SUMMARY: Gwyn reflects on the future of the Valkyries and leaving priestesshood. Her chosen sisters decide she should have a little fun and encourage her to go out with them. The evening leaves her both happy and confused. Azriel is surprised and goes out as well and finds that Gwyn had a little too much fun.

TW: None. A note for alcohol consumption.

"I know this week has been hard on all of you since…" Nesta paused and Gwyn saw her chosen sister valiantly battling against her desire to use profane words as a descriptor for the departed. "Since Merrill died."

Whispers drifted amongst the seated Valkyries, elite and novice alike, as Nesta addressed her legion from the top of the training ring, flanked by Gwyn and Emerie. The trio had taken on the roles of trainers while Azriel and Cassian were busy getting answers for the High Lord. How the hell Merrill slithered back into Velaris undetected. How she made it past Clotho and the protective wards. And who the deceased ex-priestess was abetting.

A priestess dead by Gwyn's hand—guaranteed dismissal from priestesshood.

Her old dorm was now barren, cleared out, and ready for the next lost soul the day after Merrill's death. There was tranquility in the knowledge someone else would receive their safe place to heal. To rebuild.

After stowing away the last belongings and assessing her tiny room one last time, Gwyn had gone to formally relinquish her invoking stone to the High Priestess of Velaris. But when Gwyn had held out her hand, Clotho shook her head, mouthing, It's yours.

A breath caught in her throat. "But, it's custom. I'm leaving. Therefore, I must return this to you. I—"

The pen scrawled on stationery, the limpid blue radiance from her headdress of stones defining beneath Clotho's hood.

I know you haven't believed yourself worthy for some time, dear Gwyneth. Clotho's knobbed fingers folded around Gwyn's hand. The cobalt stone chilled her fingers, which closed around it. Let this gem be a reminder of how far you much you've grown and to light your way to your future.

"But the magic—"

The magic is yours; not the stone. The stone only amplifies what we have— you have. Perhaps what you have yet to discover. As you would never use it for harm, it is yours. Clotho's eyebrows climbed in the azure hue. I am High Priestess, am I not? I say it's yours; it is. The library is also accessible to you whenever you request. Attend service when you choose. Please visit the children for they admire you so.

Her eyes brimmed with tears as Clotho rose, her dusty blue robes settling to her feet. When the High Priestess opened her arms, Gwyn clung to her as a child would do with a mother.

"Thank you, Clotho. This is more than what I deserve."

Since then, Gwyn dedicated her time in the library, researching the insanity Merrill had spewed as fact. Forgotten people, indeed. Those that Gwyn discussed such a matter with - Rhysand, Cassian, Azriel, and Mor - all rejected the idea.

"There were no such people," Rhysand said directly.

"Sounds like the ramblings of someone hitting the sacramental wine too often," Cassian had grinned wildly, knocking his shoulder into hers.

Mor merely twirled her strands of burnished gold around her finger and shrugged, shaking her head, suggesting Gwyn speak with Amren. Gwyn would not speak to Amren—at least not alone. Childish as it was, Amren was still nightmare fodder for the youngsters of Prythian.

Azriel had been, well, Azriel. His hazel eyes and onyx brows set in harsh concentration, reflecting on his past and came up with nothing as well.

Curious. Perhaps Merrill's ramblings were simply that—madness in rhetoric.

Something was simmering in Gwyn's subconscious, drawing her to the library each day after practice. Only now escorted by rogue shadows perched on her shoulders. Her quiet, smoky little sentries. They genuinely made her feel protected, and it would be a lie to say otherwise.

She ransacked the stacks, devoting far too much time with her nose in a book of elegant script and prose, which often followed her to sleep.

"It was awful…," Roslin murmur to Thea, who had recently rejoined their ranks, carried Gwyn from her thoughts. "There was so much blood and the way Merrill just… how could one do that?" Faces. So many faces dipped to the floor in what? Shame. Regret. Remembrance. Those who witnessed may have hesitated, but for a fair reason. Reasons Gwyn was not to judge.

"You're right," Gwyn interjected. "It was awful." And believe her, even worse when the fresh blood was on your skin. On your conscience. "Merrill made her choice. But we resisted, we held our ground, and we stopped her from hurting anyone else." A few lifted their gazes to her. Not near enough. "Death is never hard to witness and all of us have seen our fair share, haven't we? Each one of us lost someone dear at Sangravah."

The mere mention delivered every single priestess's eyes to hers. No matter if they wore robes or armor, each one of them looked at her as one with sharp eyes. Because yes, each of them felt the icy grip of Death. Heard His wraith-like wail through the dim corridors of the temple.

The name of the temple is sacred and seldom ever spoken unless in prayer. But now it was the right occasion to speak the name. To face it with a driven joint purpose.

"None of us were immune from the loss that eve. Each of us witnessed horrors beyond our comprehension. All of us bear a scar, whether it's on our skin. Or soul. Or heart. We all have trauma. That's why we are here, correct?" A few nods in the crowd. "To face such things, to never be powerless again." Gwyn's eyes turned to Roslin and Deidre. Ananke and Lorelai. All who watched the moment Merrill had plunged her body into Gwyn's blade. "Sometimes our trauma will sneak up on us without warning. Progress does not come without failure. Without trying. And each of you tried."

Nesta stayed Gwyn's next words with a hand on her shoulder. "That you armed yourselves and came to Gwyn's aid despite your fear? That is the heart of a Valkyrie. I'm nothing but proud of you all."

"And before you say anything about being scared," Emerie chimed in. "If you don't think we weren't terrified during the Blood Rite, you'd be wrong."

Nesta and Gwyn nodded in agreement.

"And as Azriel and Cassian would say, these are learning experiences. Conquering fear doesn't happen in just one incident. Trust me on this," Nesta added.

"I for one am proud to call each of you my sisters," Gwyn said, gaining a few smiles from their ever-growing division, one that in the last week nearly doubled. "I will have your back as you have had mine."

"And on that positive note, training is over and you're dismissed. See you all tomorrow," Nesta said as the females rose, some sending them polite nods, formal bows, or friendly waves.

Brisks winds whipped across the roof as the three of them tidied up the training ring, Emerie was squirming, her unbalanced wings fluttering and shaking.

"Nervous about your date tonight?" Nesta teased because, indeed, Emerie had a hot date. After being circled on Emerie's calendar since the two began dating, November the fifteenth finally arrived.

"Can one refer to a party as a hot date when we all will be there?" Gwyn inquired, curious.

Nesta snorted. "Semantics, Berdara."

"You're coming tonight, right, Gwyn?" Emerie grunted as she hefted the rolled-up mat, tucking it into the far corner against the drab stone wall.

Cauldron boil and fry her. This wasn't the first time Gwyn ventured into Velaris with her girls. But this wasn't a charming bistro or wandering the boulevards; this was a club. One full of bodies who could crash into her. Anxiety churned her gut.

"Gwyn, you don't have to," Nesta said with gentle blue-grey eyes. "But if you really want to, we will be there for you. I'll be your personal bouncer if you need one, though, with the way you can kick ass, I doubt you'll need me."

Gwyn laughed because, well, she wasn't wrong. After the scene at Nesta's mating ceremony, she proved she could handle herself.

"Besides, it's Ladies' Night tonight," Emerie said, waggling her ebony brows. "It'll be fun."

Ladies' Night? Hmm… well, that seemed more her speed. Ladies' Night sounded safe enough.

Fun. Cauldron, how long had it been since she had nothing to worry over? How long since Gwyn merely let go and had fun? Besides her time with the shadowsinger and her found family, there had been… none.

"Alright," Gwyn relented, her answer turning into a high-pitched squeak from Emerie's hug. Mother, spare her. What had she gotten herself into?

Azriel sat at his desk, pouring over three piles of reports. So many challenges with no fucking solutions, a puzzle with missing pieces. Other pieces didn't fit. The edges missing to identify a distinct picture.

'You should seek Tiny Creature's council, perhaps? She is good with puzzles.' He groaned. Good luck stealing Amren away from her blissful fucking oasis in Summer with Varian. 'Or the lovely Valkyrie? She's quite good with research. We've seen her in the library.'

Not an awful idea. Gwyn's mind was sharp, and she was undeniably clever.

'And sweet. Kind. Strong. Lovely.'

And bold. Every day she grew a little bolder. There hadn't been a night since Merrill's death that they hadn't shared a bed. Hers or his didn't matter. Even if instead of dozing, they spent half of their night facing each other, talking about everything and nothing. It was mostly listening to her lyrical voice, observing the way her full mouth moved and nose twitched in the spirited way she spoke.

And when that didn't work to fall asleep? They often found themselves up in the training ring, sparring until too exhausted to continue.

Well, mostly sparring. Pinning each other to the mats now usually led to more attractive activities. Az couldn't help but kiss Gwyn when her gorgeous, heaving breasts pressed against his chest, her thighs snug around his hips. More often than not, one of them would find themselves rolled under the other. And he didn't mind one damn bit.

Especially not when Gwyn asked, wanted his touch. Wanted his hands on her. In her. And she loved touching him and learning how she affected him. And damn, Azriel fucking loved the confidence Gwyn was building, and not only in the bedroom.

Knock. Knock.

"Hey, Az? Are you coming out tonight?" Cassian asked from the threshold, clad in a navy dress shirt, slightly open at the color, showing off a hint of Illyrian tattoo. Onyx hair tumbled down from his shoulders, curling slightly at the ends. That damn enviable gold band shining on his left ring finger.

Wait… tonight?

Azriel swiveled in his chair, finding his back aching from having not shifted his position in so long. Velaris' lights winked to life. The last trace of sun long since disappeared beyond the western horizon. He'd spent the entire damn day from pre-dawn hours when he'd left Gwyn's warm bed to now; puzzling.

"What's so special about tonight?" Azriel grumbled as he cracked his lower back with a twist.

Cassian pinned him with a look. "I'll give you a hint. It's November fifteenth."

November fifteenth?

'The Morrigan's birthday, Shadowsinger. A day you equally loved and despised for over four centuries?'

The shadowsinger banged his head on his desk. "Mor's party is tonight?"

"Yeah, didn't Gwyn mention it?"

His head shot up, a paper sticking to his forehead. "No. Why would Gwyn mention Mor's party?" Azriel asked as he ripped away and crumpled the offending paper.

"Well," Cassian strolled in, hands clasped behind his back. His brother touching things often ended with things broken. "She's one of Emerie's best friends. Emerie is dating Mor. So Mor invited her."

Azriel stared at his brother in abject shock. Mor had invited Gwyn? And Gwyn had discussed not a word to him?

"To be fair, according to Nes, Gwyn wasn't planning on going, but she changed her mind during training. Kind of a last-minute decision. I'm meeting them at Rita's right— "

"They left already?" Az shot up, stalking around his desk. "All of them?"

"Yeah, they all got together and did girlie getting ready shit with Mor and left already. Mor said no boys allowed until after eleven. Something about Ladies' Night at the club."

The shadowsinger was sure his head was going to explode. Why hadn't she said anything to him after training?

'Because you informed her today, you would be busy and had to concentrate last night. You asked her to kindly leave you be, so she did. Begrudgingly.'

Okay. Excellent point. But, for fuck's sake, going to Rita's?

'Why not? The lovely Valkyrie deserves to have a little fun.'

And rightly so. Not that Gwyn couldn't take care of herself. Plus, she had the girls as backup. But, even though Gwyn had made great strides in public, there were still moments where crowds got too loud or people brushed up against her where she tensed. Rita's was always packed, and it was inevitable one would bump into someone else on the dance floor. Particularly if Cassian and his leaden feet were present.

The end of Cassian's words set in had Azriel's muscles tense. "Hey Cass, did anyone bother to explain the concept of Ladies' Night to Gwyn?"

Cassian rubbed his clean-shaven chin. "What do you mean by concept?"

"What the fuck a Ladies' Night at a bar really is—" A method for the club owners to usually drag in a barrage of females with the guise of cheap, watered-down drinks. Where males flocked because of the ratio. "Because Gwyn has never been to a club, Rita's or otherwise, and I can make a very educated guess at what she is assuming."

The color blanched from Cassian's face. "Oh shit, do you think Gwynnie only thinks there's going to be ladies there?"

That's exactly what Azriel presumed. The idea was bad enough imagining his Gwyn there, dressed up, looking gorgeous without him. But the thought of other males trying to prowl on her?

No. Fucking. Way.

"Give me five minutes, Cassian. I'm coming with you." Before disappearing into his bathing chamber.

"I'll give you ten. You look like shit, Az. Spruce up a bit for your lady, for gods' sake!"

She sat at the small round table, her toe of the heels she had no business walking in, tapping a nervous rhythm. Males were here milling about.

Perhaps Gwyn should have inquired more into Ladies' Night. Too late now.

Males had only dared approach their table once, and Nesta's snarling death promise was enough to keep the rest at bay—and a respectful distance. Praise the Cauldron.

The thin white shawl over her dress didn't feel nearly enough cover, given the dress her friends convinced her to try from Morrigan's closet. But who was Gwyn to deny The Morrigan's immaculate fashion sense? Anything other than leathers or vestments was out of her comfort zone.

But when Mor had pulled out a lustrous loose, silver halter dress, not that the color bothered her. The length grazed a few inches above the knee, revealing much more leg than Gwyn was used to.

An amount only the shadowsinger was familiar with seeing in person.

And the back? Well, it dipped daringly low for her, below mid-back. When she put it on though, paired with the low heels, then saw herself after Mor waved her chestnut hair?

"Holy gods," Gwyn said, ogling her reflection. Turning before the full-length mirror in Mor's townhouse bedroom, Gwyn peered over her shoulder, noticing for the first time the muscles on her upper shoulders and back. She felt bold. Powerful and confident. Strong and beautiful in her own skin.

"You're gorgeous, Gwyn," Mor smiled over her collar. Morrigan was impeccably dressed, per usual, the skintight crimson dress and heels as high as the House of Wind. Her gold wavy hair draped over one shoulder to show off dangling rubies in her ears. "Az is lucky he snatched you up when he did, or I would have taken a chance."

"Oh," Gwyn said, her cheeks warming. "I'm flattered, Mor."

"Just a few more touches and then we can get going." And those few touches were kohl lining the eyes, a bold red lip. "Oh, and these," Mor added, putting small teal studs in Gwyn's ears, a little snug from only wearing them during ceremonies.

"What do you think?" Mor asked the multitude, spinning Gwyn around for the final appraisal.

"Fucking gorgeous, but I always thought you could give Mor a run for her money in the beauty department," Nesta smiled wickedly, shooting a glance at Mor, who clicked her tongue. Nesta was Nesta, cutting a striking figure in velvet as dark as night, a short dress with long sleeves but a plunging neckline. And, of course, sharp black heels that could be used as weapons.

Weapons were, of course, their most important accessory. Gwyn's favorite dagger strapped to her thigh.

"So cute, Gwyn," Emerie said, wearing a cute charcoal gray jumpsuit with a low back for her wings, a silver belt slung over her curvy hips.

Gwyn had felt wonderful, even after they entered the club. They'd found a cozy booth, and the girls ordered some drinks. Nesta ordered for Gwyn while she herself drank water, comfortable in her commitment to sobriety.

"You'll like this," Nesta said. "It's a little tart and sweet, but bubbly. Like you."

Gwyn laughed, sticking her tongue out at Nesta as their drinks arrived.

And Gwyn did like the drink enough to order another. Her shoulders swayed in tempo with the song, noting the people dancing in pairs and groups.

"Let's dance," Mor said, tugging Emerie up in a fit of giggles until they were dancing for all to view.

"I'm ecstatic for them." Nesta smiled. Her eyes shot up, and she waved a hand in the air.

Gwyn sipped through her short black straw, inhaling until there was nary but ice left. And then she gestured to their happy server for another one. Her toe was no longer tapping in nerves but on the beat.

Nesta scooted out of the booth to embrace someone in a hug. "Feyre, I'm so glad you made it."

"It's good to let Rhysand have Nyx on his own for a little while," their High Lady beamed, her eyes settling on Gwyn. "Hi! So good to see you here."

Gwyn nodded and extended what she hoped was a respectful smile. She hoped.

"Elain. You came," Nesta said, her smile warm but thin as she hugged her sister in the same manner. Feyre cleared her throat and scooted closer to Gwyn, offering a tight smile.

Gwyn met the middle Archeron's intense brown eyes, reminding her of the chocolate fountain the House often served at sleepovers. They dipped their chins to each other in greeting as Elain slid across the maroon leather. Nesta behind. Sitting in order of birth, Gwyn smiled to herself.

Blooded sisters who couldn't be more unique. Nesta, the epitome of mysterious, artistic grace in her onyx, missing all but a crown. Elain wore a long flowing dress that reminded Gwyn of peonies, sunrise, evoking spring breezes. And Feyre, wearing a black turtleneck and dark fitted jeans. Yes, the High Lady indeed wore jeans. Yet, it didn't diminish her aura of power.

Gwyn sipped her third glass when Nesta nodded her head to the dance floor. "Want to dance, Berdara?"

Dance?

"Yes," Gwyn said, smiling, getting up with her shawl wrapped around her shoulders, following Nesta onto the dance floor.

Watching Nesta dance was like seeing water flowing in a stream. Like ink of sheet music slipping off a page into her body. Adagio and allegro. Forte and leggiero. And Gwyn might understand music through her ear and voice. Was quick and light on her feet. Might have a graceful tendency in battle—but choreographed steps? Ironically, not Gwyn's forte, to say the least.

"Berdara," Nesta chuckled at her, joining their hands as she tried to lead her across the floor. Until she, too, realized Gwyn was a lost cause. The only thing reeling was their laughter as they spun in a circle, changing directions and speed every so often.

"Hold on," Gwyn panted, catching her breath as she darted through the crowd back to the table to set her shawl down. Hot, so hot. She needed something to drink. Oh, her fruity thing! Sipping until there was nothing left, Gwyn saw only Elain sat at the table. "Oh, I didn't know you were here alone."

"Feyre joined with Mor and Emerie," Elain said, her tone neutral as if she were speaking of things like the weather.

"Well, Elain, if you would like to join Nesta and—"

"No," Elain said, a little too quick. "I mean, no thank you. I'm fine watching."

"Well, if you change your mind…"

"I won't, but thank you." Elain smiled, but there was something wrong with her smile before she motioned for the server and ordered a drink of her own.

Gwyn returned to Nesta, slowly swaying to a fast song. She could sense eyes on her, piercing into her like a knife to the back. When Gwyn peeked over her right shoulder, Elain was… staring. Watching them dance.

"Gwyn, what's wrong?" Nesta asked, leaning in while moving closer.

"I think…"

"SHOTS!" Emerie split them up, a tray of small filled glasses. "Here you go, Gwyn." She handed the shot glass filled with something clear. She sniffed it and the fumes stung her nose.

"Gwyn, I would advise you to stop after this shot," Nesta said, signaling over to Elain to join.

"Noted," was Gwyn's reply.

Feyre, Gwyn, Nesta, Emerie, and to her surprise, Elain, stood in a circle, their glasses held high.

"Birthday wish time," Mor squealed. "Wishes for me!"

"To enduring peace," Feyre said first.

Mor scoffed. "This isn't Prythian's birthday. It's mine." She turned up her nose in faux indignation.

Nesta held up an empty glass. "To better Solstice gifts."

Everyone besides Gwyn choked on their laughter, pretending to cough as Mor said they were all just jealous. Gwyn was going to ask Azriel about that for sure.

"To love," Emerie said, her eyes glittering as her gaze locked with Mor's and they leaned in for a brief, sweet kiss.

"As much as we can handle, babe," Mor said, hip checking her lightly.

Gwyn smiled to herself, thinking she could drink to that, and as she did, Elain's cacao eyes met hers over the tiny glass rim. Her lips pursed.

"Gwyn?"

"Hmm? Oh, sorry. Um… I'm sorry, I'm bad at this."

"Not true," Nesta muttered and Gwyn rolled her eyes.

"For all of us still here." They exchanged solemn soft smiles amongst the circle of friends.

"Elain?"

"The courage to face change," Elain said. "Happy Birthday, Mor."

They raised their glasses with a shout. Gwyn watched how the girls knocked back their drinks, even Elain, and followed suit… and coughed and choked unmercifully. Nesta snickered and patted Gwyn's back as her throat burned from the unholy hellfire she just swallowed.

"Valiant effort, Berdara," Nesta chuckled.

Gwyn danced some more with Nesta before switching to Mor and Emerie. And then she and Feyre laughed themselves silly making asses of themselves in the floor's heart. And Gwyn didn't care that people were gawking at her and their High Lady. One person nudged her by accident. They watched those forewarned males on from afar.

The drinks flowed along with the music and Gwyn couldn't get enough—though Nesta paced Gwyn along with water.

"Buzzed not dumb," Nesta had said. "You don't want to be throwing up all night."

And yet all the while, the entire night, someone was staring daggers.

Elain stood from the booth, tottering a bit on her feet before Feyre stood in front of her, hands up. Nesta noticed, saying, "I'll be right back," approaching her sisters and running back to her. "Gwyn, Elain is not feeling well, so Feyre and I are going to take her home. Feyre already told Cassian, so he's going to meet us at the townhouse, but we can take you…"

Leave? But… Mor hurled an arm over Gwyn's bare, glistening shoulder and smirked.

"I'll winnow Gwyn home or the townhouse, or we'll call on Fey or Rhys. We'll be fine."

Nesta's eyes narrowed. "Will you be sober enough to get her home?"

"Eventually," Mor shrugged. "Come dance with me, Gwyn!"

"I'm a terrible dancer, Mor."

"But your feet are lighter than Cassians, so if you step on my toes, I don't care."

And as Nesta and her sisters left, Elain peered over at Gwyn. When their eyes met and held, Gwyn felt a shiver dance over her skin and the hair lift on her nape.

But…

Had she done something?

Did Gwyn offend Elain somehow?

"Shots," Emerie came back with six of them; for the three of them.

"To the stars who listen," Mor shouted, raising her glass.

Gwyn's gaze couldn't help follow the flowing purple gown in the moonlight. "And to the dreams that are answered."

And Gwyn knocked one back. Coughed. And then the other.

Azriel wasn't sure what the hell he was going to encounter when he strode into Rita's. Especially not after Cassian had to bail to pick up Nesta. Because Nesta had to leave with Feyre and Elain. Because Elain was trashed.

His shadows fell behind his wings the moment Cass had mentioned her name.

But when Az heard Gwyn wasn't with them, his finger tugged at the collar of his black sweater.

So he winnowed through shadow to the alley next to Rita's forthwith, advancing past the line to get inside. His eyes scanned the club from the booths to the discreet alcoves. The bar. The ladies coming out of the powder room.

'Follow the gazes of the males,' his shadows chuckled.

Az's gaze trained on the bar, finding four High Fae males openly leering. His eyes turned into slits. Thank fuck there weren't any godsdamn Darkbringers currently visiting Velaris. Because if those were Darkbringers? He'd have to kill and not ask questions if they were looking at… he followed their stares to the middle of the dance floor.

Mor and Emerie were dancing close, fronts flush, arms draped over one another, lost in each other. But no, they weren't who these soon-to-be-dead pricks were undressing with their soon-to-be-removed eyes.

No. All eyes were spellbound by the stunning redhead in the backless dress, moving to the heady beat like a silver flame. Silvern fabric hung to curves like liquid steel, barely enough to cover her ass—and that was pretty much all in the back. Ending just above those delightful dimples above her firm behind that he wanted to trace with his tongue. Arms high in the air and hips swaying in time to the steady cadence of drums, his damn pulse matching. Her teal eyes were closed, ruby lips parted but smiling. Wearing a dress that…

Fuck him.

Seriously, fuck him. Please.

Gwyn.

His Gwyn.

Yes, now Azriel really was going to murder those mother-fucking, pieces of pure shit…

His shadows shot off to cloak their lovely Valkyrie.

The shadowsinger snarled and growled at the males by the bar, his feral possessiveness in his Illyrian blood boiling. A need to claim her surged in his body. To fuck her amid the godsdamn dance floor if she granted him permission, just so everyone saw Gwyn was…

When Azriel finally reached her, swirling in the inky mist, Gwyn turned around and smiled.

Fuck. She was breathtaking. Sexy. Adorable. Sweaty. And he wanted to winnow them home right now. Get naked and do whatever the hell she requested. Get on his knees and beg to please her.

"Shadow—" Hiccup. "Singer! You're" Hiccup. "Here!"

Then Gwyn threw herself at him, her arms slipping around his neck as she smashed her lips to his. And when her tongue demanded entrance in a sloppy as hell kiss, he tasted something sweet and noticed the alcohol on her breath. There went all the fun plans—Gwyn was drunk.

Ah, a little lighter than previous chapters. Writing this was like a breath of fresh air. And I can't wait to get into the next chapter!