𝒜 𝒞𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝑅𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒮𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓈 | ᴀᴢʀɪᴇʟ

Chapter 74

Chapter 74

She couldn't help but smile on the morning of Winter Solstice. Having had little wine the night before, she was one of the first to awaken. Arwen held Feyre's present in hand—the one for her birthday. 

Feyre and Rhysand took their time to emerge from their rooms, Arwen beginning to stare at the clock in impatience, but they weren't the last to arise. Rhysand swept her into a hug despite having seen her only hours before. She hugged him back with the same vigour also despite the fact, smiling at the Illyrian leathers he donned.

"Happy birthday, Feyre," said Arwen, handing her the small, wrapped package.

"I'm being spoilt with all these early gifts." Clawing at the packaging, Feyre revealed the thick journal within.

"It's a tracking book," Arwen explained. "The paper is thick so you can put samples of any paints you buy, test them watered down too. I thought it would come in handy."

"It's wonderful."

The three of them settled into a late breakfast, but Rhysand barely touched his before Cassian and Azriel appeared behind him. They hauled their High Lord right from his seat, the three of them giddy like children. Arwen decided to winnow after them.

She perched on the roof of the cabin, clearing a section of snow off with her magic. Drawing her knees up and pulling a thick rug around her shoulders, Arwen watched the three of them build their fortresses and prepare their ammo. She might have been warmer back at the town house. Might have had more company and a softer seat. But this had been her own tradition for two hundred and fifty years, forced along each time. Only this time, she smiled through it and sat there willingly. They were so distracted by their endeavour, that Arwen wasn't sure they even noticed her dark form against the rest of the white roof.

Their dialogue was nothing but insults and taunts, and a few shouts mixed in between. She did eventually wander into the cabin itself, making herself a tea and lighting a fire for the sake of her frozen hands. After a few hours, Mor and Feyre arrived, the latter remaining caught on the existence of the snowball fight for an hour more.

Cassian stalked inside first, trudging snow everywhere. Mor laughed as Arwen rolled her lips between her teeth. Rhysand entered behind him, sour-faced but at least taking the moment to clear his boots and dishevelled hair at the doorway.

"By the look on your faces, I guess that leaves Azriel as the victor?" Mor crooned.

Azriel entered last, a small but firm smile stuck on his cheeks. Cassian waved Mor off like he hadn't just spent the past three hours vying over that title and headed straight to the fire to heat his hands. Rhysand stuck his under his armpits.

"So nothing unusual," Arwen remarked.

Mor barked with laughter. Cassian and Rhysand scowled at her but she earnt Azriel's approving eye. A moment of shameful greed overcame her at that moment. She was in her home, with her family. Feyre was the only relatively foreign thing about, but Arwen was glad she was there, seeing the way her brother's face brightened each time she came into his view. But what she was truly greedy over was the fact that there was no Elain. No Nesta. No talks of work or politics or war or treaties. Like how it used to be. Like she could wipe the past two hundred and fifty years and it would feel like nothing has changed.

And maybe it was dangerous—to forget.

~

Arwen convinced them into a new competition. They collected coal from the fire and evenly split it amongst themselves—Mor and Feyre favouring watching from the small deck with hot drinks instead, delegated as judges. Arwen knelt along the ground, rolling and compacting snow together, the image of a great snowman in mind. They worked in a circle, faces downturned in concentration that she couldn't help but amuse herself with by looking over them every few minutes.