyre’s gaze became curious.

"Spit it out, Az. It can't be that bad."

"It's not, at all." Azriel sighed. "I've just been thinking, recently, about Elain's one hundred and eleventh birthday. I want to surprise her and throw her the party she never had for her twenty-first as a human, the one she deserves, but I don't even know if she'd want it." His eyes slid to Nesta as he continued, "I know that neither of you were interested in throwing the traditional seventy-fifth birthday celebration that the High Fae use, given you had been considered 'of age' for years when you were Made, but you chose to celebrate your one hundred and eleventh birthday last night, even though you were nearing twenty-four when you became High Fae." He paused, not wanting to stir up any bad memories. "Why was that? And do you think Elain would want to celebrate her birthday, when it comes?

Nesta hummed softly, tapping her fingers against the sheathed blade at her hip. "I can't say with complete certainty but, to most humans, a twenty-first birthday is not the same as an eighteenth."

Az arched an eyebrow, and she continued. "At eighteen we are--were--considered adults, but according to an ancient human civilisation, from the Continent, I think, twenty-one was a sacred number, because it signified the point at which a person had completed three of their ten stages of life. Really, though, it's become more of a celebration of the person themself, where friends and family share anecdotes, eat good food and dance the night away. As we did last night." She paused. "Come to think of it, why is one hundred and eleven years significant to the High Fae?"

Azriel blinked. It wasn't often that someone caught him off guard, but Nesta, with a thirst for knowledge only rivalled by Elain and Rhys, was one of those who ranked more likely to accomplish the task. "You know what? I'm not sure if it's based upon a similar principle, or something completely different." He caught himself frowning just in time to clear his expression. "Illyrians don't share the custom, so I'd have to report back to you on that."

Feyre finished her second cup of water, then looked to the sun. Az knew her talents, honed during the years she had hunted to provide for her family, extended to being able to tell the time to within ten minutes of accuracy without a clock, as long as she had a decent view of the sky. It was an impressive skill, even for a member of the High Fae.

"I think she'd love a celebration with her friends and family." She nodded to her eldest sister, "As Nesta said, we would simply be celebrating her, not an irrelevant milestone."

Azriel nodded, the shadows at his shoulders and elbows brightening at his relief. He'd assumed as much himself, but hadn't wanted to risk proving the truth of the famous old adage in the worst possible way. Hurting Elain was always the last thing he ever wanted to do.

"Thank you both. I'll let you get back to it."

Feyre grimaced. "I'm done for the morning, actually. Rhys and I will be spending the day planning Nyx’s increased role in the running of the Night Court."

Az grinned knowingly, as she continued, "He's got a good head on his shoulders, but he'd much rather be running drills and missions in the middle of nowhere with his squad. Which is fine, of course, and Lord Devlon and Cass agree that he's showing great promise--Devlon only grudgingly, obviously--but he needs to know more. Astrid is now studying education, she has grand plans of opening publicly funded schools across the Night Court, and she's only eighty-two. Nyx is coming up to eighty-five; he needs to learn how our Court runs, beyond his beloved Illyrian Mountains."

They were all proud of Nyx, their entire family. Azriel, though he might still have lingering reservations about the people from which he came, had to acknowledge the strides that Cassian, Emerie and Nyx had made in providing equitable access to opportunities for all Illyrians, high-born, females and bastards alike, especially since the Valkyries had permanently relocated their training facilities to a camp just outside Windhaven, much to Devlon's dismay. It had allowed Emerie to reclaim her place in her society, and work from there. It also didn't hurt that Azriel would never forget the moment Devlon had realised that ‘the witch’ would be living in the next valley over, his reaction to the news so comical that Rhys had even commented that the wind would change, and leave him permanently stuck ‘looking like he'd fallen face first into a pile of pegasus shit’ if he wasn’t careful.

Adjusting his wings in preparation for flight, letting them get a feel for the still-gentle air currents wending their way around the ring, Az reminded Elain’s sisters that the party was meant to be a surprise, bid farewell to Nesta, who would be heading back to Illyria with Cassian later that evening, and gave Feyre a quick wave before he strode over to the precipice and threw himself into the morning sky.

Free-falling, shadows streaming behind him like a comet's tail, he snapped his wings open at last and began to regain altitude. Elain hated it when he did that, claiming that the thought of his wings cramping up made her sick with worry during the initial plummet--not that he'd ever done it with her in his arms…well, not more than once, and not from a very tall height at that--but it felt good, to test himself against the self-preservation instincts that he had never quite completely shaken, learning to fly as late as he had. Elain knew this, but still she tightened her lips and went white as death if she saw the display, and embraced him for a little longer than usual the next time she could.

Around fifty years ago, when they had all been holidaying at the cabin one summer, having left Azriel's mother in charge of all their littles--her own grandchildren and 'bonus grandkids' alike--a series of bets between Rhys, Cass and himself had escalated to the point where they had been playing a game they called ‘wings-out chicken’ from the nearest overhang of considerable height. Feyre had realised what was happening, and winnowed herself and Nesta in to watch from the opposite peak, while Elain had used their shadows to join them in witnessing the spectacle. That evening had been… extra enjoyable, to say the least. The complaints from Rhys and Cassian the next morning had left him smug for the rest of the week; the fact that Elain's pretty flush would spread as far down as her chest whenever someone whispered ‘wings-out sex’ within her earshot ever since was an added bonus.

Like her sisters, Elain had also come a long way from her rigid, stifled upbringing, casting aside her certainty that she had to prove to her mother that she was the perfect lady, even to the grave, but as he could attest himself, old habits die hard; he understood lingering hang-ups. While Elain might not actually care as she used to, she couldn’t help the ingrained reaction. In any case, Az didn’t mind that his wife was a blusher; it had never affected her work on assignments, she looked gorgeous while doing so, and he did love to tease her.

Banking to aim for the River House, where his scheduled weekly meeting with Nuala and Cerridwen took place, Azriel inhaled the fresh coastal air and flew.

***

The aroma of freshly baked bread drifted out of the open windows to greet Az, dancing with the herbal scents from the kitchen garden that Elain still tended for her sister’s household, to create a veritable melody for his senses as he landed silently in the courtyard behind the River House. He could hear a trio of familiar voices inside, Elain and the half wraith twins, as he hurried through the door on cat-soft feet.

Cerridwen was facing the entrance as he appeared, shadows gracing her sides but, accomplished spy that she was, she showed no sign of acknowledging his presence on her face.

No knives, his shadows whispered to him. Only bread. Nuala is in adjoining room. It was safe to proceed, so he stepped forth, silently. Elain, with her back to him, turned a little the second before he wrapped his arms around her waist.

"You're off your game, Husband." She chuckled. "Time was, you wouldn't have let me smell you until it was too late."

He grinned into her hair, "Morning, you two."

Cerridwen simply rolled her eyes at him and joined Nuala in the butler's pantry. He’d seek them out later; he was running early, anyway.

He looked down at Elain over her shoulder, as she finished sorting the last of the still-warm bap rolls onto the trays she used to transport them to the local orphanage for Sunday lunches, then pressed herself back into his chest. He felt her relax into him, her upright posture softening to complement his form.

"You've already seen me this morning. Or had you forgotten, in your dotage?" Feigning concern, she hummed. "Maybe it's time to speak to Madja about a nursing home? Our children have barely flown the nest, I'm not sure I'm quite ready to care for another so soon."

Az laughed at that, deep and joyful, and Elain joined in after a beat, turning into him for what she called a ‘proper hug.’ He squeezed her right back, inhaling her scent of jasmine and honey, letting it settle over him like a comforting blanket. He didn't care that they weren't mates, their carranam bond ran deeper than he could ever have imagined, and he could not conceive of loving or needing anyone more than he did Elain. For the two of them, at least, a mating bond would simply be superfluous.

"Feyre dobbed you in."

"Hmm? Oh," he chuckled into the top of her head, catching up. "That was quick. How will you ‘punish’ me this time?"

Right on cue, a deep pink dusted Elain’s cheeks. “Stop it, you.”

Azriel grinned wickedly, “Make me.” A tea towel playfully slapped his thigh in response, so he tightened his grip around her arms. “Not good enough, Archeron. You call that a slap?”

“Let go of me, Mister Archeron. Give me back the use of my arms, and I’ll make you regret those words. You know I will.” Her voice was firm, challenge issued.

It was true. Elain could defend herself with fists and dagger if she must--she carried her own around, a pair to his Truth-Teller, named Sooth-Sayer--but her true skill lay in utilising anything she could find in a kitchen; she could wield a tea towel with unnatural speed and accuracy. It was almost uncanny.

Azriel thought it the most appropriate thing in the world.

“Maybe later,” Azriel whispered, voice low as his hands slid from her arms to the curves of her hips and gripped, just a little harder than was strictly polite; he wasn’t above using his wiles to get what he wanted. He chuckled softly as Elain shuddered in response.

“Speaking of children,” he wondered, “Have our own headed back to their respective holes yet this morning? Or do I actually get to say ‘goodbye’ to them this time?”

Their eldest two, Androsace and Andwise, dark-haired, brown-eyed twins who had graced them with their unanticipated presence less than a year after the war with Hybern finally ended, were off completing courses to further their studies in modern healing techniques; primarily in the Dawn Court, but also wherever they were needed. Androsace, known to her family as Rosa, while possessed of strong healing magic, had chosen to specialise in pharmaceuticals, at least for the moment, and was studying under Nuan, the brilliantly-minded fae he had met shortly after Elain and Nesta were turned. Andwise, or Andy, with a magical strength to match his sister, found he had a natural hand for surgery, and had even taken classes from Dawn’s High Lord Thesan himself. Given the number of toys and gadgets that he had taken apart as a child, this particular skill did not surprise either of his once-exhausted parents. Neither twin had wings, though both had developed their own shadows at around ten years of age--curiously, though, the twins’ shadows were much lighter than Azriel’s ever were. Having grown up with more opportunity than Azriel, they had opted to stay out of their father’s profession, to which news he had been both secretly and massively relieved. He knew they would likely see battlefields as healers, and had ensured that, like their mother, they could defend themselves as required--Rosa in particular had a mean right hook, and Andy was incredibly creative with his shadows--but to not have to worry about them every day was a blessing.

Approximately eight years after they had had their twins, Elain had come across a pair of Illyrian siblings, newly arrived in Velaris’ orphanage, where she had been volunteering since the war against Hybern. Their father had been lost in the final battle against Koschei, and their mother had struggled to provide for them by herself, eventually passing on from a nasty, consumption-like illness--or so Elain had been told. The ten year old boy, Archer, had opted to stay with his eight year old sister, Aerides, or Aeri, out of loyalty, rather than stay in training. He had been heartbroken over the loss of his training, in addition to the death of his remaining parent, but his conscience hadn’t let him abandon her; he was very much like Cassian, in that regard. Knowing their chances of being adopted in Velaris were reduced, due to both age and, sadly, the still prevalent prejudice that existed against Illyrians at the time, and having started to bond with sweet little Aerides almost immediately, Elain had told Azriel that they were coming home with them as soon as possible, and that was that.

After a year at home with the Archerons, Archer--who still wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at his newly granted surname seventy odd years later, though he hadn’t had one before--had quietly asked to resume his warrior training, wishing to honour his birth father, and finally feeling comfortable enough to leave Aeri in her new home. Archer now had three siphons, and flew in Nyx’s squad as a bowman, the two firm friends, and Aeri had developed a love and talent for baking so strong that she had been accepted into the Winter Court’s prestigious Academy of the Baking Arts, to train as a pâtissier.

Ice-cold fear had torn at Azriel, to let one of his children go so far, especially one of the two who couldn't winnow in any capacity, or wanted anything to do with a warrior’s training past basic self-defence, but the Winter Court had always been stable, excepting the years of Amarantha's reign; Elain, while sad to see Aeri go, had given Azriel a very pointed look and told him he was stifling her. Knowing Elain’s personal history as intimately as he did, this was the last thing he wanted to do to one of his own daughters, so he had simply asked her if she'd consider taking a shadow for emergencies. In true Aeri fashion, however, she had soon discovered that the shadow liked to be worn as a necklace, instead of being left at home or in her satchel, the curious being even going so far as to change decorative charms on its own whim...and so ‘Jewel’ had earnt its name.

Finally, when Archer was twenty-two years old--having just been granted the first of his three siphons--and the twins and Aeri twenty, Elain had discovered, to their joy, that she was pregnant again. Azriel never knew how much of their lives Elain had foreseen, but he didn't ask her to share details, knowing that not only would she always warn them of any emergencies she Saw, but that she also wanted as 'normal' a life as possible. The next spring they had welcomed another daughter, Asphodel, or Della. Unlike the twins, who had primarily inherited their mother’s gift for healing, Della’s magic was pure shadow. She wasn’t as powerful as Azriel, though he suspected it was only a matter of time, as her strength still grew with each passing decade; like Rosa and Andy, her shadows were also brighter than his, though at that time he still could not have told anybody precisely why this was, had they asked (after decades of thought, he had come to the tentative conclusion that Elain’s light had combined with his shadows to create whatever magic it was that had blessed their children). Della had also been born with wings, though, luckily, Elain hadn’t needed any assistance during her birth. They had joked, after her easy pregnancy with Androsace and Andwise, who had turned out to both be...generously-proportioned babes, that Elain was blessed by the Mother herself, but after Asphodel and her wings had been born without any issue at all, their jokes became more like reverent praise. True to her adventurous nature, Della had flitted around between dreams, sampling as much of life as she could. When she was in her fifties, after achieving a well-rounded education, even if none of it was specifically vocational, she had finally spoken to Nesta about becoming a Valkyrie. Now in her early sixties, she was a fully fledged Valkyrie, who also worked as a junior agent in the Night Court’s intelligence program.

After his earlier relief at the twins staying out of his chosen-for-him field, Azriel had felt like it was some sort of peculiarly nasty cosmic joke at his expense. That being said, once Della decided on a course of action with her whole heart, there was never any changing her mind. So, with a father’s innate desire to protect balanced by the knowledge he couldn’t do so forever, he had taken her under his wing (pun absolutely intended, thank you very much, his children groaned every time he used it) and given her the best grounding that he could in training her shadows in communication, self-defence and winnowing at a second’s notice, as well as a battery of highly intricate flying maneuvers that her smaller wingspan allowed her to complete with more ease than he and his brothers had ever managed.

Elain chuckled, bringing him back to the present as she shook her head. “All five of them are at Rosehall with Mama; they’ll scatter to the four winds tomorrow morning, according to Aeri. Della will winnow her back to Winter, before she collects Archer and goes with him to Windhaven and the Valkyrie camp.”

“Excellent. Family dinner tonight, then?”

“That’s the plan, Mama already knows to expect us at six o'clock, barring any emergencies.” Azriel loved that Elain was close enough with his mother to use his pet name for her. He knew her own hadn’t been kind to her--to any of the sisters, for different reasons he couldn’t begin to fathom--but she had come to love Azriel’s own mother almost immediately, just as his Mama had with her.

“Now, I’ll give you my report on the firm tomorrow morning, as we planned. I have to get this bread over to the orphanage for lunch before I check on my next batch of potions, and it’s already almost nine. If I’m not careful, it’ll be ten o’clock before I know it and I still won’t have moved an inch.”

After the war against Koschei, and learning that she and Nesta both had the unique ability to unMake mating bonds, Elain had started up a new branch of the Night Court’s intelligence operations that aimed to help any fae who didn't want to accept, or remain in, their own bond, to escape to the Night Court where she and Nesta would unMake the bonds if they wished, or they would be offered sanctuary in a facility similar to the library that had helped Nesta so much. It had taken two decades to see any regular work, and even then, not many faeries felt comfortable contacting them, given the ingrained nature of the mating bond in their culture, but Elain and Lucien, who had both felt trapped in their own bond, but were now good friends, kept an eye out for fae in need wherever they went. Lucien travelled far and wide in his role as part-time emissary and heir apparent of the Day Court, as well as consort to Vassa, to whom he'd tied his life in order to save her from Koschei and his curse. After Tamlin’s death, Vassa, together with Lucien, ruled over the now-combined Spring Court and human lands, which had since become a home for all exiles, not to mention a mecca to those from the Continent, who wanted to see what Vassa and Lucien had done to make their veritable melting pot bubble along happily, rather than boil over.

Luckily, Lucien’s true father, Helion, was still in high health, with a powerful grip on his land, though neither Elain nor Azriel envied Lucien his loyalty to so many Courts, or the decision that he'd likely face when the time eventually came; they were both impressed with his ability to keep on top of everything as it was.

Elain herself went on biannual visits to the Continent, both in her capacity as Princess of the Hewn City and one of the Night Court’s own emissaries. Her unassuming nature and innate charm made her the perfect agent to gather intel in plain sight, as no one, especially in such strongly patriarchal societies, suspected the pretty, beguiling female to possess such a keen eye or sharp mind, let alone the gumption to put those skills to use; she was also a frequent visitor to local temples, letting it be known that she had become quite devout in her worship of the Mother, so her meetings with any fleeing faeries, and the priestesses who helped them out, didn't draw much attention to their underground operation. Keeping it a secret was safest for everyone involved.

It went without saying, though, that he was so, so proud of his incredible wife…which was another card they kept hidden up their shared sleeve. Their carranam bond was known only by their family and most trusted friends, with Azriel and Elain simply calling each other 'husband' and 'wife,' so her ability to use his shadows in her work gave her an upper hand that no one on the Continent yet suspected. The thought always made him smile; he had never contemplated sharing his magic, or expected doing so to feel quite so personal, so much so that he would not have wanted this bond with any other.

Unable to resist, Azriel caressed her curves once more, one hand going to the dip of her waist, the other finding her bottom and giving it a good squeeze while he ran his nose down her neck, inhaling deeply. “Oh, my dear wife, I think I could get you to move by more than an inch.”

Elain shuddered lightly, but in the end she only sighed, placing her hands on his chest as she tipped her head back to look up at him. “It’s a wonder I can get anything done, living with you.”

He bent down to let her kiss him, while she rose up to the tips of her toes to meet him halfway, before taking a step back.

“I really do have to get these rolls to the orphanage well before lunch. Children are more demanding customers than High Lords--you should know this.”

Azriel smiled softly. “Do you need any help?”

She gestured to the shadow who had taken to following her around during the war against Koschei, when he had discovered she was pregnant, but had then absolutely refused to stand by while her family fought for their lives. “I have my assistant, this friendly little creature will get me there in no time.”

“Over eighty years have passed and you still insist on anthropomorphising my shadows,” Azriel cried in mock outrage, hands in the air. "I blame you for giving Aeri the idea to name hers, for Cauldron’s sake."

Elain simply gave him her sweetest smile and, knowing his penchant for baked goods, a fresh bap roll off the top of her tray, before she walked through the door. Heading outside, beyond the wards Rhys had set to prevent anyone but him and Feyre from winnowing directly to or from the River House, she turned at the last minute and called through the still-open window, "See you tonight at Rosehall, my love!" She laughed, “Oh, and don’t forget to bring a tea towel. I’ll have my own at the ready.”

Before long, her shadow grew to envelope her entirely, and she disappeared from view.

***

Nuala and Cerridwen, compassionate friends and employees that they were, gave Azriel ten minutes to enjoy his freshly baked bread with some freshly churned spring butter and leftover bramble jam, before they came back into the kitchen to report as the clock chimed the ninth hour of the morning.

In this time of relative peace, with all seven High Lords working together for the good of Prythian, their workload was much reduced. He could only be glad of it, but they still liked to stay up to date. It had helped them to waylay more than a couple of minor issues over the years, that would have undoubtedly snowballed into catastrophes, if they’d missed them, or let them continue unchecked.

As Azriel wiped the crumbs from the stubble he hadn’t yet shaved this morning, the twins waved him towards their office, hidden behind a false, built-in baker’s rack at the rear of the kitchen. Feyre and Rhys, both well aware that magic couldn’t always save them--that it could, in fact, be used against them--had designed the River House to have more than one secret room or corridor, in case of an emergency. It had only made sense that Nuala and Cerridwen, who, to the outside world, were simply members of their household staff, but in reality were so much more, had claimed this room for their own.

“Spymaster,” they said at once, their midnight eyes twinkling, smiles carefully serene, with voices like the soft light of dusk. “We don’t have much news this morning.”

It had taken their friendship with Elain, and her subsequent relationship with Azriel, for Nuala and Cerridwen to finally stop calling him ‘Lord.’ It had always irked him, because he was no such thing and had never felt worthy of the title, but he had eventually given up hope that his attempts to get them to use his name would be fruitful. However, after Mor had become involved with the Valkyries, vacating her role at the Court of Nightmares in favour of a job that allowed her the freedom to stretch her figurative wings and travel, and Azriel and Elain had been appointed as overseers in her place, they had taken to, when they felt the occasion called, dubbing him ‘Prince Azriel’ with great alacrity.

He knew that they loved to play up their bond as identical twins, often dressing such that their appearances were as indistinguishable as their scents, and speaking in perfect concert with each other. This not only made them more successful as spies, as strangers often didn’t realise that there were more than one of them, but was one of their favourite ways to have fun with people; they both had wicked senses of humour and, to be fair, it was good to keep those skills polished, even in times of peace.

“Nothing out of Vallahan yet?”

“No, Azriel, nothing,” responded Nuala, while Cerridwen’s face remained still. Shadows blurred their edges, their forms halfway to fully noncorporeal, as they often did when the shadow wraiths let their frustration show--mingling between the two of them, comforting each other, almost as if they were becoming the one entity. It was fitting, really, given their innate ability to function as such, and one of the many reasons that he and Rhys valued them so highly as spies and agents. Nu and Cerr were supremely smart, observant, and skilled in all they did.

Az hummed his annoyance at the kingdom of Vallahan. It had sided with Koschei’s forces during the most recent war, and none of the Prythian Courts had made much headway with forming treaties or alliances in the years since. Elain and Mor managed to calm them down when their monarchs started one of their decennial tantrums for more land, for which they were about due again, but nothing firm. Nothing concrete, to bind their nations in a much-needed peace.

Unlike Montesere, their neighbour to the southwest, Vallahan’s ruling class was as inhospitable as their ragged, mostly mountainous country. Montesere had tried to avoid war at all cost, essentially playing each side off the other, which had ended with a dead queen, her king consort in exile and a princess stepping up to the top job with the goal of building bridges with her neighbours. This forward-thinking attitude, combined with Montesere’s more arable lands and warmer climate, meant that they were no longer considered an imminent threat--though they would keep a close eye on them for at least another century.

It wasn’t ideal, but--“Fine. Mor will be heading back there for a fortnight next week, so we’ll brief her before she goes. Until then, our local agents will let us know if anything urgent requires attention.”

Mor would likely be having coffee and cake with Cassian this morning, at their favourite Velaris café, before she winnowed back to the home she shared part time with their ally Viviane’s sister, Tria, in the Winter Court, and Cassian left for Windhaven. He’d have to make sure he saw her when he and Elain went to visit Aerides later in the week, to enjoy the drinking chocolate that had become popular in the last couple of decades. Mor often joined them for such outings, anyway. She and Elain both delighted in the curiously clever creatures that dwelt in the Winter Court, as well as the fashions, and the generally cosy atmosphere of their buildings and people, so at odds with their surroundings.

Rubbing his face with both hands, he sighed. He hadn’t had his coffee this morning, and last night, however enjoyable, was catching up with him. Ever since he’d started sleeping properly, he’d become more attentive to his fatigue; while he could still function on insufficient sleep if he must, he would never enjoy it. Not that he had thought it ideal back then, to be fair, but the difference now was like night and day.

“Anything else pressing, or is it all in your reports?”

“The paperwork covers everything you need to know.” Cerridwen raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, “It looks like you need a nap. Did you not get much sleep last night?” Cultivated innocence dripped from every syllable.

Nuala snorted, knowing full well what her sister meant. The twins had been guests at Nesta’s party, bringing their own partners with them to make merry at the gorgeously appointed ball, their services as agents not required last night, though of course they would always be watching.

Az scowled, the shadows wreathing his shoulders darkening, spreading to his neck and down his arms. They must have already teased Elain this morning, if he was only getting the mild version. “I slept like any male would when he’s next to someone as beautiful as Elain.”

The twins groaned as one, with much enthusiasm; if he had heard correctly, there may even have been some booing. Nuala threw a pen at him, and exclaimed “Out! Now. We don’t get paid nearly enough to put up with that nonsense, and you know we get paid a lot.”

That was fair, maybe he had overdone the ‘husband in love’ routine, just a little bit. He let a soft smirk grace his features just as he remembered he had so far neglected to ask about Elain’s future birthday.

Mother above, he needed some coffee.

Azriel sketched a bow. “Duly noted. I’ll make sure to have Rhysand adjust your winter bonuses accordingly, to allow for such an egregious oversight on my behalf.” Scratching his chin, he then continued, “I do have a question for you both, though; and not work related.”

Eyes bright with curiosity, Nu hummed in acknowledgement, while Cerr motioned with one hand for Azriel to continue with her usual grace.

"As you know, Nesta just celebrated her eleventy-first birthday and, after speaking with her and Feyre earlier this morning, I’ve decided I would very much like to hold such a party for Elain, when she turns one hundred and eleven." He paused, considering. "This would be a surprise for her, but I think a gathering of friends and family, celebrating her, showing her how much we all love her, would be something she would enjoy. Will you help us?"

Cerridwen’s resulting grin was almost maniacal, as Nuala rubbed her hands together with glee. "Yes," they breathed. “We would love to.”

***

Azriel had hardly sat down to his coffee in a quiet, cosy corner of the kitchen--the scent of the rich brew alone beginning to rouse his senses from their insistent slumber--after having availed himself of the River House’s well-stocked larder and cooktop, when Feyre and Rhys softly knocked at the door to the main hall. Entering the room as he looked up, they joined him at his table, Feyre giving him a guilty look as they did so.

A small smile bloomed on Az’s face; that hadn’t taken long at all. “So, you’ve told him, then?”

“You planned to keep the secret safe from me for the next year, at least?” Rhys looked like the cat who had got the cream. “You know that I have experience planning lavish parties; I organised Nesta and Cassian’s mating ceremony, after all.”

He had, too. Though Azriel generally didn’t like to remember that time, and the bad memories that came along with it, he had to admit that Rhys had thrown one extravagant party for their brother and his mate.

“As you wish. Though this sounds much more like you wanting to have a good stickybeak, than anything else.”

Rhys smirked. “I’m a High Lord, ‘stickybeaking’ comes with the territory. And that’s rich coming from you; you’re the reason we have to keep solstice gifts hidden away every year.”

Azriel smirked right back. “Spymaster,” he deadpanned. “‘It comes with the territory.’”

Feyre laughed merrily, eyes shining. “For whatever reason, Rhys is now in on this. And you can be certain that Cassian will know before he and Nesta are even a third of the way back to Illyria this evening. Your hands are tied, Az. We all want to help.”

“Well,” said Azriel. “Such Council will either make everything easier, or much, much harder.”

*

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Part II - coming soon

Part III - coming soon