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“Autumn delicacy…” Eris braces his palm on the counter as he reaches for a spoon that he places into a steaming bowl in front of Azriel. “Go on, My Mournful Takahē” Eris encourages.
Azriel takes a deep breath and his lungs flood with the decadent smell “You made it?”
“Oh shit... yes! You’re right. Umh... I am not serving it, just putting it on the table” Eris fiddles with the bowl, misunderstanding his mate’s reaction, while Azriel tries to reconcile the male in front of him who made him soup, with… well, the male he knew his entire life.
“I am just putting this for… me... or, anyone? Who might take it? And if you were to take it… This is going to be fine, right?” Eris continues to ramble as he fiddles with the plate and Azriel secretly hopes it won’t be fine.
Cauldron boil him.
He picks up a spoon, his heart hammering inside his chest. The spices are making his nose run. His wings still feel damp and he sneezes, a shiver running down his spine from the warmth seeping into his bones.
Azriel interfered in a sacking at the Autumn Court border town. He was only supposed to observe and gather intel, but as he noticed a young female fey with incandescent wings hovering over a still body, hungry eyed men closing in on the narrow street, he stepped out of the shadows.
It wasn’t enough.
Now he sits bandaged and soaked in Eris’s cabin, after he was forced to traverse autumn woods on foot and pull a faebane arrow from his left wing. It will heal just fine, but his shadows haven’t returned yet.
Azriel startled and gaped when the Autumn heir materialised in front of him in the middle of the forest in a violent storm. “The trees have told me” Eris explained with a straight face and winnowed them to the cabin.
Azriel isn’t sure if he was joking.
After they arrived, he appraised Azriel's battered state with a smug smirk on his face and patched him up.
“Can I have a little bit more of that?” Azriel ventures after he finishes the bowl in a record time. He feels warm and any shame has long left him. The soup tastes good and it doesn’t appear poisoned. He extends his bowl towards the fey in front of him who is now watching him with wide eyes.
“Umh... how did you make it taste this sour and…” Azriel searches for the right word “...warm at the same time”
“With the sauerkraut… and a bit of tomatoes.” Eris answers, his tone slightly unsure, he appears skittish now. Like a cat, deposited into an unfamiliar living room, debating whether it should accept affection or crawl under the couch. He clearly did not expect Azriel to get so comfortable. Hmmm how the tables have turned, Azriel thinks as he looks around. The cottage is objectively cosy and lived in. With worn books strewn around various pieces of furniture. It smells of wood and parchment, soil and herbs. There are spices growing on the windowsills.
“Adding a bit of tomato paste is the secret. The szechuan peppers is where the warmth comes from. They also go very well with the potato stew.” Eris continues and then frowns. “The peppers, I mean. They give that tingly feeling” the Autumn fey wiggles his fingers and Azriel's eyes can't help but track the movement. He swallows.
“Can I have more liquid.. and the… more of the cabbage” Azriel requests, as he watches hand-painted caterpillars crawl up the edges of his empty green-rimmed bowl. The beans and potatoes are nice, but he is too tired to eat solid food and his body needs the broth. Soft cabbage with tender slow cooked pork melts nicely in his mouth. He wipes a runny nose on his sleeve and shucks the throw of his shoulders, looking where to place it, before gently plopping it on the floor next to his chair. Sienna notices, her heavy head lifts off her paws, ears perked up. Should he pick it back up? Nah.
Azriel watches a single bean balance on the edge of the ladle Eris is gently holding in his slender fingers. Those are some fucking magnificent hands, Azriel's mind supplies and proceeds to wander, bestowing a compilation of entirely too tender snippets that make his eyelids grow heavy.
“It’s okay I’ll put it back” the lordling jokes, seemingly oblivious to the detour Shadowsingers thoughts had taken, and then a bean topples into Azriel's plate. “Suriels' tits! Ah well”.
The next portion Eris scoops with more care, slowly dipping the ladle and waiting for the liquid to fill it, then shuffling it around to get the big chunks of potatoes to fall out into the pot.
He places the bowl back in front of Azriel who sighs contentedly.
“Azriel, can I ask about...?-” Eris trails off motioning to the kitchen tool in Shadowsingers lap. Azriel's entire body locks up.
“A gift” he responds in a rush, feeling the weight of the object against his thighs as his attention suddenly snags to it. The horror of the past ten hours slams into him with full force. Sharp features of a young fey as she rolled her green eyes leaning on the wall by the cracked old door. Small hands gripping a pale linen shirt. The focused look on the boy's face as he rearranged his cards. A wide-brimmed hat, green shirt, pale grey trousers…
Lift. Check. Walk away. Lift. Check. Walk away.
He throws it to the ground violently, fighting back the emotion rising up to the surface. It clatters loudly in a silent room and he notices tiny flecks of blood on the shiny metal. Eris waves his hand and the tool disappears.
“I am sorry” Eris says, even though Azriel doesn’t know why. It was his town. His people. Azriel should be the one saying he is sorry. He may dislike the male, but he now knows Eris cares for his court.
“Me too” he offers and picks up a spoon again. His mind wanders back to one of the many fights they already had ‘I couldn’t risk myself to offer more help. I was my courts' future. That matters the most to me. It always will”. It always will. It was a cold and cruel thing to say, Azriel thought back then.
“The potatoes make the broth starchy” Eris continues in an even voice. “I also mix fresh cabbage with the sauerkraut.” After a while Azriel calms down again, his breathing settles and his body fills with that cottony feeling.
Eris sounds more confident now, as he tells him about various recipes and spice combinations. What works together and what doesn’t. Which seasons are best for specific dishes. How to handle specific pests if they invade your garden. His gaze briefly catches on the discarded throw as he explains to Azriel the perfect temperature and time for cooking bone marrow and how to prevent it from spilling out. “It took me more attempts than I am willing to admit,” he says, wiping the counter with a worn cloth. Azriel's shadows leap to play with it, as he discards it on the edge of the sink. His shadows. They are back. Azriel didn’t even notice when they returned. He can leave now.
He watches Eris tidy up instead.
This is surreal. Here is the arrogant heir of Autumn who has been working to separate broth from the beans for him. Of the soup that he had made. With the meat that he had hunted. Rambling about his favorite spices and giving away his ancestors culinary secrets. Sienna is calmly resting her head on a gigantic chew toy. The deadly smoke hound. As if on cue she whines looking expectantly between the lordling and the now cold soup pot.
Madness.
“It has too much spice in it.” his mate supplies.
Azriel is about to say it is perfect.
“For her” Eris elaborates, inclining his head towards the drooling snout on a gigantic dog bed.
Azriel slept on smaller beds in the Illyrian war camps. The hound whines again.
___________
The first thing Azriel hears as he lands inside Eris’ wards, is a yelp.
His mother is laughing as she is being dragged across what appears to be a frozen lake by an excited hound. There are strange shoes on her feet. The hound runs straight into a snow pile taking his mother with him.
Eris is sitting on a wood bench and watches the scene unfold with bright eyes. Azriel joins him. Selene crawls out of the pile on her knees and sits on the wet ground to pull each shoe off. Do they have blades attached to them? Her trousers are soaked and she sways from the force as she tugs her foot free. The hound is bouncing in place in front of her. She finally clambers onto her feet that are now only covered in thick woollen socks and approaches blushing slightly. “I will give you two a minute,” she brushes Azriel's cheek.
There is a leaf stuck in her hair.
“Are you serious?”
“What?”
Azriel shakes his head. “Nothing”.
“She enjoyed it. Your mother is full of surprises.”
“She is…” she isn’t much older than Azriel, but it still feels like.. “...my mother” he finishes lamely.
“She is not much older than you, is she?” Eris offers. Well. “It was fun.” He adds shrugging.
“She could have fallen.”
“I wouldn’t have let her.”
They watch her form retreat into the cottage as the hound leaps merrily around her.
“Well.. that isn’t entirely true, she has fallen.”
Azriels’ eyes widen, he hopes Eris means the snow pile.
“But I wouldn’t have let her get seriously injured.” Eris continues “I took precautions. She wouldn’t have liked me to coddle her.”
After a pause, he adds quietly “She said it reminded her of flying.”
They sit in silence watching the snow melt quickly. Slush and puddles forming on the rich autumn soil, mixing with damp decaying leaves. The lake is starting to thaw.
“I worried about the fish.” Eris smiles. “We determined most of them would be fine - it does get cold in Autumn. We had to move a few to that pond over there.” His golden ring glints in the sun as he points. “I had to use my magic to monitor them.”
He went through all of that…
“You brought snow to her, because she was missing home.” Azriel offers instead. It isn’t a question.
“Well technically I brought Ian. He made the snow… and the ice.” Eris gesticulates as the corners of his lips turn upwards
Ian. His mate says the name with so much familiarity. Him and Eris get along well. Do they compliment each other? Does Eris melt his frosty heart? He imagines icy breath ghosting against hot fingertips as Eris traces those plush lips. He pivots
“Did the trees really tell you?”
“Huh?”
“When you found me in the forest, after the Willowmare town attack.”
Eris laughs. "I sensed your distress down the bond, winnowed to the town and then tracked you from there. My father taught me how to track anything... back when he took us on the hunts.” he trails off getting that detached look on his face again.
"Sometimes I thought…” Azriel waits. Eris tries again “I just wanted…” He inhales sharply. They sit in the silence for a bit. “Never-mind" his eyes fill with anguish and Azriel needs to know. Please talk to me.
He doesn’t want to push.
“What is this anyway?” Azriel nudges Eris’ shoulder “The shoes.. I mean?” He clarifies, and fireling smiles.
“Ice skating.”
Azriel raises an eyebrow.
“I made a friend in Dawn, who started doing it after-” his mate watches the trees sway in front of them. A gust of autumn air swirls the leaves up and down in chaotic patterns while the howling drowns out Eris' voice for a brief moment “.-he likes to feel the wind of his face. He goes to a very large lake-he likes going before a storm-closes his eyes, and glides. Navigating the strong currents of wind as he spins around, speeding by me, grinning. He is good. It is reckless, the way he does it. It takes a lot of practice to be that good. I had Aya pull your mother” he sighs and gets up extending Azriel a hand “and after, I am told, you are supposed to drink hot chocolate. We can’t leave your mother waiting on that. I promised her my family recipe.”
“Of course you did,” Azriel feels like a child trailing after Eris, their fingers interlaced as he imagines the spiced beverage in one of the whimsical mugs Eris has way too many of. Yes, of course it would be spiced, Azriel nods to himself.
___________
“I really hoped to be a dragon” Azriel can hear a pout in that sleepy voice of the delicious fey currently enveloped in his embrace. He leans sideways and away to look at his mate's freckled face. His eyes are closed, long eyelashes dusted in golden powder rest on his rosy cheeks, expression serene “doesn’t suit you” Azriel kisses his brow.
“What?! I am a fucking dragon.” Eris replies.
“You don’t want to be a dragon,“ Azriel wraps his arms tighter around his High Lord and rests his chin on a pointy shoulder “You don’t need to be.” They watch Cassian go through the drills, his sword glinting in the evening sun. The golden hour makes grass blades seem like tiny fires scattered around the training ring. Foxtails sway in the gentle breeze, while dust swirls around his brother in hues of red. It is beautiful.
“I can be your dragon.” Azriel adds after a moment.
”Except you cannot” Eris pokes his long finger to Azriel’s lips, Shadowsinger speaks against it muffled “With a torch and a most expensive bottle from Hellions' scotch collection - I am very resourceful”
“The two of you together” Cassian inserts himself, lowering his sword and spreading the dirt further across his cheeks “make one single…” a snort “dra…dragon if you take him into your em..embrace and set off into-" he trails of bending over to support his weight with his palms against his knees and proceeding to emit a very undignified wheezing sound, tears in the crinkles of his eyes.
Azriel pauses his finger tracing the lines on Eris’ jaw - his brother can laugh all he wants, but they do make a fucking dragon together.
The breeze cools his damp skin and Eris wrinkles his freckled nose.
“Whatever, Chachalaca” a sleepy voice mumbles Cassian’s way, yawning.
His mate turns and nuzzles into Azriel’s neck. A hot tongue licks the sweaty skin on his throat, and Azriel watches a wicked smile spread across a sunburnt face before it slowly relaxes.
His other half of the dragon dozes off peacefully in his arms.