Chapter Text

Chapter 119

Arwen giggled in a song of delight, jumping on her toes as she pinned silver and blue streamers over the hearth. The dress of light green hung at an unusual length around her calves, the sleeves loose and dancing over her shoulders. The front door of the townhouse opened but the sharp click of heels assured her that Azriel hadn’t returned home early. The knife in her kitchen would be finding the thin skin of her brother and Cassian’s neck if they didn’t pull their end.

“Oh.”

Arwen grinned at Mor who stood wide-eyed at the entrance into the sitting room. Feyre smiled behind her, head tilted back to gaze over all that Arwen had spent her morning on—a fabulous arrangement of decorations that would stretch throughout the entire floor level of her home once they were done.

“He’s going to hate this,” Mor finished. But she looked appreciative of the effort.

“I know.” Arwen wrung her fingers behind her back, biting her lip as she gave a moment to think that perhaps it was too much.

Feyre loosely crossed her arms as she inspected a vase of blue roses that Arwen had bought fresh at the morning market. “It’s about time that is someone brave enough to do this for him.”

Arwen shrugged with a sheepish look. “I barely slept last night. I know he doesn’t usually enjoy celebrations and one that’s for him… But he deserves it and if it’s too much, I’ll kick you all on the street and let him sit alone in the shadows until he’s ready for company again.”

“Thanks,” Mor drawled as Feyre tried to be inconspicuous as she re-arranged the blue roses in the vase. “I’ve always loved your hospitable nature.”

“I need to get some food ready.”

Feyre offered to help, leaving Mor to her own devices with the remaining portion of the house that remained undecorated. Arwen swore she saw her cousin dubiously tapping her fingers before she turned into the hall.

“Any word from Elain?” Arwen dared asked as she sweated over a mixture of dough that required all the muscle Cassian had been building on her. “And Nesta?”

Feyre nodded slowly as she dusted sugar over a batch of cookies. “They both said they’ll come. Nesta has been… Getting along with Azriel from what Cassian has told me.”

Arwen frowned at her sister. “Will I have to worry about all three of you Archeron sisters turning your eyes on my mate?” Feyre scoffed and sent her a look over the expanse of the island bench. Chuckling, Arwen said, “Azriel actually mentioned something about it. I think it’s because he doesn’t talk much. That and his body. I’m not allowed to train with him anymore. Cassian thinks I get too distracted.”

“Perhaps it’s a good thing you don’t have a mental link with him then. Rhysand likes to distract me when I’m training.”

Arwen smiles with tight lips. “With images of puppies?”

“I—”

“With images of puppies?”

Feyre laughs behind her sugar-covered fingers. “Yes, with puppies. So cute and adorable.”

“Good. That’s what I thought.”

Feyre moved the rack of cookies to the side where the rest of the plattered food had been stored before joining Arwen’s side of the bench. “And how have you been? Rhys says you still don’t like him going into your head.”

She snorted. “Who would?” But Feyre only raised a brow. “Honestly it is such an invasion of privacy!” Feyre crossed her arms and leaned close. Arwen sunk lower into her feet, the giddiness of her secretive planning ebbing away. “Everybody here has gone through a lot and Rhys most of all. My head isn’t always the best place to be… I want to keep him from that.” Righting her shoulders and lifting her cheeks, she went back to kneading the dough. “Besides, I talk to Azriel. Rhys just gets pissy when people stop dumping things on him.”

Feyre gave a soft sigh. “Yes, I’m well aware.”

“If he’s feeling left out of my wallowing tell him he can always join me on Sunday training sessions. Cassian makes me run up and down the stairs.”

“I’ll let him know you said so.”

“I convinced Cass to do it with me once. For motivation purposes. He ran ahead of me when we were going back up. The view certainly was motivating but he thought that I was too distracted then as well. I say that my timing improved by twenty seconds on that run. But no—'you won’t always have a good ass to look at when you’re running, Arwen’.” Arwen scoffed. “If I always run slower I will. Not a good reason, apparently.”

Feyre’s lips curved but it wasn’t a proper smile that met her. “You’re very good at avoiding things you don’t want to talk about.”

Arwen cocked her head. “Thank you.”

Hours passes and the townhouse became heavy with fresh scents of baked foods, and blue and silver gleamed in every corner. Arwen resisted opening the wine, feeling as though it would be rude to start the celebrational act without the guest of honour yet to arrive.

Mor lounged on the armchair, sour-faced ever since Arwen refused to serve the alcohol. “What are they actually out doing?”

Arwen thought on it for a moment. “No idea.”

“Knowing them, probably something stupid,” Feyre supplied.

Mor twisted onto her stomach, stretched like a cat basking under the sun. “So probably something with drinks.” Arwen scorned her with a half-hearted glare. “Alright, alright. But you can’t stop me once they’re here.”

“Knowing Azriel, you’ll probably have to fight him to get to the cellar,” she mumbled, fidgeting with her fingers in her lap. The nerves grew the longer they sat in waiting. What if walked through the door, balked, and fled? What if he faked enjoyment but then went on to secretly resent her for the rest of eternity? What if he thought the decorations were tacky or she didn’t prepare enough food that he liked? What if—

“They’re coming back,” Feyre announced. “Rhys said they’ll be here shortly.”

Arwen shrunk in her chair. “This was a stupid idea.”

“Hey, Az will love it.”

“No, he won’t,” she groaned. “He doesn’t like attention, he doesn’t like big gatherings or having to be around people for ages. I don’t know what the Hell I was thinking throwing him a party.”

“You were thinking,” Feyre said pointedly, “that you wanted to celebrate a day special to your mate’s life. And it’s just our family. If he gets tired, we’ll call it early. I think he’ll appreciate the effort.”

The consolation failed to make a dent in the pit of despair Arwen threw herself into. Before the rest of her family could arrive, she made her way back to the kitchen, obsessively wiping over the benches and scrubbing the sink clean. The dreaded sound of the door opening came. Forcing herself to re-focus on what she was doing, Arwen blocked out the following voices, though her ears instinctively twitched at the sound of her mate’s. She was given a few graceful minutes before thick boots in that oh-so-familiar gait crept up behind her.

Having already wished him a happy birthday that morning, it lessened the blow of guilt of her slow turn to greet him. Azriel stood on the other side of the bench that separated them, dressed in the same leathers he had left in—not the complete set, but a comfortable covering of his vest over a dark shirt and basic guard pieces.

He put a thumb over his shoulder. “Apparently there’s a party or something happening in our house. Thought you should know since you look so caught up in here.”

Giving out a nervous chuckle, she wiped at her forehead. “Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Azriel said nothing, his nostril flaring in a heavy breath. He stepped forward, slowly and calculated. Arwen inched her arms tighter around herself until at last, he stood in front of her, expression unchanged. Then his arms wrapped around her, drawing her into his chest, nose burying into her hair. Internally buckling in relief, her arms wound back around him. “Mor’s raided our cellar already,” he murmured, hot breath breaking through to her covered ear. “I think we should put a ward around it.”

“She keeps believing that I’m as selfless as Rhys when it comes to philanthropy.”

“Should I go tell her to put it back?”

Arwen laughed and untucked her head. “No. I’d be tending to claw marks on your face all night.”

Azriel smiled and kissed her brow. “The decorations are…”

“A lot?”

He hummed. “I have a feeling Mor helped out with those.”

Mor had indeed continued decorating while Feyre and Arwen took to the food. “How’d you know?”

“I have a feeling you wouldn’t have willingly made that mess near the stairs. And Feyre is more fanatic than you about organisation. When’s she hasn’t been drinking, that is.”

“It’s very well that I didn’t let them break into my cellar early then.”

His thin lips twitched but she had a feeling his mind wasn’t truly on Mor’s decorating. A hand left her waist, sneaking up along her side until it cupped her cheek. “It was your idea, wasn’t it? Rhys and Cassian taking me out?”

“I prompted that it would be a good convenience if you weren’t in the house.”

“And you spend all morning doing this? The food, the decorations.”

She nodded.

“Well.” His hand urged her chin up, forcing her eyes from his neck to those soul-shattering hazel eyes. “What are you doing hiding away in here? I have a party to attend and I’d rather be accompanied by my mate.”

Arwen twisted her face into his hand, unable to prevent the grin at the tease of his tone and the tumbling feeling skittering into her stomach. “You must know that I did this out of love for you, though I know it might seem I did it in some hidden hatred because this is all pretty much a conjuration of your nightmares.”

He thought on it for a moment before shaking his head. “My nightmares include a lot less smiling. A lot less food. And a lot less of you.”

She couldn’t help but notice the way his lips tweaked at those last words—her stomach twisting at the same moment as though he had spoken some haunted spell. A haunted truth.

“Which is why,” he continued, “I came to the kitchen to find both food and you.”

Arwen tilted her head. “Hey, which one were you looking for first?”

Azriel blinked, hands slipping away for one to take her hand, the other tapping his ear. “Sorry, I think I hear Rhys calling for us.” He tugged her along. Scoffing, she yanked her hand free and marched ahead. Making it into the hallway alone, she turned back around, a taunt ready on her lips. But only a step behind her, he twisted her forward again and kept a heavy arm laying over her shoulder. “Thank you,” he said into her ear as she swayed in step with his long strides. “For this.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Nesta said she’s coming and I didn’t think about having her in the same room as Cassian.”

“Maybe we can set up a cage.”

“I know you meant to separate them, but it might be better to cage them together. Let them fight contained. Place some bets.”

“Rebuild half the house.”

“Don’t be silly, we’d put them outside.”

“Who’d you think would win?”

“Honestly I have no idea anymore.”

Joining the rest of their family in the living room, Arwen pushed herself between Rhysand and Cassian. “Thank you,” she said to them.

Cassian shrugged with a broad grin. “He’s out brother. It’s not a favour.”

“I meant thank you for actually keeping a secret for once in your life,” Arwen drawled, plucking the fresh glass of citrine wine from his grasp. “That is a mighty feat.”

Cassian didn’t seem to know which part of their interaction to be more offended at. Arwen leaned into his side with a laugh in a request for forgiveness but never found out if she received it, her attention becoming utterly and wholly drawn to the other side of the sitting room. Elain stood under the honeyed beam of sunlight through the small alcove window that seemed as though the sun had crafted specifically for her. She handed a small box to Azriel who accepted it with a smile and nod of gratitude. They talked for a minute, Arwen half-nodding at whatever Rhysand began saying to her.

When Arwen returned to her mate’s side, her eyes unconsciously fell to the box that remained unopened on the lowered table.

“It’s a cologne,” said Azriel. “Elaine said that you like the scent.”

Something inside of her lightened a little, the voice in the back of her head berating itself for the worries it had thrown around just before. “A gift for you to me,” she sang quietly. Arwen had indeed gone with Elaine and Feyre into the city weeks ago for nothing in particular. The day had been strange and awkward at times, but Arwen had returned home with a small sense of accomplishment that evening. “I haven’t given you your present yet.”

She made way to place her glass aside, but Azriel caught her arm. “No,” he said. “Give it to me later. When it’s just us.” The soft formation of those words; a promise. Now wishing she could kick everybody out without being completely impolite, all she could do was nod and sink back into his side.