#Elain loved her cottage life even when it was hard | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

iydiamartinx · 7 months ago

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FLAMES OF STARLIGHT

𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗻𝗲 | 𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌

Pairing: Poly!Azriel x OC x Lucien

Hey everyone! So I have this posted on A03 but I decided to begin posting here as well as a back and for anyone who would prefer to read it here instead.

❝ 𝘴𝘢𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘦'𝘳𝘦 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘦'𝘳𝘦 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯. ❞ — 𝐫.𝐡. 𝐬𝐢𝐧

A DEEP BONE aching pain settled into Valda's body. She was used to pain; she'd dealt with it all her life. However, some days were worse than others, especially during the colder seasons.

The threadbare blanket she had wrapped around her shoulders did nothing to stop the chill from seeping into her bones. She could feel the aches slowly growing worse as she failed to warm up. Yet, she still kept the blanket tightly wrapped around her thin frame, taking the small bit of comfort it offered her.

The door to their run-down cottage was pulled open, and a gust of biting cold air rushed into their already chilly home as her youngest sister stepped in.

"Feyre!" Elain—the second youngest Archeron sister—gasped. She rushed to her feet when she saw what Feyre carried around her shoulders. "Where did you get that?"

Val's bone almost felt like glass as she stood up to gently tug Elain back from rushing at Feyre. Val could hear the hunger in her sister's tone, and even her own stomach clenched at the lack of food, but she ignored it.

"Where do you think?" Feyre questioned, her voice hoarse and tinged with annoyance, no doubt from the exertion of carrying the large beast all on her own.

Val made her way towards her youngest sister, and gently she eased the doe from Feyre's shoulders and onto her own instead. Val's jaw clenched as her body protested at the added weight, but she ignored it just like she always did.

"You should've woken me," Val quietly reprimanded. She didn't like Feyre going out into that treacherous forest alone.

"You're in pain," Feyre instead stated, her eyes already taking in the shakiness that Val tried to hide.

Val just gave her sister a reassuring smile, "I'm fine."

Feyre gave her eldest sister a look of disbelief, one that Val pretended not to notice as she instead walked into their small kitchen. Val placed the doe onto the rickety table, the wood creaking in protest just like her bones had when the carcass landed with a small dull thump.

Val would never admit to how bad the pain got. Years ago, before they fell into poverty, their father had hired the best doctors to find out what illness ailed her body, yet none managed to figure it out. In her youth, she would take tonics that managed to dull the deep pains, but now they were too poor to afford such a luxury, leaving her to be subjugated to the full extent of her illness. There was nothing she could do, so she found no reason to complain. The pain was a part of her, and she'd learned to live with it.

Feyre, on the other hand, had gotten adept at figuring out which days were hard on Val since her sister would refuse to ask for help. She took one look at Val and saw the trembles that ran through her body and the dark circles that told her that Val hadn't been able to sleep—most likely due to the pain. Today was a particularly bad day, and the weather certainly wasn't helping to make it any better. A pang went through Feyre's heart as she looked at her sister; she looked so frail, so fragile, so...breakable.

"Will it take you both long to clean it?" Elain questioned, looking between Val and Feyre.

Val refrained from sighing. She loved her sister, she really did, but sometimes Elain's ignorance and lack of willingness to help out grated on Val's nerve. Elain was too soft, too reliant, yet anytime Val tried to bring it up, it was Nesta —The final Archeron sister and her twin that would surge to Elain's defense.

Val and Nesta shared a complicated bond as twins. Val was the only one who could truly match Nesta, and as the eldest, Nesta usually, albeit reluctantly, conceded to Val's authority. However, when it came to Elain, Nesta became fiercely protective, refusing to acknowledge that their sister needed to harden herself to the cruel world they now lived in. Val sometimes believed that the reason was that Nesta still thought that they would one day regain their wealth. It was a fool's hope, but a hope nonetheless, and who was Val to take that away?

With Nesta favoring Elain, Val naturally gravitated towards Feyre. Even in her youth, Feyre had always been a wild child, and she had been too young when they had their fall into poverty to properly remember the luxuries they had. As such, this was the life Feyre most remembered, and she knew what needed to be done to survive.

Val didn't bother to answer Elain, but instead, she moved to grab her hunting knife, so she could begin skinning the deer.

"Feyre," Their father's deep voice rumbled from where he sat by the fire. "What luck you had today—in bringing us such a feast."

Val's hand tightened on the hilt of her knife. Even worse than Elain in idling around was their father. Val would never forgive him for letting Feyre go out into the woods alone, nor would she forgive him for just giving up. He spoke of trying to regain the wealth they once lost, yet he'd never once done anything to help bring a few extra coins to their table. Her anger towards their father burned hotter than even Nesta's, but like most things, she just managed to hide it better.

Feyre didn't bother to acknowledge their father's words as she moved to stand by where Val sat in front of the doe.

"We can eat half the meat this week," Feyre stated, glancing at Val, who nodded before continuing, "We can dry the other half."

"We can go to the market tomorrow to see how much we can get for the hides," Val added, earning a nod from Feyre. The others didn't bother to respond or even let on they heard what the two had said.

"I'd love a new cloak," Elain sighed wistfully. Right at the same time, Nesta stood up and announced, "I need a new pair of boots."

Val rolled her eyes, choosing to tune out the soon-to-be arguing pair. Instead, her attention shifted to the doe, yet before she could begin skinning it, Feyre's hand gently clasped around her shaking wrist.

"Go sit down," Feyre said gently, "I'll do it in a bit."

"Feyre—" Val tried to protest, but Feyre cut her off with a glare, making the older girl huff, "Sometimes I forget who's older with your mothering."

Feyre's lips managed to twitch, but she kept her resolve firm until Val finally conceded and handed her the knife before shuffling to the nearest chair.

The fact Val hadn't protested too heavily told Feyre just how much pain she refused to admit she was in. On a good day, Feyre wouldn't even have been able to hunt alone. Val would have been right by her side. In fact, it had been Val who had taught Feyre how to hunt in the first place.

While the others may not have realized how much Valda had sacrificed for them, Feyre did. No matter the pain she was in, Val always tried her best. The first time she had found out Feyre had wandered off to the woods alone, she had been livid. After that, she joined Feyre on nearly every hunt, despite the cold worsening the pain she felt.

It was Val who would give up her blanket when the nights were too cold to make sure that her sisters would be warm enough, and it was she who would eat the smallest of portions just so everyone else could eat more.

Feyre knew, which was why she insisted on skinning the deer despite her exhaustion. Valda suffered every day, yet she did everything she could to take care of Feyre and the rest of their sisters; and if Feyre could ease the strain on her sister for even the slightest moment, she would.

Val's eyes had slipped shut as she counted back in her head, trying to take her mind off the deep painful ache in her bones. Hearing the room go silent, Val opened her eyes just in time to see the disgusted look on her twin's face.

"You stink like a pig covered in its own filth," Nesta sneered, picking at Feyre's cloak, "Can't you at least try to pretend that you're not an ignorant peasant?"

"When you put food on this table, then you'll have the right to complain. Until then, leave Feyre alone, "Val's eyes met Nesta's challenge clear in her eyes. At that moment, Val looked anything but frail. Her back had straightened, her lip slightly curled as she glared at Nesta.

They weren't identical, yet both were devastatingly beautiful in their own right. Where Nesta looked most like their mother, Val was a mix of both parents. She was the only sister to share their father's dark brown hair but had their mother's piercing blue-grey eyes that she shared with both Nesta and Feyre.

Nesta returned the glare. The identical blue-grey, almost silver, eyes clashed in a battle of wills, but it was Nesta who broke first. Her jaw clenching and fists curling as she looked away. It was usually Val who won their arguments, and Feyre couldn't help but sometimes wonder if Nesta would secretly let her, not wanting to cause any more strain on their sister than she already felt.

"At least take off those disgusting clothes," Nesta huffed, but there was significantly less bite to her tone.

It was about as much Nesta would concede to defeat, but Val was satisfied. Her shoulders once again slumped as if it was an effort to keep them up.

"Can you make a pot of hot water and add wood to the fire?" Feyre questioned, looking at Nesta before frowning, as she noticed the woodpile—more specifically the lack thereof, "I thought you were going to chop wood today."

Nesta just picked at her long, neatly trimmed nails, "I hate chopping wood. I always get splinters." A frown tugged at her lips at the thought before she smoothed it over with a pout, "Besides, Feyre," Her tone was sickly sweet as if trying to butter her youngest sister up, "You're so much better at it! It takes you half the time it takes me. Your hands are suited for it, they're already so...rough."

"Please," Feyre bit out, trying to hide the pleading note that seeped into her tone, "Please get up at dawn to chop that wood." Feyre began unbuttoning her tunic, "Or we'll be eating a cold breakfast."

"I will do no such thing!"

Val sighed and nodded for Feyre to go. Elain tried to plead softly to Nesta, but she just hissed in return, leaving it up to Val, who was much less kind.

"You will, or you can go hungry tomorrow. Those are your options," There was no warmth in her tone, just cold hard steel letting Nesta know just how serious she was.

Val understood Nesta better than anyone, and she knew why she would do the things she would do. She wanted their father to step up, and Val did too, but Val wasn't about to let that become the reason she and Feyre ended up doing all the work.

Besides, Val had given up on their father long ago. She had given up when he had let them nearly starve to death, forcing Val to take desperate measures. She had given up when he allowed a child to go into those woods. Nesta could hope, but Val knew better.

Displeasure was written all over Nesta's face, but she didn't argue as she had done with Feyre. Nesta would do as she was told.

Thankfully, dinner went without another argument. Everyone was too focused on satiating their aching bellies. Val let out a small sigh as she felt the hunger recede.

She half-heartedly listened to Nesta complain about the villagers to Elain. It didn't even register what exactly Nesta was talking about until Feyre interrupted Nesta.

"Tomas Mandray?" Feyre questioned. "The woodcutter's second son?"

Nesta looked over, her eyes narrowing, "Yes."

Val sat up straighter, paying much more attention to the conversation. "What does he want?"

"He wants to marry her," Elain said dreamily.

Val stilled. Nesta cocked her head, noticing Val and Feyre's reactions. "Is there a problem?" She questioned, almost daringly.

Val snorted, dismissively waving a hand. "You can't chop wood for us, yet you want to marry a woodcutter's son?" Her words made it known just how foolish the idea was.

"You're not marrying him," Feyre added, backing up Val.

Nesta squared her shoulders, "I thought all you wanted was for us to get out of the house—to marry off me and Elain," Nesta's eyes darted to Feyre, and her lip curled, "So you could have one less mouth to feed and your darling Feyre, can finally have enough time to paint her glorious masterpieces."

Val's jaw was clenched so tightly it ached, yet it was Feyre who spoke. "Believe me," She started, "the day you want to marry someone worthy, I'll march up to his house and hand you over. But you're not going to marry Tomas."

Nesta's nostrils flared in anger, "There's nothing you can do. Clare Beddor told me this afternoon that Tomas is going to propose to me any day now. And then I'll never have to eat these scraps again." She smiled cruelly as she added, "At least I don't have to resort to rutting in the hay with Isaac Hale like an animal."

Their father let out an embarrassed cough. However, he said nothing against Nesta, but Val did.

"Nesta, that's enough," Val didn't raise her voice, but her words cracked over the sisters like a whip. It was hard and filled with warning. "Feyre's right. Tomas's family is barely better than ours."

Val remembered the hungry gleam in his eyes when he saw her and Feyre holding a line of rabbits. It was desperate, and she knew from experience that a desperate man did desperate things. Val had a white-knuckled grip on her knife, and she would have done what was needed if he had tried anything. From there on, she steered her and Feyre out of his way.

Feyre nodded, "You'd just be another mouth to feed. If he doesn't know this, then his parents must."

"Besides, we can't afford a dowry," Val looked between Nesta and Elain pointedly, "For either of you."

"We're in love," Nesta stated, and Val snorted as she saw Elain nodding in agreement.

"What do you two know of love?" Val questioned harshly, the words slipping out of her mouth before she could stop them. Nesta and Elain both froze at that. Feyre's eyes flashed with pity. Val reeled back slightly, and she tightly swallowed as she realized she had lost her composure.

"Excuse me," She muttered before hastily making her way out of the kitchen.

In the privacy of the room, she shared with her sisters, her hand shakily reached out to grasp the chain that held a simple ring around her neck while the other came up to muffle her sob.

Everyone knew love was a sensitive subject for Val because she lost her own. They had the love people dreamed about. Everyone in the village looked at them in envy. When Val looked at him, she knew he was her soulmate, as mawkish as it sounded. Yet, life had eventually caught up to them, and he was cruelly ripped away from her. That had been five years ago, and thinking of him still hurt.

She heard the footsteps of her sisters approaching, and not wanting to deal with them at the moment, she turned away from the door, feigning that she had fallen asleep. A few seconds the door opened, and two pairs of footsteps quietly shuffled in. Nesta and Elain spoke in low murmurs for a few minutes before the sheets to their shared cot rustled, and they joined her.

Soon their breathing evened out, but Val remained wide awake. Eventually, Feyre also entered and slipped in beside Val on the unoccupied side. Feyre was fast asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, the exhaustion of the day catching up to her.

Val waited until she was sure everyone was sleeping before slipping away. Grabbing her cloak, she stepped outside and found a stray log to take a seat on.

The air was frigid, the cold already seeping into her aching bones, but she ignored it. Her eyes were locked onto what was above her. The stars glittered like millions of jewels in the night sky but even more beautiful than the stars around was the moon.

It shone brightly, casting a soft white glow that looked almost ethereal on everything around her. Someone once told her that when someone dies, they become a star in the night sky forever to watch over those they love. But Val preferred to believe that light from the moon was of the souls they lost, guiding the way for those they left behind.

A single tear slipped down her cheek, the ache in her heart was worse than any physical pain she could feel. Her hand came to quickly wipe the tear away as she heard gentle footsteps crunching through the snow.

Val glanced back to see a sleepy Feyre making her way over. "It's late."

Val shrugged, holding her cloak open so Feyre could join her, despite already having her own cloak bundled around her body. Val wrapped her arm around her sister and rested her head on Feyre's shoulder.

"Best time to see the stars," Val replied softly, knowing her sister's preference for them.

They sat there in silence for the longest time until finally, the cold became too much, and they were forced to go back inside. They made their way to their hut and quietly slipped back into their cot, where Nesta and Elain blissfully remained asleep. Feyre curled into Val, who wrapped her arms protectively around her, and that was how both girls fell asleep.

Next Chapter →

banner credits: saradika-graphics & reveriesources

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kristeristerin · 2 years ago

Note

The first time I heard All of the Girls You Loved Before I immediately thought of Azriel! Would you do a prompt of the reader meeting all the women Azriel loved (Mor, Gwen, Elain) who didn’t give him the same love back. She’s kind to them of course, but she cannot fathom why these women passed on him but OH WELL- She’s there to teach him how forever feels 💙🫶

AN: Thank you for the prompt! I hope you enjoy how this drabble turned out. <3

As always asks are open for prompts!

Song: All of the Girls You Loved Before

Pairing: Reader X Azriel

Content Warning: None

Words: 438

Azriel stood in the corner of the room holding his breath as his date interacted with Mor. Logically, he knew they were going to meet, but watching the female he loves laugh with the female he’d pined over for centuries was enough to throw him off balance. It isn’t until you throw your head back in laughter that he finally lets out his breath.

“Nervous, brother?” Cassian claps a reassuring hand on his back as he too watches the scene with interest. “It looks like she’s fitting right in. I’m happy you have her.”

“Me too. I’m just worried this will be too much. I can’t imagine meeting any males she’s thought herself in love with and taking it well, but she’s being subjected to three females from my past in one evening. Perhaps this was a bad idea?”

Cassian shrugged, “You’re here now. There is no use worrying about that until you can talk to her privately later.”

Azriel nodded in response and quickly finished his glass of wine before crossing the room to join you and Mor.

—----------

It’s later that night when you’re back at your cottage when you bring up the subject he’s been dreading. “I can see why you loved her.”

He swallows hard, but feigns ignorance “Who?”

You give him an incredulous look. “I know that you are well aware of who I am talking about. Mor. She’s lovely. If I weren’t so in love with you I’d be tempted to try to woo her myself.”

“So, you weren’t uncomfortable tonight?”

“Cauldron no,” you smile at him. “I loved meeting your family. Meeting the girls who made you the male I love was just an unexpected bonus.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that each of them taught you something that I can see present in the way you treat me. Your relationship with Mor taught you to be fiercely loyal and protective. I think Elain taught you the importance of kindness, both to others and yourself. I didn’t speak with Gwyn long enough to piece out what she taught you, but I have a feeling it has something to do with not underestimating the females in your life.”

Azriel lets out a relieved chuckle. “As much as I care about each of them, I can’t help but be grateful none of it worked out. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to fall in love with you.”

You cross the room and wrap your arms around his neck. “I love you too, Azriel, and I’m thankful that I got to meet this version of you. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

#acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #acotar fic #azriel x reader #azriel x you

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theladyofbloodshed · 2 years ago

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A Court of Tangled Flames - Epilogue

Big, big thank you to my Neris lovers who've enjoyed this fic. A kiss on the forehead for all of you.

Life as lady of the castle was perfectly splendid. Nesta felt as if she was playing pretend most days - as though somebody would pinch her then she would wake up back in their run down cottage in the woods. Life was good. More than that, it was brilliant. She never wanted to go to bed, always wished the evenings would stretch out for longer, or she looked forward to the next day to see what it held. New servants had settled within the castle including a cook who found Nesta to be far too skinny for his liking, so spent his days concocting new creations in the kitchen for her to try. Eris had established solid trade agreements with both the Summer and Winter court so there had been an influx of new foods and spices flitting over the border for her to try. It did mean though that her body was softening. Instead of hollowed out, sharp cheek bones, when she smiled, her cheeks were like two rounded apples. She resembled Elain more that way.

Her mother-in-law visited from time to time and tried to encourage her to share her love of gardening but it was not for Nesta at all. Flowers were lovely to gaze upon, but having soil wedged under her fingernails was irksome. A handful of times when Lucien had visited in search of his mother, Nesta had gone with him to fish. She despised that too – and screamed the first time her line caught a fish – but it was enjoyable to sit beside the sea and watch the world roll by. Lucien was always good company. They never mentioned Elain or Beron, but found their own conversations. Nesta had also traded getting pummelled into the mud by Niamh for riding. She found she rather enjoyed the company of the horses, once she had learned how to saddle and brush her mare down. It allowed for freedom to explore without needing to know a destination like when she winnowed.

Without any coaxing from Eris, Nesta wanted to take a more hands-on approach to his court. Their court. Her court. Delight lit up his face at her suggestion. There had been no encouragement from him to do it but she felt it was her duty to be seen as their lady. His reign had not been without difficulty; a number of loyalists to Beron still remained though Nesta could not understand how the male had ever warranted such support.

Her days were spent flanked by soldiers visiting far flung villages to speak with the locals about their lives. It was important to Nesta to be present. There were likely many families like hers who didn’t have a voice, who had empty bellies, and cold, stiff fingers. When she proposed helping those families, Eris did not try to talk her out of it. On the contrary, he led her to the vaults beneath the Forest House and encouraged her to see if she could make a dent in the vast hoard of treasure. Handing out gold did nothing though. Money would have solved many of their problems as mortals but it never got to the root of it.

‘The farmers need to be supported financially. Farming needs to be seen as desirable to encourage more into the profession. It is hard work and not for the faint-hearted.’

Eris nodded from his seat at his desk. ‘A court with full bellies is a happy court.’

‘Can I count on you to propose it at a council meeting?’

He reached out his hand for her to take then Nesta was pulled onto his lap. He kissed her cheek. ‘You could do it.’

‘Certainly not. You can wage war for me. I will stay here and look beautiful.’

‘To which you do an excellent job, my love.’ His lips grazed against the curve between her neck and shoulder. ‘The offer is always there to speak up in council meetings. You offer a perspective to one of the rarest populations in the court.’

Her brows furrowed at his words. ‘And who is that?’

‘Those lucky enough to be married to such a handsome male. Such a rarity.’

Nesta couldn’t hide her snort as she climbed off from his lap. ‘What a high opinion you have of yourself. For clarification’s sake, Azriel is objectively prettier than you.’ Before Eris could raise a complaint, she held out her hand. ‘Come, my darling husband, or I will begin to think you are having an affair with your paperwork.’

Indeed, Eris shuffled to bed later and later as court duties kept him busy. He needed to learn to delegate, but his upbringing meant that he was unlikely to trust others with such important tasks.

In their new bedroom, Eris collapsed onto the bed with a sigh. Each of them had a pile of books on the bedside table; hers were romances whilst his were ancient texts about Prythian. Out of the corner of her eye, Nesta caught sight of the eight-pointed star on her back in black ink. It was a constant reminder of her life in Velaris. In the bond’s absence, she felt no different. There had been no ill-effects on her. But this tattoo lingered there, marring her skin.

‘What do we do with this?’

Eris caught her eye in the reflection of the mirror. ‘Keep it so we always have a higher ground against he who shall not be named.’

‘I hate it. It’s ugly and reminds me of him.’

It was a discussion that they had had many times before with no clear path through. Although Nesta could understand the merits of keeping it, she did not need a reminder of her life under Cassian’s rule. She wanted to move on from it all. To do that, it meant fulfilling the deal which had to be done face-to-face and she wasn’t ready for it yet, nor did she know what she would ask him for.

A knee sunk into the mattress as Nesta crawled towards Eris. She curled up beside him then brought his arm around her body. ‘I don’t want you to go tomorrow.'

Never in her wildest dreams did Nesta think she’d be begging a male to stay in her bed. And she’d never admit that to Eris because he’d gloat about how amazing he was.

‘It’s one night. I believe you told me that on Solstice.’

‘Yes – and look what happened then. What if you find your mate when you’re apart from me?’

There hadn’t been a night apart since Solstice when everything had gone disastrously wrong at breakfast. Even on the nights where Eris was late to bed, Nesta could never settle fully until he was beside her, no matter how tired her body was. It somehow always knew he wasn’t next to her.

‘I will spend the night with my brothers. I truly hope a bond does not snap to one of them or the Mother has a very wrong sense of humour.’

Nesta made a harumphing noise, still not happy with the arrangements.

‘And it’s tradition,’ he added.

Nesta gave a little groan as she nuzzled closer to him. ‘We are already married.’

As was his nature, Eris had insisted on researching absolutely everything about mortal weddings. He had bugged Lucien to allow him to talk to Jurian about it though the male had little information to pass on and the scant information he did have was severely outdated.

‘That tradition exists because couples never spend time together without chaperones so they do not engage in physical acts. We are married and have engaged in them.’

‘Multiple times,’ Eris said.

‘Exactly. So why do you need to spend a night away from me?’

Eris’ arm tightened around her body, squeezing the air from Nesta’s lungs. He gave a noise of discontent. ‘Because I have arranged for Gwyn and Emerie to stay in my stead but you cannot let me ever surprise you.’

That was a surprise. Nesta prised his arm away and rose up on her elbows, eyes lightening with excitement. ‘Truly? They’re coming here?’

In his dramatic fashion, Eris clutched a hand over his heart. ‘You would accuse me of lying?’

She couldn’t resist arching a brow at his question which made him smirk.

‘I never lie to you. Others, yes. To you, I simply omit some truths on the rare occasion.’

***

The desperation to give Nesta a mortal ceremony was an itch that could never quite by sated. There were countless obstacles that Eris could not manage to overcome. As Elin still required feeding every couple of hours, Feyre Archeron could not attend the wedding without bringing the babe which had been strictly forbidden by Rhysand therefore Feyre would not be attending. Nesta had taken the news well enough, shrugging that she had not expected her to come anyway. He had teased her, asking how she’d respond if he tried to forbid her from doing anything. Nesta had given him a look that suggested Eris would find his knife wedged into his balls if he tried such a thing, having well and truly had enough of others ruling her life.

Elain had not replied either way. Lucien had asked her directly for Nesta’s benefit and Eris would even put up with their shadow singer in attendance if that could coax the elusive, middle Archeron to the wedding. Still, she had not committed herself to the wedding. That one did hurt Nesta. She tossed off her hurts, throwing her hands in the air and declaring why should she care if her sisters couldn’t make an effort, but that told Eris enough.

Emerie had been easy enough to bring to the Autumn Court as Niamh was still a regular feature of her life. Gwyneth had been difficult, but Lucien had managed it all for him. At least there were two guests that Nesta truly wanted in attendance. He had to wonder what the females were up to in Nesta’s last night of freedom. Eris imagined it involved a great deal of squealing and laughing in Orla's home.

A far cry to his evening trying to resurrect a relationship between his brothers after centuries at each other’s throats. Still, Eris tried for their mother’s benefit. It was painful. Wedging splinters into his nailbeds might have been preferable. They had opted for archery and drinking. What could possibly go wrong? Ashur was on hand – sober – to ensure none of his brothers shot a wayward arrow through his heart. Eris did not truly think they would dare because they were utterly terrified of his darling wife. He might have dropped information into conversations between them about her penchant for revenge and devotion to him to enhance those beliefs.

Eris knocked an arrow to his bow then shot an apple from the tree.

‘Easy shot,’ smirked Phelan.

His brother had adapted well enough to one hand. Instead of the long bow, he managed to use a crossbow and a specially made device that was fitted onto his stump to hold the bow. Phelan’s brow creased as he loaded an arrow then aimed for one of the fruits near the top of the tree. The arrow went wide, grazing the skin but not succeeding in tearing the apple from the tree.

‘I’ve only got one hand,’ he said by way of an excuse.

Lucien, who had always been the best with a bow, could not resist the opportunity to show off. ‘And I’ve got one eye.’

His arrow hit the apple that Fellen had aimed for, but as the fruit fell, he shot another. The arrow pierced it and held it in place against the trunk at head height.

Uther rolled his eyes at the display.

‘Amarantha would have been better off cutting out your tongue,’ muttered Xander.

They never spoke of that time beneath the mountain. It was an unspoken rule across Prythian that those fifty years weren’t to be spoken about. Lucien had freedom during that time, but Eris doubted it was pleasant. Maybe one day, the brothers would heal their wounds together. It was too much to manage for now. Having Lucien present amongst the others was already tentative ground.

‘Lucky for me, I have both hands and both eyes – and my tongue,’ said Eris, stepping in before any words could be said about Hybern’s general. ‘And I taught all of you everything you know.’

He downed a shot then loosed another arrow that embedded itself a whisker away from Lucien’s arrow.

‘Mother will have kittens if we tarry too long.’

It earned a collective laugh from his brothers then Uther chimed in with comments about being a mama’s boy. A secret part of him was glad for them.

***

Being walked down the aisle was a rite of passage denied to Nesta. Had her father been alive, she could not say that she truly would have wanted it either. Eris would have been a perfect choice hand-picked by her mother because, on the surface, he was rich beyond belief, with an outstanding social status. She’d have disregarded the infamous cruelty. They would not have cared if he really was wicked because their goal for Nesta was to stamp her way to the top. She supposed she had simply been lucky that beneath it all, Eris had a heart made of gold.

‘Oh, look at you,’ murmured Orla, dabbing at her eyes, as she gazed at Nesta in her wedding gown.

‘It’s only a wedding,’ Nesta said, casting off the compliment before it landed.

Gwyn’s eyes popped. ‘You’re not excited?’

‘I am,’ she insisted, ‘but he’s already my husband. We already have our life together.’

Niamh, who was finishing threading flowers through Emerie’s glossy curtain of hair, shrugged one shoulder. ‘I think it’s Eris’ excuse to ply you with more cake. Since you’re filling out your clothes better, you both reek of sex.’ She flashed a sharp-toothed grin. ‘More to grab onto.’

It was true that her changing body had been well-received by Eris. Her softer thighs were plastered with kisses. His hand never strayed far from her stomach even when she tried to breathe in and hide it. Where her skin had stretched on her hips, faint threads of purple could be seen, but any discomfort over them was washed away by Eris’ gentle caresses. As Niamh had said, there was more to hold onto. Her wedding dress had been altered a number of times to the point where the seamstress had threatened to cut her off desserts if she had to adjust the gown again. Nesta had asked Eris if he preferred her when she was heavier, but he’d replied that he preferred her when she was happy.

‘The carriage is here,’ Emerie called. Her hands were braced on the windowsill, peering out towards the garden.

A small smile ticked up the corner of Nesta’s mouth. ‘Wouldn’t it be delightfully funny if we did not show up?’

Niamh cackled at the suggestion.

‘Oh, don’t be so cruel to him,’ said Orla though she tried to hide her own smile.

She was tempted to send Safila wearing her veil though she’d miss out in seeing Eris’ exasperate expression.

Her night had been spent giggling into the darkness with her friends at Orla’s house. Gwyn had fallen asleep first so Nesta had moved into bed with Emerie to continue talking without disturbing, but they hadn’t slept until the first rays of light were beginning to bleed into the sky. The thought of having to socialise all day with stiff-upper-lipped lesser lords of the Autumn Court did not thrill Nesta with joy. She could endure it for her husband.

Their chatter didn’t fade as they climbed into the carriage and gazed out upon the rich forests of the court that she called home. It hurt her a lot that Feyre and Elain couldn’t make an effort for her wedding, but she had the females that mattered in the carriage with her. Gwyn and Emerie had gotten her through her most miserable moments in Velaris, and Orla had done the same when she had arrived to the Autumn Court. And Niamh, well, she was just Niamh. The female in question had cocked her legs over the side of the carriage so they hung loosely – wild through it all.

The castle came into view on the horizon. A salty sea wind blew through their hair. Never did Nesta think she’d be so calm around open water after everything that had happened, but she did enjoy spending every moment that she could gazing out across the sea.

Her lips parted in confusion when the carriage veered towards the left rather than the well-worn path towards the castle.

‘Where are we going?’

She craned her neck behind her, trying to catch a glimpse of flowers or guests, but came up empty. None of the others seemed remarkably surprised by the carriage’s direction.

Gwyn and Orla had to force themselves backwards into their seats as the carriage made its way up a steep hill otherwise they’d have fallen into Nesta’s lap. Her own back was pressed against the seat from the tilt of the hill.

‘I do hope the horses will make it,’ murmured Emerie.

Niamh flashed her a wide smile. ‘If they fail, I’ll pull us along.’

It earned a snort of laughter from her sister.

‘Through love, anything is possible,’ Niamh shot back.

‘So it seems, dear sister.’

Nesta raised her eyebrows. ‘Is it bad if I almost wish the horses would stop to see Niamh try.’

‘It can be a wedding gift.’

The carriage rolled to a stop and eyes fell to Niamh, but she jerked her chin to a path ahead. Pink and purple heather had been cut back to reveal a sloping path covered in sand.

‘Does my husband intend we hike to the altar?’

‘You’ll see,’ said Orla with a wink as she held open the door to the carriage for them all to exit. ‘We’ll go first as is your mortal tradition.’

These confounded traditions, thought Nesta. As her friends began the short walk upwards, her heart fluttered against her ribs. It was silly. They were already married. Why did she feel so nervous at the prospect of marrying him again? Nesta had been vehement that in the absence of her father – whom she would not have wanted to do the task anyway – she needed nobody to give her away. No more males needed to rule her. Although Lucien had offered, Nesta knew how to take care of herself now. It did mean that she had to do this walk alone and she was terribly struck by nerves all of a sudden.

When Emerie’s wings became a blur on the horizon, Nesta began her own walk. The warmth was pleasant enough though not stifling and she was helped along by the brisk wind blowing upwards from the sea. She pinched her skirts with one hand, lifting them from the sand, and held her bouquet with the other. It lacked elegance or subtlety; bright sunflower heads were interspersed with deep red roses. They had been grown by her mother-in-law however which made it far more special.

The breath whooshed out of her lungs as she crested the hill. Nesta had expected row upon row of sour-tempered old males who were invited out of duty as well as numerous representatives of other courts who were all strangers.

She was sorely wrong.

Amongst the rugged gorse and lichen-covered stone, a modest crowd was gathered. There were less than thirty in total, and all ones that Nesta knew personally. It was so relaxed. Maceo was there, sat beside Lucien. Ashur sat behind them with two others that Nesta recognised as Eris’ closest males within the army. Her group of females, in their burnt orange gowns, stood to one side of the altar, smiling and whispering. A jolt of shock ran through Nesta at the sight of Elain, hesitant and nervous, but resplendent in a pale-yellow dress in a seat next to Eliška. Her heart softened and her eyes grew teary.

Eris held his hand for her to take as she reached him.

He stood beneath a canopy that was dripping with brightly coloured flowers. The view from the cliff that Eris had chosen for their wedding was incredible. The sea stretched out in front of them; powerful waves met the cliff. Their castle stood in full view amongst the shallows and a tall ship was moored at the port further in the distance.

‘On a clear day, you can make out the Cliffs of Mohirn on the Continent,’ he murmured, squeezing her hand.

‘It’s very pretty, but you assured me you’d never make me hike.’

‘It was a little hill.’

‘In a wedding gown.’

‘And how beautiful you are with colour in your cheeks,’ he leaned down to kiss one.

A priestess that she recognised as the one who officiated their rushed ceremony where Nesta wore a night gown was there to officiate once more. She gave Nesta a smile in greeting, likely thinking of that day. The vows that day had been repeated in a state of numb disbelief.

They held hands, facing each other. There was a slight tremble to Eris’ hands.

‘Why are you nervous?’ She whispered. ‘It’s not like I can say no when I’m already married to you.’

That remark had his lips curving into a smile. ‘True enough.’

Her thumb drove in a circle atop his as she recited her vows. ‘I vow to protect you, to love you, to worship you, and to always be at your side. As the Mother is my witness, I am forever yours.’

Eris turned to the awaiting crowd, ‘We all heard her vow to worship me, didn’t we?’

‘I’ll have a statue built to the sky in your honour,’ she replied, rolling her eyes.

For his, Eris released her hands. She was pulled a step closer. One hand rested on the small of her back, the other cupped her face. She loved those amber eyes, the sharp edges of his face, the constant whirring of the gears behind it all.

‘I vow to protect you, to love you, to worship you, and to always be at your side. As the Mother is my witness, I am forever yours. You lucky thing.’

The kiss was chaste in the presence of his mother, Nesta was delighted to note. A faint pink even stole across Eris’ cheeks. She leaned towards his ear and whispered, ‘Like a blushing maiden.’

The evening was beautiful. There was no awkwardness when all the guests were such good friends. Even the Vanserra brothers were on their best behaviour under the watchful eye of their mother. The female in question had well and truly bloomed once more. She laughed easily, reminding Nesta of Lucien; she had a wit as quick as Eris’ and engaged anybody in delighted conversation. Her and Orla gravitated towards each other too.

Nesta had danced with every guest, including Elain where she took the lead as if she was male, making Elain giggle. ‘I’m so glad you came.’

‘I am glad to be here.’

‘Did Lucien-’

‘Yes,’ she replied quickly. ‘He persuaded me.’

A grin spread across Nesta’s face. ‘Did he now.’

‘Not like that,’ she clarified, colour blooming in her cheeks. ‘He said his mother had rare orchids in a greenhouse amongst other plants and I could take as many cuttings as I wanted back to Velaris.’

Nesta had to wonder whether her mother-in-law had perhaps planted that seed in her son’s mind. It did not bother her either way; she was simply glad Elain could be a part of the celebrations.

Eventually, Eris managed to spirit her away from the dancing by hauling her into his arms and carrying her off. His fire danced above the ground, lighting the way, then they stopped near the edge of a cliff.

‘You’re not planning on throwing me, are you?’

He laughed heartily. ‘Not today.’

His lips pressed against her neck. ‘Did you see the tall ship earlier?’

‘I did.’

‘I heard it is a tradition for newly-wedded couples to take a trip and enjoy each other’s company.’ Another kiss. ‘Winnowing seems dull when I could pretend that I know how to sail.’

‘We’re going on that ship?’

Eris nodded. ‘If we don’t like it, we can abandon the crew and winnow. I might get terrible sea sickness.’

‘The High Lord of the Autumn Court defeated by waves.’ Nesta linked her fingers into Eris’ and brought his hands to rest on her abdomen as she leant back against him. ‘What is our destination, captain?’

‘The Continent. Elain mentioned that you always wanted to. Think of all the book shops and bakeries that you can explore.’ He gave a soft laugh. ‘I’ve been monitoring Briallyn and Koschei. Azriel too. I’d never take you to danger. Everything is safe.’

‘You are wonderful.’

‘I know,’ he replied, kissing her again. ‘But so are you. My wife is so nice that I married her twice.’

‘Oh no, don’t tell people that.’

Nesta knew that would only encourage him. Once he decided to be mischievous, little could ever dissuade Eris.

‘I might change my name to Eris Archeron.’

‘Do I need to divorce you twice or will just once do the trick?’

Eris held her hand, ready to lead her back to the crowd. ‘Thank you for taking a chance on me, many months ago. It was the best thing that ever happened in my life.’

‘And now we have a forever together.’

‘Here’s to forever, my love.’

#a court of tangled flames #acotf #neris

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wellwhatisnttaken · 2 years ago

Text

Through Miles Of Clouded Hell

Part 1

_________________________

For as long as Lucien could remember, the world had been dead. A gradient of brown and gray rot. The woods near the palace were a collection of dead trees, bark soggy and soft. The sun rarely shone on his Kingdom, watery overcast being the best they could hope for, with raging, destructive thunderstorms being the worst.

As a youngling, his mother had told him tales of why nothing ever grew, why the land was cursed to rot and decay. The way his mother told it, There was a female. The most beautiful female that had ever lived. She and her sisters were descended from the gods of old, with bronze hair that swept the ground when she walked. She lived with her sisters in a cottage on the edge of the heavenly city. The sisters were the fairest of all the fae, each known for their own special talent. The oldest wielded silver fire. It was her who kept the fires burning during wartime, her who kept the lanterns lit and the people warm. The youngest, she spoke in riddles and curses. She broke curses on those who brought her starlight, and with her Wick tongue, condemned those who did evil.

But the middle sister. She was the most powerful. She was connected to the very ground itself. Flowers bloomed in her footprints, crops thrived under her gaze, and trees shot sky ward under her touch. She was the very essence of life itself. She could breathe back life into the sick, and could just as easily snatch it away. Her name was Elain Lifebringer. It was her who tended to the mother tree at the heart of the heavenly city. Everyday she would visit and commune with the sacred mother spirit and tend to her tree. The mother tree was the source from which all life originated. Its trunk was wider than entire forests, and its hight reached far past even the most outer reaching of Heaven.

Elain Lifebringer was content to live with her sisters and tend to the lands and gardens and the mother tree. But the kings son wanted her for himself.

He had tried talking to her, courting her, even following her around. He became obsessed with her. One day he brought her a deer that had be nibbling on her flowers in the garden outside her cottage. He had slit its throat in front her as an offering, proving to her that he could vanquish her enemies. As the blood of the doe spilled across the lush grass in front of her home, she saw him for the cruel male he was, and horrified by his actions, she spurned him. She banished him from her home and cursed his name. But he did not give up so easily. The kings son was spoiled and haughty, used to getting what he wanted. And even if he could not have her now, she would eventually be his.

So, he devised a plan to rid her of the distractions clouding her judgment, ensuring that she works finally realize that they were meant to be.

Later that moon cycle, In the dead of night, the kings son stole away Elain’s sisters, and brought them to the mother tree. It was there that he strung them up. When Elain woke, she scrambled into the city, frantically searching for her sisters, only to find their blood soaking the rots of her beloved mother tree. They say her wails can still be heard on the wind if one listens hard enough, and that the ocean’s poured from her eyes, her tears creating the rushing rivers. The kings son stood over her kneeling form, a proud look on his face, for they could finally be together. But as she looked up, she felt death unfurl in her chest.

By now the people of the city had gathered in small crowds to witness what had happened, and Elain stayed her hand. Waiting for someone to speak out against this monster. But no one did. Faces that her and her sisters had grown up with, cared for, sheltered, and loved, stayed silent in the face of the murderer prince. So Elain picked herself up and went to the tree. Blood soaking the soles of her bare feet and the ends of her bronzed hair, and as the mother tree enveloped her, she roared a curse upon the land

No life shall grow

Nor rivers flow

No trees of green

Nor harvests seen

Your heart is black

I take it back

All the life poured from my hands

I curse death forever on these lands

It is said that the rot took hold of the land shortly after the tree petrified her. Black tears rolled down her now wooden face, and dripped onto the soil, spreading death as they soaked into the roots.

His mother had told him, that Elain LifeBringer could be awoken, if one true of heart, kind of spirit and brave of soul planted an offering of sacrificial love into her open mouth.

Lucien didnt know of any of this was true. Perhaps his mother had just been making up stories to distract him from his father’s cruelty. But his father was gone, and he was the king now. And unlike his father, he could not watch his people starve and die in silence. He wished there was another way, but he could never forgive himself if he didn’t try.

He would go to Elain Life Bringer, and he would bring her back. For his mother, for his people.

———————————

Let me know if there’s interest in more of this story! Im really feeling it tbh.

Tagging some friends so i dont get lost on the dash also shameless self promotion

@iftheshoef1tz @separatist-apologist @yourethehero

#acotar #lucien vanserra #elain and lucien #my wips #elain archeron

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unhealthyfanobsession · 2 years ago

Note

Angsty prompt with Nesta recovery arc: day of her wedding is soured when Cassian is once again distracted by Mor, whom she reluctantly invited as a bridesmaid per his request. Feyre has been more enamored with the wedding itself than reassuring Nesta’s nerves. Rhys is holding the check over her head even tho she insisted he didn’t need to pay. Amren is just being a bitch and souring the whole evening with her attitude against marriage. (Perhaps an omen?)

Finally done with being second, she sneaks out the back with The Valkyries in tow and a couple hundred bucks Eris gives her (was supposed to be a wedding gift but better suited as a runaway bride advance - he’s loving it! Much blessings and thank you for the drama!!) and roads trips to anywhere with her best friends. A weekend of clarity and a phone discarded in some church bathroom.

Creative liberties to the writer - you never disappoint!

Ok so if you squint then I kind of fulfilled what you asked for … I started with good intentions I swear but it just took on a life if it’s own! Always dangerous to give me creative liberty 😉

“You look so beautiful,” Elain smiled. She smiled and for a second Nesta almost believed her. Almost deluded herself into thinking that this happy, gentle, sweet, make no conflicts version of Elain was real and not just a facade she put up to avoid sharing Nesta’s fate.

Not that Nesta’s fate was bad. It was good, of course. It worked out. Everything worked out exactly as it was supposed to. Right?

Nesta placed her hand over Elain’s on her shoulder and smiled back, “Just like the drawings.”

Nesta pretended she didn’t see Feyre’s eyes flicker dark even as the first ounce of genuine light entered Elain’s.

“Drawings?” It was the first word Mor had spoken all day - a fact that Nesta had been, up until this second, extraordinarily glad of. She had invited Mor to her bridal suite (or whatever it was called for a mating ceremony) out of courtesy more than anything else. Respect for her relationship with Cassian - confusing and annoying as it was- and because she knew Mor was the sort of girl who would die to see a wedding dress before everyone else.

She was right on that score if the way the blonde’s entire spine straightened up the second Gwyn clasped together then final pearl-inlaid button was any indication.

“Nesta and Elain used to draw their wedding dresses on the back of sheet music when they were supposed to be studying piano.” Feyre’s delivery was simple and free of bitterness. Mor’s eyes were not.

“You didn’t joint them?”

“Feyre was never a fan of girly things like that,” Elain’s jaw worked hard with the force of her plastered on smile. “We asked her to draw a wedding dress with us once and she drew a huntsman’s cloak instead.”

Feyre grinned at the memory, “I did, didn’t I?”

“More practical, you said.” Nesta didn’t add that Feyre repeated the sentiment again once they were back in the cottage and her and Elain were fantasizing about their wedding gowns while Feyre was hunting.

“But you love beautiful dresses,” Mor half pouted. Yes, Feyre loved to go shopping and feel silks and dress in starlight with her new friends.

“I like wearing beautiful dresses when they are placed in front of me as Rhys and you do … I don’t spend my free time thinking of them.”

Nesta felt Elain’s hand clamp tighter on her shoulder. She squeezed back in acknowledgment. The shared frustration.

“I suppose you had more important thing to think about.”

Was this going to be the rest of Nesta’s life? Waiting for Cassian in a pretty dress while his family reminded her of every sin she committed as a child? Would he defend her? Would he tell Mor to stop, if he was here? Would these subtle jabs and hairpin pricks ever cease? Shouldn’t Nesta know the answers to these questions before she accepted eternity?

Choosing Cassian had never been easy, but it had always been worth it. His family though …

No.

Not his family.

Just Mor.

What did it say that Nesta trusted more entirely in Rhysand to defend her against Mor’s comments than her own mate? Rhysand who wouldn’t stop showering her in gifts and wouldn’t hear a single bad word about her from anyone. Rhysand who took a debt for a debt. A language he and Nesta understood completely. Rhysand who owed Nesta 3 lives that he would never repay. That she never wanted him to repay.

Cassian owed her nothing but himself. And it was enough. Cauldron and mother and wall and old human gods, it was enough. But … was it enough when he was not there?

That had always been the question, hadn’t it.

Hand stitched silk tightened around Nesta’s middle. Squeezing her organs together and trapping her nerve somewhere deep inside her rib cage.

A huntsman’s cloak, her little sister wanted.

Ironic, that so many years later she sent a huntsman to trap her wicked elder sister’s heart.

And of course he succeeded.

For a very long time Nesta convinced herself that it didn’t matter, if he trapped her heart or she gave it willingly. But suddenly, in this room, with Elain’s hand pressing down on her shoulder and Mor’s glare so thinly veiled and her sins splashed across Feyre’s face even on this day … suddenly, nothing mattered more.

“It’s ok,” Elain whispered. “Do it for both of us.”

Gwyn’s eyes shot up, bright teal reflecting off of shining white. Emerie stood where she had been watching quietly from the corner.

“Any summit,” her Illyrian sister said. “Any battle.” Her gaze flickered to Mor and the High Lady. “Any choice.”

And just like that, her organs loosened. Shifted back to their proper spot, floating free among her blood and muscle.

Nesta wanted to run, and if she did, more people in this room would cover her tracks than try to claw her back.

She was not where she was all those months ago. She was better. She was freer. She was … loved.

Loved by her sisters. Blood and found.

Loved by her brothers (in-law but every bit annoying enough to count as the real thing)

Loved by her mate.

Loved by … loved by herself.

And that made all the difference.

With one foot out the door, Nesta did something she never could have done a year ago. She admitted what she truly needed in that instant. “Everyone get out.”

They did. Without question.

And with a single tug of a golden string…

“Cold feet, sweetheart?”

#nessian #nesta archeron #nessian fanfiction #acosf #cassian #a court of thorns and roses #sarah j maas #nesta and cassian #gwyn berdara #gwyneth berdara #a court of silver flames #valkyrie #Valkyrie trio

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roseandshadows · 2 years ago

Text

Here’s another little snippet of what I imagine Azriel and Elain’s interactions could have been while they waited for news from the queens. In the book the time frame for this would have been late winter/early spring, but when I wrote it felt more like mid/late spring.

Word count: 1,440

Description: While spending time in her garden before dinner, Elain meets with Azriel for information about the human queens.

The second time Elain met Azriel, Spymaster of the Night Court, she’d been in her garden. The evening was cool, and Elain had needed to occupy her mind from the arduous tasks plaguing her days recently. With her father gone, the responsibility of running the estate had fallen to Elain and Nesta, and it seemed that the last few days had been especially busy with an impending visit from Greysen, his father, and other wealthy landowners in the area. While she enjoyed many of the activities she’d be hosting in the following week, including a lavish costume ball, Elain found she needed quiet. A moment to breathe. Her garden seemed to be calling to her. The servants surprisingly didn’t try to convince her to stay indoors like usual and gave her the space she needed.

Elain sighed when she came to her private garden to see numerous weeds had taken over. She’s been away for too long, occupied by the duties of the household. She dropped the basket she’d brought and sunk to her knees to tackle the unwanted greenery.

Gardening had become Elain’s escape during her family’s difficult years in poverty. As a young girl, before her father had lost their fortune, Elain had begged their gardener to allow her to use a small patch of land in their vast estate to grow anything her heart desired. The gardener conceded, but had said flowers were more suited to a lady, even if she really should just let him do all the work instead of digging in the ground herself. But she’d relished those calm moments and how her hard work brought forth such beauty.

After their fortune was lost, every task had become more difficult. She and her sisters had always had servants to do tasks such as cooking and laundry, and those first several months were some of the hardest in her life as they learned how to manage. She shuddered to think of that first winter, huddling together for warmth in front of a meager fire. But she remembered the first time Feyre had come home from the market with a small packet of flower seeds and she’d wept from the kindness from her little sister. Though they had lost all their land, the cottage did have a small patch where she carefully tended to her new plants, loving the color and life they seemed to bring to the otherwise bleak cottage. Elain swore she’d seen Nesta gazing at the blooms when she thought no one was looking and Feyre had painted roses on her dresser drawer, so she imagined the flowers brought some joy to others too. She smiled a little at the memory.

Elain was pulling a particularly stubborn weed when she heard a twig snap some distance away. She turned to look in the direction of the noise, assuming she’d see a deer wandering by, but she saw him standing there. Azriel. He stood near a small copse of trees, which appeared as mere dark shadows around him as the sunset painted the sky brilliant colors above the branches. He seemed to wait until she gave a small wave before beginning to walk towards her. With as silently as he moved now, Elain strongly suspected he’d purposely stepped on the branch to avoid sneaking up on her.

“Hello,” Elain greeted him as she stood, wiping her dirty hands on her gardening apron.

“Good evening, Elain,” Azriel said once he was close enough to her. Elain noticed him look to the gardening gloves laying forgotten inside her basket. She smiled at him.

“It’s my compromise with our gardener, the gloves. He doesn’t fuss as much about me gardening on my own, but says I should wear them for his peace of mind.”

“But you’re not using them this evening?” Azriel tilted his head, curious. Elain frowned a little, realizing she hadn’t thought at all about the gloves, just wanting to dive right into the task of clearing the garden. She must have truly been distracted tonight.

“No, I suppose I’m not. My maid won’t be too happy with me,” Elain remarked. “But if I’m being honest, I think I like to feel the soil between my fingers. To feel the work that goes into cultivating all that grows here.” She added, realizing in that moment how true that was. She had no idea why she’d told this male any of that. He stood there so still, the only motion the breeze moving his hair, listening to her ramble about getting her hands filthy in the dirt.

Azriel looked at the garden that stretched out behind her.

“You planted all of this?” he asked. Elain followed his gaze.

“Yes, this is my private space and the greenhouse beyond. Although our gardener is helping me in there to grow some vegetables.” And they were being incredibly stubborn. Elain was thrilled she’d convinced old Stephen to help her grow vegetables outside the kitchen garden. He thought she was a little crazy to ask, but he’d agreed. Which was very lucky, since he was a wealth of knowledge.

“Vegetables?” Elain blushed a little at Azriel’s question, though she sensed no judgement in his voice.

“Yes. It hasn’t been the easiest, but I really want to challenge myself. Different plants have different needs to flourish, and I’d like to learn them all in time.” Azriel nodded, as if this made perfect sense. “Is there anything I can offer you after your journey? I know you shouldn’t be seen by the servants, but I can sneak into the kitchens if you need refreshments. Our cook made some especially delicious pastries this morning. They’re my favorite treat.”

“No, thank you. My journey wasn’t too long and I don’t want to deprive you of delicious pastries.” Elain gave a small laugh, noting what she thought was the beginnings of a teasing smile on his mouth, before curiosity took over.

“Did you fly all the way here from the Night Court?” she asked in wonder. Azriel turned to look somewhere in the distance as he seemed to subconsciously stretch his wings out ever so slightly. Elain followed the movement, awed at how effortless it appeared.

“No. I… have a power that allows me to travel between the spaces of this world. The wall prevents me from traveling here directly this way, so I flew when needed.” Elain’s eyes widened a little as he spoke.

“That must truly be something to behold. Although I’m not sure which is more impressive, the flying or the travel between worlds.” She thought she saw a faint blush creep up Azriel’s cheeks, but it was difficult to tell as the sun began to fade. “Can you travel with others using your magic?”

“I can, but there is a little more strain on the magic,” he replied. He seemed to hesitate a moment, as if debating whether to continue. But his face seemed to soften slightly when he spoke next. “I do prefer to fly when time allows. I… like the quiet.” Elain looked to her garden.

“I think I understand what you mean,” she said, watching the flowers sway gently in the breeze. She was practically bursting with more questions, but she could already hear voices near the house. She saw Azriel’s head turn toward them as well. The servants would be calling her in to dine soon and she didn’t want to risk anyone seeing him.

“I didn’t realize how late it’s become,” she began. “I’m sure you are eager to return home and I know Nesta will come wondering what I’m doing. Unfortunately we’ve heard nothing from the queens. Nesta posted another request to them earlier today like we were instructed, so perhaps we will hear back soon.”

While Elain began to untie her gardening apron, she saw Azriel lean down to grab her basket. He held it out to her once she finished folding the cloth, his fingers brushing hers gently as she grabbed the handle. She smiled at him again as she pulled the basket in front of her.

“I hope you are able to take some time flying home and I wish you a safe journey.” Azriel bowed his head slightly to her. “Do you know when we’ll see you again?”

“I have business over the next week, so Cassian will visit in the next few days to see if there’s word from the queens. I hope you have a good evening, Elain.” She nodded to him with another smile, walking away a few paces. When she looked back to give him a departing wave, he had already disappeared into the shadows.

#elriel #pro elriel #elriel fanfic

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mrspettyferr · 4 years ago

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Hear me out:

High Lord Rhysand and High Lady Feyre of the Night Court

Lord Cassian and Lady Nesta of Illyria

Prince Azriel and Princess Elain of the Court of Nightmares

Lord Cassian and Lady Nesta of Illyria - General to the Night Court and Commanders of the Illyrian and Valkyrie Legions

Rhys’s face was carefully calm. “You didn’t ask what bigger responsibilities I have in mind for you.”

“I assumed Nesta was big enough,” he hedged.

Rhys gave him a knowing look. “You could be more.”

“I’m your general. Isn’t that enough?”

“Is it enough for you?”

Yes , he almost said. But found himself hesitating

- -

“Hello, Lord Devlon.” The leader of the camp, then.

- -

“How did you—I mean, how do you and Lord Cassian—” Cassian spewed his wine across the table, causing Mor to leap up, swearing at him as she used a napkin to mop her dress.

- -

“Lord Cassian.” He peered over a shoulder to where Emerie still stood behind the counter. He didn’t bother to correct her, to say that he did not and would never accept using lord before his name.

- -

You as well, Lord Cassian.

“Just Cassian,” he said, as he had said so many times now.

You are a lord in good deeds. It is not a title born, but earned.

He bowed his head as he said thickly, “Thank you.” It took him until he reached the section where Clotho had said Nesta would be to shake off the high priestess’s words. What they meant to him.

- -

A low, bitter laugh. But she turned to Cassian, looked him over as if she were a queen on a throne.

- -

How she calls to you. A queen, as my sister once was. Terrible and proud; beautiful as a winter sunrise.”

- -

Nesta smirked. “If we are to be Valkyries born again,” she said, “maybe we should combine the Illyrian and Valkyrie techniques.”

- -

“I always thought she was born on the wrong side of the wall,” Elain admitted. “She made ballrooms into battlefields and plotted like any general."

- -

“You plan on leading an army, Nes?”

“Not an army.” She glanced sidelong at him. “But perhaps a small unit of females.”

- -

“Nesta is … she’s Illyrian. I mean that as a compliment, but she’s an Illyrian at heart."

Prince Azriel and Princess Elain of the Court of Nightmares - Commanders of the Darkbringer Legion and Spymasters of the Night Court

There was an icy rage in Azriel I had never been able to thaw. In the centuries I’d known him, he’d said little about his life, those years in his father’s keep, locked in darkness. Perhaps the shadowsinger gift had come to him then, perhaps he’d taught himself the language of shadow and wind and stone.

- -

The Hewn City. A place of such terrible beauty.

- -

Already dressed for the Hewn City—the brutal, beautiful armor so at odds with the lovely garden. And my sister sitting within it.

- -

As he revealed the legion of Keir’s Darkbringers charging on foot, swathed in wisps of night and armed with star-bright steel.

- -

Cassian—I couldn’t even spot him beyond the blazing flare of his Siphons near the front lines, crimson glowing amid the vicious shadows of Keir’s Darkbringers as they wielded them to their advantage: blinding swaths of Hybern soldiers in sudden darkness... then blinding them doubly when they ripped those shadows away and left nothing but glaring sunlight.

- -

Our foot soldiers had broken the lines in places, Keir screaming at his Darkbringers to get back into position, plumes of shadows flaring from him.

- -

He might have defied and proved those Illyrian pricks wrong at every turn, but it won’t matter if Rhys makes him Prince of Velaris—he’ll see himself as a bastard-born nobody, and not good enough for anyone.

- -

Great, scaled black beasts were carved into those gates, all coiled together in a nest of claws and fangs, sleeping and fighting, some locked in an endless cycle of devouring each other. Between them flowed vines of jasmine and moonflowers.

- -

She had come alive here, and her joy was infectious. There wasn’t a servant or gardener who didn’t smile at her, and even the brusque head cook found excuses to bring her plates of cookies and tarts at various points in the day. I marveled at it, actually—that those years of poverty hadn’t stripped away that light from Elain. Perhaps buried it a bit, but she was generous, loving, and kind.

- -

I wondered what she saw when she looked at the cottage. If she beheld not a prison but a shelter—a shelter from a world that had possessed so little good, but she tried to find it anyway, even if it had seemed foolish and useless to me.

- -

But I tried to smile, if only for Elain, who flitted about the room, personally greeting each guest and dancing with all their important sons.

- -

Elain had always been gentle and sweet—and I had considered it a different sort of strength. A better strength. To look at the hardness of the world and choose, over and over, to love, to be kind. She had been always so full of light.

- -

And he knew the cruelty of the Hewn City troubled her. But she hadn’t hesitated to come. When Feyre had offered to let her remain home, Elain had squared her shoulders and declared that she was a part of this court—and would do whatever was needed.

- -

“Look who decided to grow claws after all.”

- -

“And you were his princess?”

Ice cracked through her. “No. Elain was his princess."

#elriel #elain x azriel

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psychee92 · 4 years ago

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The Three Sacred Mountains | The Sister Peaks

This post is a continuation of all my previous ones, and will focus on why I think that ACOTAR 5 is Elain’s book. Once again, please take your shipping and preference for other characters out of the equation if you plan on reading this post.

Isn’t it interesting how everything that is significant to the plot (death gods, objects, sisters, brothers, mountains, stars) comes in threes?

When I was reading this quote, I went back and searched through all the books to see if “sister peaks” has ever been mentioned before. It hasn’t.

It seems odd, then, that it would be mentioned now, in a book that constantly drew the attention of the reader to the three sisters.

So now we have three sisters and three sister peaks.

And what do we know about these sacred mountains?

Under the Mountain was at the heart of Feyre’s journey.

Similarly, climbing Ramiel was the final turning point of Nesta’s journey.

All that is left now is the Prison. And Elain.

One sister peak. One sister. One last journey.

I am going to repeat this over and over again—nothing is a coincidence. Why are there three sacred mountains? Three sister peaks? Three sisters?

SJM is leaving the best for last: the Prison.

“The Prison is law unto itself; the island may be even an eighth court”

“The bone-gates swung open silently, revealing a cavern of black so inky I had never seen its like, even Under the Mountain.”

“With the small lights floating ahead, I tried not to look too long at the gray walls. Especially when they were so rough-hewn that the jagged bits could have been a nose, or a craggy brow, or a set of sneering lips.”

“And there was silence. Utter silence as we rounded a bend, and the last of the light from the misty world faded into inky black.”

“I focused on my breathing. I couldn’t be trapped here; I couldn’t be locked in this horrible, dead place.”

“My words were so soft they were devoured by the dark. Even that thrumming power in my veins had vanished, burrowing somewhere in my bones.”

“Once the sentence is given and a prisoner passes those gates … They belong to the Prison. It will never let them out.”

“There were no doors. No lights. No sounds. Not even a trickle of water.

But I could feel them. I could feel them sleeping, pacing, running hands and claws over the other side of the walls.

They were ancient, and cruel in a way I had never known, not even with Amarantha. They were infinite, and patient, and had learned the language of darkness, of stone.”

“Down and down we went, and time lost its grip. It could have been hours or days, and we paused only when my useless, wasted body demanded water. Even while I drank, he didn’t let go of my hand. As if the rock would swallow me up forever.”

“The hall continued down—down into the ageless dark. The air here was tight, compact. Even my puffs of breath on the chill air seemed short-lived.”

Who is the last person you could picture in this environment? A mountain filled with the worst creatures you can think of—creatures we know nothing about? Who is the character who is the least likely to survive in such a place, let alone conquer it?

Elain. Sweet, gentle Elain.

The antithesis of everything the Prison is.

“But Elain, the flower-grower, the gentle heart … Nesta would go down swinging for her.”

“I marveled at it, actually—that those years of poverty hadn’t stripped away that light from Elain. Perhaps buried it a bit, but she was generous, loving, and kind—a woman I found myself proud to know, to call sister.”

“I gazed again at that sad, dark house—the place that had been a prison. Elain had said she missed it, and I wondered what she saw when she looked at the cottage. If she beheld not a prison but a shelter—a shelter from a world that had possessed so little good, but she tried to find it anyway, even if it had seemed foolish and useless to me.”

“She had looked at it that cottage with hope; I had looked at it with nothing but hatred. And I knew which one of us had been stronger.”

“Nesta hadn’t wanted any dealings with the Fae, and Elain was so gentle, so sweet … how could I bring them into this?

“Beautiful—she’d always been the most beautiful of us. Soft and lovely, like a summer dawn.”

“My sister Elain can convince anyone to do anything with a few smiles.”

“Elain, who had been gentle and sweet. Elain, who was to marry a lord’s son who hated faeries …”

“Elain had always been gentle and sweet—and I had considered it a different sort of strength. A better strength. To look at the hardness of the world and choose, over and over, to love, to be kind. She had been always so full of light.”

“Even wasted away by grief and despair, Elain’s beauty was remarkable. Hers was a face that could bring kings to their knees.”

“Elain nodded, smiling up at me, and it was tentative joy—and life that shone in her eyes. A promise of the future, gleaming and sweet.”

“That smile grew, bright enough that it lit up even Azriel’s shadows across the room.”

“Elain’s smile was as bright as the setting sun beyond the windows.”

“Elain had gone from lovely to devastatingly beautiful. Elain never seemed to realize it.”

Can you picture her in the Prison? No? Neither can I. Yet.

Out of all the sisters, Elain is described as the most gentle. The warmest. Sweetest. Loveliest. Kindest.

And out of the three sacred mountains, the Prison is described as the worst. The coldest. The most barren. The most lifeless.

What will happen when the gentle grower of things enters the Prison? Will the Prison dim the light that is inside her, or will she infuse the mountain with warmth?

We’ll have to wait and see because, as Amren said,

#acosf spoilers #acotar 5 #acotar theories #elain archeron #badass elain #feyre archeron #nesta archeron #the prison #ramiel #under the mountain #elriel #pro elain #pro elriel

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tremsing82 · 23 days ago

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The Archeron Cottage

Ok so I feel like each sister has viewed the years at the cottage, the memories they made there, differently.

I feel like Nesta and Feyre shared the closest feelings about it, anger and hatred. Feyre states she hated that cottage and Nesta remembers the anger she felt while living there. But Elain in TaR talks about how she misses it. She obviously has happy memories from her time there. Memories that can only be about the time she spent with her sisters and father, a simpler time, even it that time was hard and scary and hurt. She still found love and happiness and embraced it.

I also think it’s interesting how the sisters return to the cottage with their mates:

Feyre: returned alone and has never brought Rhys to it, she didn’t want him to see the place that taught her hatred.

Nesta: only returned once she came to admit how angry she was not only at her dad but herself and when she returned with Cassian it was to find the bits and pieces of the memories that did not deserve her anger.

Elain: I hope she also gets to have her journey back to the cottage with Lucien for her to grieve the happiness she felt and lost. Or maybe even to return to the memories of her happiness with her sisters and father that have become muddle through time and change. To introduce Lucien to her darkest days and years but she was strong enough to still find the light to survive and be happy, to not let the dark consume her.

I also would love it if Lucien sees Elain’s face as she walks in and touches the walls and the windows and the mantle and sees the importance of the cottage to Elain and buys it and restores it and brings it back to life for her. As much as the sisters struggled in this home, it was still a home. And at least one of them tried to make it feel that way.

I really struggle with the sisters losing their human connections/lives in WaR and SF. How they have nothing of themselves left in the human realm yet who they are is all because of their human lives. They should still have a place to return to, to bring their future families too, and say this is where we started.

#lucien vanserra #elain archeron #feyre archeron #nesta archeron #cassian acotar #rhysand acotar #the archeron sisters #the Archeron cottage #papa archeron #elucien #feysand #nessian

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bookofmirth · 3 years ago

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The english side of me REALLY jumped out with this one lol

Possessiveness, jealousy, and overprotectiveness are staples of the romance genre, especially when it comes to paranormal romances, so much so that it’s expected for people to overlook the problematic aspects of possessiveness, jealousy, and overprotectiveness because these concepts in the romance genre are meant to be viewed not only as hot and sexy, but indicators of love and showing that the person cares. Despite their tendency to fall in the yellow flag zone, these concepts are meant to further the romance itself. And when you begin to question these concepts as they appear in different romances, there’s almost always pushback with people saying the books are “just fiction”. But what happens when there’s evidence that shows why these three concepts aren’t always healthy or hot/sexy in a romantic pairing? What happens when the narrative is using these concepts to show how they can be detrimental to a character and those romantically associated with that character?

Possessiveness/Overprotectiveness

In romances, it’s always in the man’s nature to be possessive and overprotective. These two concepts are usually used to show that a character is protective of their partner and we see that happen with almost all of SJM’s endgame ships, but they’re almost always portrayed as good/healthy because of the equal partnership that is present in those relationships. Thinking about acotar, a relationship where possessiveness and overprotectiveness were depicted in a negative light was between Feyre and Tamlin. Their relationship was imbalance and Tamlin’s possessiveness/overprotectiveness of Feyre stood out in the barriers he placed on Feyre when they were together: not letting her leave the house/keeping her in the house; saying everything is for her “protection”; only letting her talk to Alis and Lucien/limiting her interactions with others; telling Lucien to back off from Feyre because Tamlin saw him as a threat and that she could fall for him instead; having Feyre be dependent on him by not teaching her how to fight/learn how to use her powers; controlling every aspect of Feyre’s life at the beginning of acomaf; among other things.

Males in acotar feel an intrinsic sense of entitlement to their mate and are described as being protective and possessive over their mates. When people say that A is exhibiting “mate behavior” towards E, obviously there is a positive connotation associated with that phrase because of how the males act around their mate. But the thing is A isn’t E’s mate. A’s possessiveness of E is treading on the waters of Tamlin-ville because: A speaks for E, which is oddly similar to what some of E’s stans do in fandom discussions (as if E herself reached out of the book to personally tell them things that no one else knows); he makes it known that E shouldn’t help with the Dread Trove, which is an example of A attempting to limit what E does; and he subtly expresses a sense of entitlement over E in the bonus chapter during his conversation with Rhys when he questions if the Cauldron was wrong in pairing E with Lucien. A’s “mate behavior” is completely different from Rhys and Cassian because Rhys and Cassian are canonically mated to Feyre and Nesta, which plays a role in how they act towards them. Also, neither of them attempt to limit what Feyre and Nesta do even if they worry about their safety. To say that A is exhibiting “mate behavior” towards E would have the same effect as saying Tamlin was exhibiting “mate behavior” towards Feyre. I think that the reason A’s actions towards E are described as mate-like is because thinking otherwise calls his actions into question. I assume some people aren’t ready for that conversation because he’s been portrayed as the sad bat boy in the fandom for so long that it’s probably hard for people to come to terms with this not being the case.

When people say A being overprotective of E is similar to Rhys and Cassian being overprotective of Feyre and Nesta, the comparison becomes incomparable because A is overprotective of E to the point where he goes against what E wants to do (E stating she wanted to help find the dread trove, a scene in which A was present and later A said E shouldn’t be exposed to its innate darkness), while Rhys and Cassian know Feyre and Nesta are capable of fending for themselves in dangerous situations. It’s just ironic that A’s overprotectiveness in this moment contradicts E’s “choice” of wanting to help, yet I don’t see that being mentioned in those “choice” arguments.

Jealousy

Jealousy in the romance genre is always meant to further the romance between the love interests and we see that happen with rowaelin and chaorene (and probably other SJM ships too). But when the jealousy and the romance are disconnected from each other, that’s meant to show something about the character who is jealous and what they’re jealous of. On the second page of the bonus chapter, it’s established that A is envious of Cassian and Rhys and that the reason he remained downstairs by the fire was so that he didn’t get swallowed up by his jealousy in his room. Then on the third page, it’s revealed that the reason he stayed by the door at Solstice was because “he couldn’t stand the sight of it, the scent of their mating bond, and needed to have the option of leaving if it became too much”. There is a blatant reimagining happening with A’s bonus chapter to make it seem as though his jealousy is romantically coded when the jealousy has nothing to do with his relationship with E and more to do with him. This reimagining has to be a case of people seeing what they want to see because I highly doubt people are out here failing literature class.

The Romance Genre & SJM

A and E’s interaction in the bonus chapter is frequently compared to Wings and Embers. The only similarity between these two chapters is the sexual undertones, which is part of the reason why I think people compare them in the first place because everything else (the structure of the chapters, their contents, and the amount of characters involved in them) is different. I think people are hiding behind the sexual undertones of the bonus chapter in hopes that it somehow overshadows not only the oddness of A’s interaction with E, but the ending of the bonus chapter as well. And even more than that, A giving away the necklace is compared to Cassian tossing Nesta’s present in the Sidra. Since A is able to give the necklace away that should tell you about the significance of the necklace’s connection to E herself (if A can easily give it away to the next person on the street) whereas Cassian regifting Nesta’s present would probably be meaningless to someone else because it was Nesta specific.

We know that acotar is more romance heavy compared to tog and cc so I can see why people lean more on the conventions of the romance genre as a basis for their arguments. And this is fueled by SJM saying this new trilogy will have one couple per book. However, the downfall of these arguments is that oftentimes the plot, narrative structure of this new trilogy in particular, and individual character progressions are secondary or afterthoughts to the romance they support. These arguments lack any real substance because acotar has proved time and time again that both the romance AND the plot work in tandem, going against the broad strokes of the romance genre formula where the romance is primarily in the spotlight.

Basically, why do you think A’s possessiveness, jealousy, and overprotectiveness of E is romanticized? Why do you think A and E’s dynamic is constantly compared to feysand and nessian? And why do you think people take issue with A being compared to Tamlin?

I think that the reason A’s actions towards E are described as mate-like is because thinking otherwise calls his actions into question.

THIS

I hate the whole discussion of "mate behavior" because the series doesn't even explain that very well. Rhys can't explain why people are mated, if it's for reproduction or being "equals" (in what sense, who knows), the courts all handle acceptance/rejection differently, the consequences of rejection are unclear and make it seem like the woman is beholden to accept on pain of... causing someone else pain.

I agree 100% that people (maybe unconsciously) try to ascribe "mate behavior" to Azriel in order to excuse what would ordinarily be inexcusable. He doesn't have some magical thing making him act this way. Neither did Tamlin, and we know how people view his behavior. And that's another thing with "mate behavior" and the bond. Why would Tamlin and Feyre not be mates, if all it took were these extreme possessive and protective behaviors? Why aren't Az and Mor mates?

And it's not even about Elain! Az acts like this with Mor, and we know there isn't a mating bond there. Azriel has zero reason to behave the way that he does, not in the same way that the mating bond gives Rhys and Cassian an "excuse", flimsy as it is, for the way that they act around Nesta and Feyre. Even that excuse is crap, because we have Rhys out here leaving Feyre's abusive ex alone, and then we have Lucien doing the same with Graysen. The definition of "mate behavior" that some of the fandom is working with... is sus.

The fact is that no matter how "overprotective" and possessive Rhys and Cassian were, they never prevented Nesta or Feyre from doing what they wanted. They might have gotten their hackles up, but then they backed off. Rhys sent Feyre into the Weaver's cottage. Nesta went to war. There is a balance between caring deeply and passionately for these women, and recognizing them as individuals whose autonomy should be respected.

The jealousy is 100% not about Elain. It's not about Elain being with Lucien. It's not about Mor, because we know that it's not really about Mor sleeping with Helion. Azriel has 99 problems, and 98.5 of them are about his childhood and his loneliness. The other 0.5 problem comes in the shape of a snowball.

The only similarity between these two chapters is the sexual undertones

You know I haven't done a full blown comparison between these chapters, but I'd agree. The entire Wings and Embers short was about Nesta and Cassian. There were no other characters and they learned a great deal about one another. What did Elain and Az learn about one another as people in the first third of his POV? Nothing. There was no tension between them other than sexual. Cassian thought Nesta's name over and over, thought about her as a person and her personality and how she made him feel. Azriel literally only thinks about fucking Elain. There is nothing wrong with fucking, obviously, but that's not love. (Maybe I should fully compare them idk.)

It's when we look at everything he doesn't say in conjunction with how he treats Elain and Mor in other scenarios... that's troubling. People can misread our 😬 at his behavior all they want, but the fact is that Az didn't have a single kind, original thought about who Elain is. His POV gave us zero extra insight into who Elain is as a person, which is... startling, if we are supposed to think that they know one another so incredibly well and have such intense feelings for each other. Why would we not get additional insight into her character? We get a lot of insight into Az's character for sure. But following his POV, if he loves and knows this woman so well, we should feel that. We should know why he loves her, what he knows about her, we should... just get some more damn insight into her character, if we are in the POV of someone who supposedly knows her so well!!!!

You know it's funny though, because the Az and Elain interaction in his POV mirrors when Nesta imagined a threesome with Az and Cassian. Close, and potentially pretty hot, but it never really happened because then it would mess up sjm's plans for the future.

Okay now to your ACTUAL questions haha and not just my reactions to what you said.

I agree that romanticizing Azriel's behaviors is the better option for people who ship it because otherwise the alternative is to accept them for what they are, which is not about Elain at all. Az has an even longer history of being all "mate behavior" on Mor, but no one thinks that's odd? I think that some people pick and choose their evidence, which is a big reason why I keep shoving Mor into these conversations. If the "mate behavior" argument was genuine and had a solid foundation, then the people making these claims would still ship moriel.

The whole thing with Az and Tamlin comparisons.... oh boy. I think there is a lot there.

I think that people don't want to see Az as anything less than perfect sad boi that Elain can fix with her love.

I think that people have a difficult time seeing emotional abuse IRL, to the point where even people who experience it directly struggle to come to terms with it, so why would we willingly embrace its presence in fiction? It also flirts with a lot of the ideas you mentioned being present in a lot of romance, though I'd argue a lot of those elements are becoming passé.

I think that Tamlin is Fandom Enemy Number One while Azriel is Self-insert Book Boyfriend Number One, and maybe people don't know how to reconcile those things. (This is quite literally true, I checked AO3 for reader fanfics and compared numbers between the bat boys, Az/reader fics win by a landslide.)

There also seems to be a refusal to see or accept nuance. I'm not even talking about moral complexity because I don't think that either Tamlin or Az intend to behave the way they do. They aren't villains. It just reminds me of people who somehow don't think Nesta was absolutely horrible through much of the series, even though a huge focus of her arc in acosf was coming to terms with how she had treated people. Anyway...

People see "gwynriel shipper" or "elucien 💕" in a bio and just dismiss arguments before trying to understand them

People try to justify their actions of their faves, which I understand!

People don't understand how subtle emotional abuse can be, and how there doesn't have to be clear intention.

I still plan on pulling out evidence from the book about times when their behaviors mirror one another. But it's like I've said for months - Tamlin is a cautionary tale. I don't think Azriel will go that far, but the foundation is there. The fact that acotar/acomaf was so, so explicit about how Tamlin's behavior was not okay, and yet people can see that same behavior in another character one book later and want to try to excuse it... sigh. Way to miss the point, fandom.

#the brielle tag #ask #not even gonna tag these characters #my stalkers will love this post though #💋#antielriel

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onceupona-chaos · 3 years ago

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How Elain chooses to see life appreciation post

Elain was kidnapped, changed into something she feared, had her future ripped away from her, spent months battling with her own mind, had her heart broken, was kidnapped again, went through war, killed someone and lost her father.

And what does she say after all of that?

“What now?” Elain mused, at last answering my question from moments ago as her attention drifted to the windows facing the sunny street. That smile grew, bright enough that it lit up even Azriel’s shadows across the room. “I would like to build a garden,” she declared. “After all of this … I think the world needs more gardens."

She went through hell, is still struggling with her trauma and yet chooses to bring beauty into the world the way she can, because... that's Elain. And I think it's at least admirable.

In ACOTAR, Feyre said that Elain looks at the world in a different way and even compared to her own worldview:

Elain had said she missed it, and I wondered what she saw when she looked at the cottage. If she beheld not a prison but a shelter—a shelter from a world that had possessed so little good, but she tried to find it anyway, even if it had seemed foolish and useless to me. She had looked at it that cottage with hope; I had looked at it with nothing but hatred. And I knew which one of us had been stronger.

... and that's exactly what happens again in ACOFAS.

“It’s their tradition, though,” Elain countered, her face still flushed with the cold. “One that they fought and died to protect in the war. Perhaps that’s the better way to think of it, rather than feeling guilty. To remember that this day means something to them. All of them, regardless of who has more, who has less, and in celebrating the traditions, even through the presents, we honor those who fought for its very existence, for the peace this city now has.” For a moment, I just stared at my sister, the wisdom she’d spoken. Not a whisper of those oracular abilities. Just clear eyes and an open expression.

To me this is the very essence of her character and it makes completely sense to what we saw in Feyre's bonus chapter: SJM said that Elain will get her hands dirty to cultivate something beautiful as result.

Can't wait to see how SJM writes this different sort of strength, what Sarah herself called a better strength.

Don’t underestimate her.

We'll see a different side of her emerge.

Find me when you wish to begin.

#elain archeron #pro elain #pro elain archeron #elriel

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alltheworldsinmyhead · 4 years ago

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You know, after looking at the entirety of Nesta’s life,it’s really hard not to reach a conclusion that its greates tragedy is simply the fact that she has never had any control over it. she’s always been a victim of everything, of all the circumstances of her life - of her status as a highborn lady and then of poverty, of being human, of being Made, of Hybern, of constantly being run into a corner with no alternativers other than the worst possible one. she has never had a moment like Feyre in ACOMAF when she takes control over her own life and fate. And while the same can be said about Elain, I do feel like the difference in which they cope with this lack of opportunities speaks magnitudes about their respective characters. Elain is adaptable. I think people tend to forget about that all the time, so I will repeat it again - out of all the qualities Elain has showcased in the series, adaptable is the most prominent one. She was the only one in this family whose spirit did not crush in the cottage AND she found it pretty easy to get used to living in richness again. She was Made and took it hard, but after initial shock, I think we can all agree she coped with war and the death of Father Archeron FAR better than Nesta. Elain adapts to changes, Elain swims with the current rather than tries to control it - that’s why she was made a Seer. While Nesta - Nesta is both the victim of cirumstances which are beyond her control AND the victim of her own damn character. It is not a coincidence that Feyre calls her ‘’the queen without a throne’’ countless times. Nesta is eerily similar to Rhys. Faced with a hopless situation, she becomes self-destructing. She lets her family starve so as to force their father to do anything. She rips more power from Cauldron than she can possibly control. She is depressed and traumatized, so she becomes an addict. She falls in love with Cassian so she does everything she can to drive him away from her. She feels so much and so intensely, is so passionate about so many things that, when cornered, when caged, she turns all those negative feelings inwards instead of outwards, because at least she can control the way she hurts herself, even when she cannot control anything else.

Nesta is a driven person who has no purpose, a determined person with no goal, a devoted person with no home. Talented person with no direction. Powerful person who does not utilize her powers. Loving person who does not know how to love in a healthy way that would not destroy both her and those she loves.

So if there is one thing i wish for Nesta in ACOSF, is for her to gain this control. To be the one who makes choices out of her own free will and who is emotionally stable and mature enough to make them. Because so far, I don’t think she has any idea how it feels to live out of the cage, even though the one she is currently trapped in is almost entirely self-made.

#sorry guys i am just so passionate about her #acotar #acosf #a court of silver flames #nesta archeron #pro nesta #acotar meta #acosf meta #nessian

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theladyofbloodshed · 3 years ago

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Au Acosf - Chapter 82

Little bit of emotional drama

@a-court-of-valkyries @sv0430 @mis-lil-red @nesquik-arccheron @emily-gsh @sunsetsofanemoia @swankii-art-teacher @moodymelanist @nestaarcher0n @my-fan-side @c-e-d-dreamer @nestaspegasus @champanheandluxxury @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @lyzriel @dustjacketmusings @sugardoll22 @gwynethhberdara @embersofwildfire @witchsouth @faeriebambula @lady-winter-sunrise

On the second day of her unwanted protection, Lucien was on duty again. The male arrived just as Cassian was departing for a meeting in the Hewn City with the inner circle and Keir.

‘I thought it was Az today?’ Cassian asked, tossing Lucien a towel to dry himself off. He’d been chased by a storm and, in the short distance from the wards to the front door, he’d received a soaking.

‘I volunteered again so he doesn’t miss your meeting.’

‘He’ll be pissed you’ve taken his escape route,’ Cassian chuckled.

‘Tough,’ Lucien said with a smirk. ‘I had too much fun in Illyria yesterday being Nesta’s personal chef to not seize the opportunity again.’

Nesta had managed to not strike out at Cassian when he came home late that night. She had buried her irritation with the Night Court’s meddling in her life, for the time being at least. Lucien had waited until he had returned home – leaving dinner for him too – before departing. The day had not been bad with Lucien, so she had opened her arms for Cassian to sink into then washed his cuts and bruises in the bath, talking quietly about their respective days.

‘You won’t be getting outside today,’ Cassian remarked, giving a cursory nod to the window. Rain poured from the grey sky and pelted the window frames. Zasha had not even emerged from the bedroom, preferring to remain under the duvet. ‘I’ll be back earlier today.’

They occupied themselves with dusty board games found in the spare room followed by a few rounds of cards. For every game that Lucien won, Nesta revealed more about Elain – good and bad stories. Nesta told Lucien how her younger sister hated early mornings and was always the last to go to sleep, how she threw worms at Nesta and Feyre once in a rare rage, and when she laughed too hard, she sometimes snorted. Lucien listened in rapture, falling in love with stories. Nesta told him that Elain and her had been each other’s dance partners as children, that when they had raced, Elain was always the quickest of the three, and she had always wanted to learn to ride a horse, specifically a white one.

It was nice to tell Lucien these things rather than to think of her past with regret. It had not always been staring at a wall in a cabin, frozen and starving. In the warm days of summer, there had been fun. The three of them would take the blanket from the bed, place it on the grass in front of the cottage, and gaze up at the clouds, naming the shapes they could see in the fluffy blobs.

In a careful voice, he told her that Graysen had been married the previous month to an heiress. When he said the name, Nesta rolled her eyes. She knew the silly girl; it was the same airhead who’d been wicked to Elain as a child, who’d then bragged that she would be marrying the duke from the continent. It would not have surprised Nesta if she had only married Graysen to exact revenge for a grudge she’d been holding for over a decade.

‘Jurian hates her. Says she sounds like a yapping dog. Apparently, she insists on being present at their meetings and interrupts him constantly.’

Nesta snorted. ‘If Jurian should like company, I would be more than happy to make a surprise appearance. I can even bring Cassian.’

‘Every mortal there would drop down dead at the sight of him.’

‘I may not have married that duke, but I am marrying the Lord of Bloodshed.’

When the rain showed no signs of letting up and they had exhausted all avenues of conversation in the house, Lucien clapped his hands together. ‘Just because it’s raining in this court, it doesn’t mean it’s raining in every court. How do you like the Autumn weather?’

***

Beside Keir, Rhys peered over the balcony at the hard stone below, his face was cold and aloof. The steward of the Hewn City had been instructed to display the talents of his Darkbringers as a means of inspection. They were elite, trained well and trained hard, Cassian acknowledged as he watched the line of males wield their sword along with the barking order of their commander. Feyre scrutinised them too, her tattooed hands clutching the railing, but Azriel, who was stood beside her, appeared bored in their carefully planned strategy. His shadows had found somewhere else to haunt, to further convey how utterly tedious it was for them to be in the Hewn City.

It was always this way – act as if the Darkbringers were mediocre, put the pressure on their commanders to drill harder, to push further.

It had been Rhys’ idea to call for the meeting – and another surprise inspection. With Briallyn finally showing signs of movement on the continent, it had him and Feyre fretting over another war. Cassian did not believe it would come to that; for him, it would be something much worse, Nesta being taken or hurt – and only Nesta. She was the collateral damage.

‘I am not surprised our emissary has not deigned to pay a visit,’ Keir said, eyes roving over the orderly lines of soldiers. ‘Or is it that he is loyal to another court now?’

Rhys tapped his fingers on the balcony lightly. ‘Lucien remains loyal to the Night Court. He visits his grieving mother in Autumn, no more than that.’

Keir chuckled. ‘You must have heard the news? If it reached us in the Hewn City where so few dignitaries deign to visit, you must have heard the news.’

The high lord and lady exchanged a worried glance. Azriel kept his eyes trained on the soldiers, but Cassian could tell he was listening intently.

‘Lucien Vanserra is the heir to the Day Court throne. He is not a Vanserra at all it seems. You will have a tug-of-war on your hands between Autumn and Day. A mother in one, a father in another.’

‘My sister resides in this one,’ Feyre said.

The steward narrowed his eyes at her – and Cassian waited for his snide remark about her daring to speak, but Keir only smiled. It was a cruel, revolting thing. ‘For now.’

Azriel stepped to the side, fingers flickering towards Truth-Teller, but Rhys asked, ‘Who is your most skilled?’

Keir indicated to a tall male with the same golden blonde hair as Mor. ‘My wife’s nephew.’

‘Cassian.’

Rhys gestured towards the lower-level as a sign that he should take up arms. As he descended the black stone steps, his high lord’s voice breached his mind.

Beat him anyway you have to. But beat him. I don’t want Keir getting complacent.

He tightened the gauntlet on his hand and gave the slightest of nods in response. How was he expected to focus when he had just found out that Lucien was Helion’s son? Lucien – sat cosily in his home with his mate playing children’s games – was a high lord’s son. And from the lack of reaction by Feyre and Rhys, it was something they had been holding to their chest for a long time. It hadn’t been Cassian’s business to know, it wasn’t his parentage, but the fact they had known, that they had kept it a secret from the inner circle, from Lucien even… Lucien was supposed to be a part of their court. Had they kept it secret to not lose Lucien’s loyalty? It had Cassian wondering what else they kept from him.

Nesta’s words from a couple of nights ago echoed in his head. You are not a dog. You weren’t built to blindly follow orders. Cassian shook them away. For five hundred years, he had followed orders. For five hundred years, he’d trusted Rhys’ judgement – but how could he trust the decisions made about Nesta when Rhys was clouded by his opinion of her. That morning, he’d insisted that he deserved to be included in the rota to protect Nesta, but Rhys had refused again. His high lord considering him unfit to take care of his own mate had cracked a part of his trust. It had hurt him. Hurt him that Rhys, of all males, had overlooked him for something so crucial.

Cassian channelled that insecurity into his blade. Keir had insisted upon blunt steel; it could still kill with the right force, but for sparring, the blades were inconsequential. Cassian fought with skill, matching the male with every step, but his heart wasn’t in it; his heart was back in Illyria with the mate who pretended she wasn’t terrified – the mate who he wished he could take to the furthest corners of the world to protect.

The swords ground against each other with a harsh scrape. The male was good. All the Darkbringers were. Illyrians and Darkbringers were trained as little boys to hold a weapon to one day shed blood. Little boys in Velaris never had that burden. Little boys in Velaris could gain an education, open restaurants or work in banks. Nesta had seen the inequality between the three areas of the Night Court and could not in good conscience be in Velaris.

His temporary lapse in concentration meant Mor’s cousin drove him back a step. From the corner of his eye, Cassian saw Feyre’s eyes widen in shock that the male had been able to gain on him. Feinting right, he drove his sword towards the left – but the male met his parry with lightning-quick reactions.

Being born in Velaris did not mean a life of luxury, but it certainly meant a life of comfort not afforded to children in Illyria, or even the Hewn City. All the words that Nesta had ever thrown at him – in anger or desperation – about his court were threatening to drown him. Nesta had never hated the Night Court, not its people, but she had scorned its high lord and lady for not challenging the status quo. And he was beginning to understand it. Beginning to understand that when Nesta looked at Lule she saw a girl that would grow into a female with clipped wings who turned her eyes to the ground when she saw a male. That when she held sweet Lorin to her chest, she knew he’d grow into a male who hurt females, who jeered at them as they passed, a male who would be brutally murdered at the foot of a mountain because it was how life was for Illyrians.

With a deafening clatter, he disarmed the male so his sword fell to the ground. Then he left.

Rhys was speaking into his mind, questioning him, ordering him to halt from his march, but Cassian blocked out the voice and pushed open the heavy, stone doors. Kept his feet moving over the polished marble floors of each corridor until he was out of the gates. His wings spread out behind him, flapping twice to get him airborne, then he was streaking through the rain, leaving the Hewn City in the distance.

***

‘Drink.’

‘It hit the apple!’

‘I thought that magic eye was supposed to improve your vision,’ Eris tutted. He strode forwards towards the enormous, twisting apple tree and plucked an arrow from the ground. ‘No apple. Drink twice for speaking against your high lord – and elder brother.’

‘Show some respect, Lucien,’ Nesta chided playfully.

A golden afternoon had met them in the Autumn Court and Eris had jumped at the chance of escaping the Forest House for an hour or two. A team of sentries had accompanied them on horseback, but remained in the distance, encircling them with the horses in case that damn shadowsinger is sniffing in my woods again, Eris had said.

The Vanserra brothers were shooting at an ancient tree, trying to impale the fruit with arrows. For every miss, they took a generous drink of cider brewed with apples from the very tree they had gathered near to. It was an activity they had enjoyed a lot in their youth, Nesta judged from the familiarity of the game - and the scars in the trunk.

Nesta had managed to hit the bark once and sent another arrow skittering along the leafy undergrowth, but both of those had been when Eris had helped her hold the heavy bow and draw back the string. She remained sat on a blanket, the leather wrist guard still on her arm, sipping at cider without participating further.

It was fun to simply watch the brothers’ bickering – and how they grew more competitive with every shot and swig of cider. It was fun to be outside and distracted too. Eris, it seemed, also needed the distraction from duties. The stiffness was loosening itself from his body with every quip at Lucien.

‘Let your big brother show you how it’s done,’ he boasted, drawing back the bowstring.

His fingers were steady as he lined up the shot. A soft exhale came through pursed lips.

Lucien clapped his hands together loudly, making Eris jump.

The arrow embedded itself into a tree root.

‘Bastard.’

‘It’s true now too,’ Lucien winked. ‘It also explains why I’m the most handsome son.’

‘I regret telling you. It has inflated your ego – which was already too large for most males, especially for one with such a small…’ His voice trailed off, eyes glancing at Lucien’s crotch for emphasis. ‘Well, there are ladies present. I shan’t embarrass you.’

Nesta choked on her mouthful of cider, half-way between laughing and screeching. Eris was tossing his head back in loud laughter and Lucien was calling him a prick.

‘That’s a lie,’ he declared, pointing at Nesta.

She held up her hands. ‘You’re not my mate.’

‘It’s a lie! It is a lie.’

Eris lurched forwards, pulling Lucien into a head lock and ruffling his hair. A look of feral delight flashed onto his face as he looked at Nesta with poor Lucien trapped against him. ‘My darling, little brother.’

How lovely to see them both unguarded – to see brothers as they should have been. How many years had Eris yearned for it, Nesta wondered? How long had he coveted a relationship with his brother? He’d certainly thrown his title – not high lord, but big brother – around for most of the day, proud to bear it.

‘Did little Lucien ever tell you that he slept in our parent’s bed until he was eight?’

Lucien jammed his foot out, catching Eris by the heel so he staggered backwards, his hold loosening enough for Lucien to break free and push his brother to the ground. ‘Did Eris tell you that when he was eight, he declared to the whole court at a dinner that he was going to marry mother?’

‘You weren’t even alive then!’

‘The story lives on in infamy. You’ll always be a mother’s boy.’

Nesta raised her eyebrow. ‘I think you both are.’

***

‘You caught me!’ Mor was stood in the kitchen, shovelling a muffin into her mouth when Cassian swung open the door in the House of Wind. At the sight of his bedraggled state, her brow dipped. ‘What the hell happened to you?’

‘I’m in a bad mood and I didn’t want to go home and have an argument with Nes.’

‘Is this because of her?’

Cassian swallowed his growl. ‘No. Your cousin and his mate.’

Mor led him onto a couch before fetching a towel and draping it over his head to dry off his tangled mass of ebony hair. There were slight bags under her eyes, but she hadn’t been away in the continent for a little while. Cassian knew better than to ask her why she wasn’t sleeping. Most of the time he didn’t want to know who was keeping her up at night.

‘Have you and Rhys argued?’ She frowned. A wave of her hand had a tea pot whizzing in from the kitchen – both of them flinched as it wafted past them and skidded to a stop on the little table, boiling water sloshing out of the spout. ‘Oops. Bit too much power there.’

‘Show off.’

‘I’ll use my hands from now on,’ she promised, pouring for them. ‘Spill whatever it is that’s interrupted my peace gobbling cakes alone in the kitchen.’

So, Cassian did. He told Mor how hurt he felt that Rhys did not allow him to protect Nesta. How he had always been the little boy who wasn’t good enough and all those feelings of childhood had swarmed back into his chest. Protecting Nesta was the most important task of his life and he was overlooked from it. He’d never had the chance to protect his mother. Now, his brother had decided that he was not good enough to look after his mate either.

‘What if you never got out of the Hewn City? Would you still bow down to Rhys and treat him with respect?’

‘But I did get out, Cass,’ Mor said softly.

He swallowed, not wanting to push too far and drag Mor down into misery with him. ‘You have cousins there, just like you, trapped in marriages where they’re beaten and hurt.’

‘It’s how it has always been. You know that. To keep Velaris, there has to be a place like the Court of Nightmares.’

Cassian laughed bitterly. ‘You wouldn’t be saying that if you were on the other side of the fence. There’s a reason they hate us.’

Mor threw out her hands, chewing down on her lip. ‘What do you want me to suggest? We break the hand of every male that touches a female without permission?’

‘Fucking yes! There’s a library downstairs full of females hurt by males – and none of them come from the Hewn City or Illyria. Our females don’t get saved. They have to endure misery because it's always been that way.’

The wind seemed to scream past the windows. Stormy weather was coming in fast from the north, bringing bitter winds and torrential rain that was unlikely to pass quickly. It matched his mood, he thought.

Tears were welling up in Mor’s brown eyes, but she let him put an arm around her to pull her close. ‘I wasn’t having a dig at you. I know you try so hard to help the females in the library. Illyrians are my people. I can’t live there and know that I’m not doing anything to help them.’

‘You’re going to build an orphanage for children like you, Cass.’

‘But there shouldn’t be children like me,’ he protested, voice raw with anguish. ‘I’d cut off the hand of any male who dared to touch a female who didn’t want it. I’d cut their fucking heads off.’

Mor inhaled then shook her head dismissively. ‘You’ve been different since you spent time in the Spring Court.’

‘Since I saw lesser fae not treated as such. It’s a court where everybody is treated fairly.’

‘Do not say that Tamlin is a good leader.’

‘I said he’s fair. Don’t twist my words.’

At the snap in his voice, Mor blanched. Immediately, he regretted his tone, regretted that it had set her on edge. For a long while, they sat in a pained quiet. Mor drank her tea then put the mug down with enough force, it was no wonder it did not shatter. Still the wind howled outside, rattling the huge windows carved into the red stone walls.

Mor folded her arms across her chest. ‘Sorry.’

‘Sorry.’

She held out a hand and slipped hers into his, squeezing once. ‘I hate when we fight.’

‘Me too. I’m just so worried about Nesta. I’m on edge.’ He blew out a shaky breath. ‘Have you heard the newest gossip in Prythian?’

Her mouth popped open and she leaned in, tucking her feet up onto the couch. ‘No, tell me more.’

‘It turns out Lucien is actually Helion’s son. Our emissary is the heir to the Day Court – which explains why Helion was so bizarre at the funeral and the dinner he invited himself to at the River House.’

‘Helion had a son with Adeline Vanserra?’ Mor gaped. ‘Lucien? They do have the same nose.’

‘Wait until Lucien finds out you’ve slept with his father.’

Mor snorted. ‘Wait ‘til he finds out Helion’s been trying to sleep with you and Az for centuries too.’

Finally, a laugh came to Cassian. It bubbled away at first until it spilt out into a roar that had him clutching his stomach. ‘You and Eris’ mother have slept with the same male. If you had married Eris, you could have compared notes on Helion with your mother-in-law.’

It had been centuries since their failed betrothal and he thought Mor might have laughed, or at least rolled her eyes at the joke, but she burst into big, wailing sobs instead. She buried her face in her hands. Cassian had never seen her like this before, never seen her cry so dramatically.

‘I’m so tired,’ she gasped through her tears. ‘I can’t sleep. It’s all I can think about. It’s constantly there. That pull. That feeling. It’s worse and worse each day.’

‘What feeling?’

Mor opened her mouth then swallowed the words trying to come out. Cassian knew her well enough to know when she was lying – and knew when to let the lie exist undisturbed. ‘That things are changing.’

In a brief reprise from the downpour, Cassian bolted from the roof of the House of Wind. The rain started up again mid-flight, so he pulsed his wings quicker to avoid looking like a drowned rat when he finally reached the cabin.

A pang of fear hit him squarely in the chest when he realised that Nesta was not home. Zasha was gone too. There were no signs of a struggle, but it had been terrible weather all day. The lights in Emerie’s shop had been off when he passed, so she likely wasn’t there. Rhys was sending Azriel to Rovena’s on Friday, whether their brother wanted to go or not because it had been so long since he’d seen her – and Cassian knew Nesta was going then too, not today. Balthazar wouldn’t be working his forge in such horrendous weather. He might have an indoor workstation somewhere, but Cassian didn’t know it.

Just as Cassian was about to rush back out of the front door and tear open the world to find his mate, he heard her giddy squeal. She and Lucien appeared a few feet from the cabin with Zasha in tow, winnowing in from somewhere.

A bright smile stretched across her flushed cheeks, despite the rain pelting her scalp, as she ran into his arms. He heaved her up to his chest, pressing a kiss to her lips.

‘You scared me.’

‘Sorry,’ she said hiccupping.

‘That’s my fault,’ Lucien explained, following them into the house. ‘We went to Autumn and broke open the cider during a shooting contest. Lost track of the time.’

‘I shot a bow,’ Nesta said proudly, a smile brandished on her bleary features.

‘She’s drunk.’

‘A good meal and she’ll be fine. Cider from the Autumn Court is strong. It turns a good coin. The apples grow year-round.’

‘The apples!’ Nesta cried, snatching a bag from Lucien’s hand and rummaging through it. Within were more of the toffee covered apples – enough to feed a small army – and a thick, knitted blanket. ‘You should come to the market, my love. We can spend your high lord’s money.’

‘My love? You are definitely drunk.’ He flicked the end of her nose.

‘I’ll leave her with you then,’ Lucien said. Once Nesta had clattered up the stairs in hunt of her night gown, despite evening not yet settling in, the male spoke again. ‘Sorry. She looked as if she could do with some fun. She is safe in Autumn Court – you have my word. Eris has offered her the deal again today and she still won’t accept it.’

Cassian nodded. ‘She won’t let anybody risk themselves for her.’

Lucien stroked a hand through his hair. His mouth opened then closed again. When it opened a second time, Nesta stumbled down the last couple of steps in her nightgown and tossed the new blanket around her shoulders like a cape.

‘Goodbye both. I’ll see if I can be put on the rota again soon,’ he winked to Nesta.

‘I have many more stories about Elain, Spell-cleaver.’

‘I should hope so. Farewell.’

In the time that Cassian had seen Lucien out of the front door and returned to the kitchen, Nesta was slumped at the table, head propped up by a bent elbow. Cassian leaned down to kiss the top of her head.

‘Dinner’s cooking.’

‘I wish you could have come to Autumn today. It was brilliant fun.’

‘And have Eris goad me for hours?’

Nesta scrunched up her face. ‘He’s much nicer now Beron isn’t there to beat him.’

Cassian stilled at the stove. Quietly, he turned the chicken breasts over in the sizzling pan, letting those words settle. If Beron hit his wife, it shouldn’t have been a shock that he did the same to his son. But it was. Eris was his son and heir. Even Illyrian brutes didn’t generally hit their sons, only the daughters. ‘Beron used to beat Eris when he was a child?’

‘He was beating him until he died,’ Nesta frowned. ‘Thank goodness the faebane got him before I did.’

Her eyes were drooping again at the table, so Cassian made her drink a cold glass of water to wake her up. The cider had made her tongue far looser than other alcohol usually did. There were different phases to drunken Nesta, he had learnt. Sometimes she got a little too excited with her hands and tried to undress him – or herself. Tonight, it seemed, she was spilling secrets. Beron was old – but not old enough to have died from natural causes. Nesta had known all this time about his death, known and kept that secret for Eris’ sake. For his sake – or his mother’s.

‘Do you… Do you ever regret not pursuing a romance with Eris?’

‘Why would I? I have you. My Cassian,’ she sighed dreamily as she gazed upon her engagement ring. ‘I want to get married in Illyria. Soon. I love you too much to wait any longer.’

And just like that, the part of him that was stretched and aching with worry and despair was soothed. Nesta reached out her hand, awaiting his touch. He kissed the heart of her palm, huffing a laugh at his drunken, adorable mate. Lucien was right – she had needed fun.

When they ate, he gave Nesta a bigger portion than usual to try and sober her up before bed. Her table manners had not departed at least. The chicken was sliced into dainty bites and she’d straightened up in the chair to eat.

‘How was your day, krásavec?’

‘Had to spar with Mor’s cousin in the Hewn City then I threw a strop and left.’

‘Why?’

‘I was pissed off. Went to Velaris, made a joke about Helion and Eris then Mor burst into tears. All round, it’s been a fantastic day.’

Nesta left her plate to come and sit in his lap in the chair. Her arms snaked around his neck as she pulled his head against her. ‘I love you. You are a good person.’

‘Thanks, sweetheart.’ Cassian rubbed his thumb on the bare skin of her thigh revealed by the night gown. ‘I thought Mor might be able to joke about Eris after all this time, but she fell apart. I feel horrendous.’

‘It’s because he’s high lord now and the mating bond is pulsing stronger than ever.’

Blood pounded in Cassian’s ears. Mating bond? The food in his stomach seemed to curdle. His pulse had stopped entirely. Mor had mentioned a pull. The same pull he had felt for Nesta – what he still felt for her. ‘What did you say?’

Nesta slipped off his lap. ‘I’m so tired. I better go to bed. I don’t know what I’m saying.’

He held her still, not letting her leave. ‘Eris is Mor’s mate.’

‘Cassian, forget I said anything. Please. Leave it.’

A lot of it made sense. Mor’s reluctance to be near him in case anybody scented it. Eris’ constant teasing of her. The way he seemed unable to stop himself from mentioning her in their meetings, because she was his mate and likely consumed all of his thoughts like Nesta did to Cassian. Was that what he had shown Rhys that day to gain his trust? That for five hundred years they hadn’t just been in a failed betrothal, but they had been mates, bound together by the Cauldron.

‘Why hasn’t she severed it?’

Nesta’s eyes were red where tears were leaking from them. ‘Because that would require her admitting that Eris is her equal.’ She scrubbed her face with her hands. The truth had sobered her – or the regret. ‘Please, Cassian. You cannot tell anyone.’

‘Who else knows?’

‘Just Eris and Mor. And Emerie.’

‘How the fuck does Emerie know?’

‘That meal in Velaris after Helion had warded the mask. Do you remember I left the room flustered and Emerie followed?’

Yes, and they had both come back with eyes like saucers, unable to look at anyone and kept devolving into fits of giggles. He’d thought they simply shared a rude inside joke or nerves had got the better of them. Emerie had nearly spat it out at dinner the other night, he realised suddenly.

‘That was months ago,’ he gritted out.

Nesta grimaced. ‘I know. I’m sorry. Eris had dropped clues and I figured it out there and then. Mor spoke to me, warned me that if I hurt you, she’d always be on your side. I couldn’t take it. I told her the same, that Eris was my friend and to keep his name out of her mouth. It was so stupid. She begged me not to tell anybody, not to tell you. I had to keep their secret. It wasn’t my place to tell you.’

‘It seems everybody keeps secrets from me. Let me guess, you knew about Lucien being Helion’s son too?’

‘I did,’ she said screwing her eyes shut, ‘but I only realised last time we were in Velaris and I demanded that Eris tell him the truth as soon as I knew. I hate to keep secrets, Cassian, especially from you. I even asked you if you thought Lucien looked familiar because I thought others must have realised it. You’ve known Helion far longer than I have.’

‘So, now I’m stupid for not noticing it?’

‘I didn’t say that!’

Cassian wasn’t being fair and he knew it – but couldn’t stop himself. The jaded feelings of the last couple of days were pouring out.

‘Accept Eris’ deal. Let a high lord look after you because I’m incapable.’

‘No,’ she yelled, ‘I will not give into fear. I will not let myself be like Rovena or Adeline or Gwyn where I am too afraid to experience the world. I will not have people shielding me for the rest of my life. And I will not accept Eris’ offer because I know what it does to you, Cassian. I know it hurts you when you see his mark on me. And I do not want you to hurt. I choose you. I love you.’

Quietly, he said, ‘I’m going to bed.’

Not good enough to protect his mate, not good enough to know the secrets everybody else was clued into. The cabin was locked for the night and Nesta was safe inside, but he had to get away from her to stop himself from hurting her even more with his words. He had left her crying in the kitchen, the good mood from the Autumn Court colliding with the maelstrom devouring Illyria.

When she followed him up to bed and cuddled up to him, Cassian moved her arm away and left the bed. He wasn’t foolish enough to leave Nesta over night in Illyria, but there was a spare room. He didn’t deserve to share the same bed as her.

He settled in the cold blankets, staring up at the slanted roof, breathing heavily. Everything was happening all at once. He played every single memory of Mor and Eris over in his mind, hunting for clues that were easier to see with hindsight. Cassian hated Eris, the cruel, spoilt son of a high lord. But now, he saw Eris as the son beaten by his father, the male whose mate hadn’t wanted him – the mate who ruined herself with an Illyrian bastard rather than be with him. From Eris’ perspective, he understood why he hated him. Mor had carried that secret for five centuries. She hadn’t told any of her family the truth – as if they’d have thought differently of her because of something she had no control over.

Cassian thought again of Beron’s funeral, of how distraught Helion had been. How ready he had been to start a fight with Lucien until he’d looked the male in the eyes. Had he known it then – that he was staring at his son?

Cassian lay under the covers, listening to the rain patter on the roof. It wasn’t fair to punish Nesta for the secrets she had been forced to keep. The regret had been clear on her face. And Nesta. Brilliant, brave Nesta who refused the protection of a high lord to not hurt her mate’s fragile feelings. There was no female like her.

After what felt like hours later, the door creaked open. Nesta’s outline was just visible in the darkness then Cassian heard the jingle of Zasha’s collar as the smokehound pushed past her and leapt onto the bed.

‘Can I be here?’ She asked tentatively. ‘I can’t sleep without you.’

‘I’m so sorry, Nes. Come here.’ He had her in his arms in seconds, drawing her cold body to his and wrapping a wing around them both like a cocoon. ‘I should not have said any of those things to you. You never asked to carry other people’s secrets.’

‘I didn’t want to keep them from you.’

‘They weren’t mine to know,’ he conceded, stroking her hair. ‘I just want to take you somewhere safe, where we can just be us. I'm sorry. I'm so scared something will happen to you.’

‘It’s you and I. We have to be together, have to be on each other’s team.’

‘You have all of me, Nesta. No matter what happens, our hearts are always meant to be together.’

#au acosf #i love writing the vanserra bros being bros

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