#Jurian just laughing himself to death.

[lucienarcheron]

Instincts - I [ Elucien ]

Prompt: A lovely anon sent me this: "Could I please request a fic based on elain reading a really sad book where 1 of the characters dies and she's absolutely torn up over it and Lucien sees her sobbing but he doesn't know what to do cause he doesn't get being invested in fictional characters (plss the irony has me ded) like she does, so he just sits with her and follows his mate bond instinct." So I took the idea and ran with it lol. |

This takes place post-ACOSF. | Part II

Lucien had been rooted to his spot in front of her bedroom door for about ten minutes now.

Ten minutes of him listening to her sobbing — sobbing. 

He had been invited to stay the night after visiting Feyre and baby Nyx. Exhausted and rather than make the trek back to Jurian and Vassa, Lucien stayed. He stayed knowing he was spending an evening with his mate avoiding him like the plague per usual. But it was alright. He tried not to hold it against her. He let her have her space.

When she excused herself after dinner, Lucien’s eyes followed her as she left the room but with a quiet sigh, he returned to his meal.

“You know she doesn’t actually dislike you, right?” Feyre said with a small wince. 

“I know.” Lucien replied, schooling his expression not to show his continuous disappointment. It needn’t be anyone else’s problem but his. “I’m pretty sure if she did, I wouldn’t be able to set foot in this house.”

“Now, now Lucien. You are a friend. You’re always welcome.” Rhys said then laughed when Lucien flipped him off.

“As mates, you both know exactly how well I can feel her emotions.” he said, his eyes on his plate. “I know she’s still going through things. So am I. We’ll eventually work through it.”

He didn’t bother to glance at Rhys or Feyre as he also excused himself. What Lucien didn’t add was even though they were both working through it, consistently being around her without properly talking to her left him in a constant state of agony.

But he’d dealt with worse. It would be fine. He’d had his eye carved out. He could handle Elain not wanting to talk to him until she was ready.

It was as Lucien started settling in for the evening that he sensed her distress. He was in his own rooms, upstairs, and on the other side of the house when a surge of emotion washed over him. The book in his hand immediately closed and he was on his feet and out the door before Lucien could stop himself. 

The bond had yanked him here, rooting him in front of her room staring and wondering what in the devil was causing her to be this upset. 

His face suddenly fell. Was it him being here? She had never reacted this badly to him. If this was how she really felt, he would free her from the bond right here, right now. He would never want to be with someone who fucken sobbed at the idea of being with him. He deserved better than that. So did she.

He’d reject the bond and his own psychological well-being be damned if it freed them both from the misery he was apparently causing her.

But then —

“I’m going to kill her.” 

And Lucien straightened at the venomous tone and words very clearly not about him.

Her door suddenly flew open and a rage like he’d never seen before was found on Elain’s tear-stricken face. 

“I’m going to kill her.”  she repeated and it was as though she hadn’t seen Lucien at all until he cleared his throat.

“I’m unsure who it is you’re referring to, but I would probably rethink your murder plan.” he said gently. “It won’t do much for your soul.”

Finally seeming to realize who stood before her, Elain immediately straightened with a sniffle and wiped at her tears hastily. He watched her in slight amusement as she wrapped her robe further around herself and with a final sniff, looked at him with a stoic expression.

“What are you doing here?”

Lucien pursed his lips at the clipped tone. “I sensed your extreme distress and wanted to make sure you were alright.” he replied dryly. “Seeing as you’re planning a murder, I guess you’re fine.”

Elain scoffed. “Fine. Of course, I’m fine.” she choked out and Lucien raised a brow. “When am I ever not fine?”

Lucien blinked. Interesting. This development was interesting. She was actually talking to him in full sentences. And being snarky.

He gave her a once-over. “We both know you’re not fine. Which is why you avoid me so much because I know the depth of that.”

Elain’s face flushed and her lips went into a thin line. “There’s no need to bring that up.”

“Yes, of course.” he replied immediately, a humorless chuckle escaping him. “Because that would mean you’d have to talk to me, and Cauldron forbid that happen.” 

Elain blinked at him, surprise flashing across her face as her flush deepened. Lucien’s own face heated at what he’d said but shaking his head and taking a deep breath, he forced down his contempt. He had been two minutes away from rejecting the bond for her. He had to leave her before he said something else that was stupid. 

Turning away from her slightly, he waved a hand. “Since you’re alright, I’ll take my leave then.” he said quietly. “Apologies for disturbing you.”

Lucien slowly walked away, clenching and unclenching his fists to calm his heart. He had almost reached the end of the hall when her voice called out to him.

“Do you read?”

He froze then turned to her slightly. 

She was still standing in her doorway, a book now clenched tightly in her hands and looking at him like — Lucien swallowed. He wouldn’t read into her expression.

Turning, he slowly made his way back to her, his hands in his pockets and when he was one bedroom door away, he stopped to keep a healthy distance between them. 

“Yes, I do. I enjoy reading.” he answered. “Do you?”

Elain looked down at the book in her hands and frowned, her lips trembling slightly. “Nesta was always the reader. I enjoyed reading here and there but…” she began and looked up at him. “Now that I seem to have forever to do things, I wanted to start reading more.”

The corner of his mouth ticked up. “Based on the emotional breakdown you were having, I would wager you didn’t enjoy that particular read.”

Elain watched him quietly and Lucien tried not to read into the whirlwind of emotions seeming to charge out of her, especially when her lips trembled again, and her eyes started watering.

“He dies!” she blurted in a wheeze. “Six books! I've been reading this series for six books and after everything they’ve been through!  Everything that has happened! They’re barely happy for two chapters and then he dies!”

Lucien blinked as she started crying. Or rather, tried not to cry as she sniffled and then sobbed. 

“Oh.” he said stupidly and as understanding washed over him, his lips twitched.

“What’s the point? What’s the point if they’re not happily together in the end?!” she continued, her rant clearly not over as she angrily wiped away tears still streaming. “I’ve been rooting for them for six books! His death has no meaning!”

“Was it an important character?” he asked and the fury in her eyes almost made him take a step back.

“He was one of the main characters and the main love interest!” she growled. “I have been waiting for them to have their happily ever after for six books!”

He prayed to whatever gods were listening that he didn’t laugh. 

“I see.” was all he could manage. “He was a favorite character of yours then?”

“He was the best.” she said with a small whine and quickly sniffled, glaring down at the book in question. “He was kind and loyal and he loved her so much! He was her perfect match.”

Lucien paused and the way she had said the words ‘perfect match’ erased his urge to laugh. Elain had clearly been committed to this fictional relationship. Should he...pat her on the back? It wasn’t like he could give her a hug. How does one mourn the loss of a fictional character?

“Well.” he finally said carefully. “The death was definitely done for shock value then.”

“Which is the stupidest reason to kill a character!” she snarled, and Lucien blinked rapidly, trying desperately not to let his amusement show. 

“I agree but I mostly read nonfiction, so this is an uncharted territory of investment for me.”

“Nonfiction?” Elain said with a blink then sniffled. “That seems so boring.”

Lucien’s ears heated. “Nonfiction books are the easiest way to educate yourself on things. There’s nothing boring about that.” he said defensively. “Funny enough, some would say gardening is boring and you’ve invested all your time in that.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, the look not really having the desired effect with the tear streaks on her face. “Don’t you go there.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Those gardening books you have count as nonfiction, you know.” he said with a snort and she squinted at him. 

“Fair point, I guess.” she mumbled, and he watched as she glared at the book clenched tightly in her hands again. A moment of tense silence passed then Elain added, “I hate this thing. If I find the author, I will kill them.”

“I’d offer to burn it for you, but it seems the emotional damage has already been done.” he said, a small smile finding its way to his face as Elain continued to glare at the book. “May I ask, who suggested this series to you?”

And Elain glanced up, tear-stricken face furious. “Nesta.”

“Ah. So that’s who you planned to murder then?”

“Yes.”

And Lucien really couldn’t stop his smile from widening in amusement. “Might I also ask, how do you plan to do that?” he asked and her gaze snapped to his. “I’m only asking so when they question me, I have an alibi ready.”

Elain sniffled, wiping at her face but a ghost of a smile tugged on her own lips. “People underestimate gardening tools, but they hurt if you know where to strike.”

Lucien’s brow went up and then a quiet laugh slipped from his lips. “Unexpected answer but seemingly very you.”

Elain looked down at the book in her hand again. “And how do you know what I am or not?” she asked quietly.

“I’m very observant.” 

A heartbeat of silence passed between them before Elain finally said, “Too observant.”

Lucien only shrugged, his heart going at an erratic rhythm. Their conversation had gone on longer than he had anticipated, and he didn’t want to do anything to risk spooking her. It was a strange dance between them. He wasn’t sure what tone it would take next.

But Elain surprised him once more. She frowned then without warning, stepped out of her doorway and whirled the book with all her might down the hall. It landed with a soft thud on the other side of the house. 

Lucien blinked, eyeing how much closer she stood to him now. 

“I’ll grab it tomorrow. I can’t stand it being in my room.” she mumbled, crossing her arms. “I’m going to beat Nesta over the head with it in the morning.”

Lucien’s lip twitched again. “I would support that plan as it would be a better one than murdering your own sister.”

Elain snorted. “After letting me get invested for six books only to have the main love interest die in the end?” she said, her eyes flashing. “She’s lucky I won’t.”

Lucien gave her a teasing smile. “As terrible as it is to say this, I’d pay good money to see you whack Nesta with a book.”

“I know she’s faster and stronger than me, but I’ll at least get one hit in.” she said, determination in her eyes. “The element of surprise will help.” 

“I’ll cheer you on.” he said with a chuckle. “But also have Madja on call just in case.” 

Elain looked at him curiously, a small smile on her face. “That doesn’t sound incredibly supportive.”

“If you’d like the fight to be fair, you’d probably need to train just a little.”

“I don’t want to be a fighter.” she snapped immediately, and Lucien’s brows shot up.

“I know.” he said simply. “Basic self-defense doesn’t require you to become a warrior.”

She glanced at him and her lips went into a thin line. “We’ve barely spoken in two years. How could you know that I don’t want to be a fighter when both of my sisters are? Why would I be different?”

“Because you are not your sisters. And again, I’m observant.” he replied curtly, and the familiar contempt flared up. “The only reason we haven’t spoken much in two years is because you don’t want to. I’ve respected that decision.”

The fight in her vanished at his response and instead, Elain shot him a slightly annoyed look. She crossed her arms again and the two stood there, in awkward silence. After a moment, she spoke.

“So what, you’d be willing to teach me basic self-defense?” she asked and Lucien quirked a brow.

“If that’s what you want, I’d be happy to do that.” he replied, crossing his own arms. 

Elain assessed him and Lucien allowed it. It had been a long time since she’d stood before him and actually looked him in the eye. 

But Elain ended up shaking her head and Lucien watched her expression shut down. “They’d just laugh at me if I suggested it.”

Lucien’s expression softened. “No one will laugh at you. I’m sure they’d love for you to learn to defend yourself.” 

But Elain shook her head again and sighed. “I can’t win. I’m mocked for wanting a quiet life and then shut down if I try to take chances.” she said quietly. 

Lucien’s hands dropped to his sides and his fists clenched. “I will tell you this once so please listen,” he began, and Elain’s brows furrowed. “You don’t need anyone’s permission to make changes to your life. You get to decide that and then just do it.”

Elain glanced at him. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

“Well, what do you want, Elain?” he asked and watched as her eyelids fluttered shut for a moment when her name slipped from his lips. His fists clenched again at his sides.

“What do I want?” she repeated, eyes still closed.

“Other than your favorite fictional character to have survived the series?” he said and smiled softly as a small smile emerged on her face.

“I want —” she began, eyes still closed, expression focused. “I want so many things.” 

“Like what?” he asked softly, taking the time to memorize every inch of her face. 

“I want to train a little. I want to travel. I want — I want to get to know you without everyone’s involvement.” she said quickly. “I want my choices to matter in everything.”

His heart started racing and when Elain opened her eyes, the flush in her cheeks matched Lucien’s, who could only stare at her with a barely managed intensity. 

It took Lucien a few moments to find his voice again. “I’m not going to coddle you.” he said firmly. “If there is something you want to do, you can do it. You don't need my support to do anything but you will have it.”

Elain took a breath, her eyes scanning his face. “Good.”

“Great.” he agreed, and he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Without everyone’s involvement huh?”

Elain flushed. “You’re a mystery to me and everyone has opinions. I’d like to form my own.” she said then quickly added. “With zero expectations between us. Whatever happens will happen.”

Lucien nodded slowly. “Whatever happens will happen.” he repeated then gave her a small smile. “As soon as you’re done mourning your loss, we can begin. My condolences by the way.”

With an eye roll, Elain huffed a small laugh. “Oh, shut up.” 

And Lucien smirked. “You’ll have to talk to me much more when we train, you are aware of that, yes?”

“Push your luck with your teasing, I dare you.” 

Lucien’s eyes gleamed at the challenge. “Don’t tempt me, I barely started.”

Elain fought back a smile then looked away from him with a sigh, curling a hair behind her ear, “For training,” she started, licking her lips. “Will...I need pants? Because I don’t have those.”

And every thought seemed to slip out of Lucien’s mind at the statement. The sheer innocence in it. The self-consciousness. She had no idea Lucien was barely holding on to his sanity as is. 

He swallowed. “I’m sure Feyre can help you buy some training pants.”

“No!” she said immediately then flushed at his expression. “I don’t want anyone asking questions.”

Lucien chuckled. “Buying pants is a very normal thing, Elain. You shouldn’t be this worried.”

She bit her lip and Lucien had to look anywhere else until she very quietly asked, “Will you go with me then?”

He blinked at her, then swallowed. “To — to buy pants?”

“You said we haven’t talked because I didn’t want to. I wasn’t ready.” she said and looked him in the eye. “I want to change that. Shopping allows some of the best conversations.”

He tilted his head, taking in the question and the challenge in her eyes. With a small smile, Lucien nodded. “Shopping it is.”

“Good. We can go tomorrow.”

“So demanding.”

“I’m making decisions.” she said with a firm nod, a small smile gracing her face.

“I can work with that.”

They watched each other for a few moments in silence before Elain finally looked away shyly again, making her way back to her bedroom door. “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“See you tomorrow.” he confirmed with a nod. “I’ll even grab the book that shall not be named and hang on to it for safekeeping for you.”

Elain laughed softly. “Thank you.” she said then added quietly, “And thank you for checking on me. Even when you didn’t have to.”

He waved her off with a good-natured smile. “I was only following my instincts. It brought me to the right place.”

It brought me to you, is what he wanted to say but held back. They balanced a delicate line and Lucien didn’t want to burden her. But the small smile on Elain’s face as she waved goodnight and gently closed her bedroom door gave him the impression she heard it anyway.

Feeling lighter than he had in quite some time, Lucien made his way back to his room, stopping only to pick up the now-cursed book and taking it back with him. Closing his bedroom door behind him and leaning against it, Lucien realized then, he only had a few hours to mentally prepare himself to see Elain in pants for the first time.

Gods above, he was barely going to survive it. 

[theladyofbloodshed]

Chapter 6 of 6

Happy Halloween! Thanks y'all for reading. I know the poll voted for smut, but I couldn't squeeze it in with eccentric constable Eris Crane.

Nesta awoke with a dry throat and a groggy head as if she’d spent her day at the bottom of a barrel of ale. She wished she had. She could not chase the images of her sisters from her mind – nor of the constable who had departed their village.

She pushed herself up from the hard ground. Hard ground? She had awoken in her bed, a single note from Eris detailing his departure, and had sought the jug of water he had left beside it. Now she was here. Wherever it was.

The interior was entirely wooden. Great sacks of flour were stacked up beside hay.

‘Awake at last. Did you think it was all a nasty dream? Alas, no.’

Nesta blinked away the last of her drowsiness.

‘My sister saw the Horseman kill you.’

Rhysand turned, a slow smile spreading across his angular face. ‘No. She saw the Horseman coming towards me with his sword unsheathed and I told her to run. But it is I who govern Jurian, my dear sister. Feyre did not linger to see Elain’s head parted from her body or that mine was not.’

‘But your body.’

‘I always thought Azriel useless, but he proved himself to have one use at least. Tomorrow, I will emerge and announce I saw Elain and Azriel in an act of passion then the Horseman came from them. How I fainted and woke in the woods, my memories patchy from horror.’

Nesta forced herself to sit upright against the wall.

‘Who are you?’

A charming man who had known many of the village when he had swept her sister off of her feet and helped to mend her broken heart.

‘I lived with my father, my mother, and sister in a cottage not far from here.’ His violet eyes skimmed towards the window as if he could see all the way to his cottage. ‘My father died at Van Garrett’s hand. An argument over land turned deadly.’ He shook his head. ‘Atwell and his son disposed of my mother and sister while they slept. Had I not been out collecting firewood, I would have burnt with our cottage too.’

Nesta remembered talk of a family who lived on the edge of the forest. They kept to themselves with rumours of witchcraft spread about the mother.

‘I was forced to live alone. A boy, still. Then, one day, I happened across Jurian in the woods as he ran from the enemy.’ Rhysand ran a knife across his thumb, the blade not cutting the skin. ‘I saw his death and from that moment I offered my soul to Satan if he would raise Jurian from the grave to avenge me.’

‘Avenge you?’

‘Against Van Garrett. Against his son.’ He said it so simply as if his entire life had culminated in this moment. ‘The easiest part was to enter your house. I spoke to Feyre. Convinced her an engagement to Tamlin would only end in misery. That he was cruel to women. She listened most eagerly – and I was there to offer a shoulder in comfort. Advised her that there needed to be a man about the house for her protection after your father died.’

He had slipped in like a snake, preyed on her vulnerable sister.  

‘Then the Widow Briar had to open her legs for Tamlin.’ Rhysand shook his head. ‘Not quite as easy to secure my legacy. A few threats or seductions meant I could learn who was privy to the secret and have away with them.’

‘You have everything now.’

Rhysand gave a deep, rich laugh. ‘No. You do. By your sister’s will. But I get everything in the event of your death.’  

Nesta’s ears were ringing as she tried to make sense of it all. All of this – these senseless killings – was for money? For revenge?

‘You killed the Witch of the Woods.’ There had been too much blood. The wound not cauterized as the others had been.

‘She sheltered me once. An acquaintance of my mother. She shouldn’t have opened her mouth to you and the Constable.’ Rhysand clapped his hands and turned. ‘Who is just on time to have his head sliced off.’

Eris, with a rapier in his hand, had crept into the old mill. It drooped limply in his hand from being caught.

Rhysand picked up the skull from the altar he had built. ‘The Horseman comes. Tonight, he comes for you both.’

The wind picked up outside. Nesta could feel the beat of the horse’s hooves echoing in her heart. Eris surged forwards, a hand clamping around her wrist to haul her to her feet.

‘Quickly.’

Higher. They had to reach higher ground where Jurian’s horse would not go. Nesta was pushed towards a ladder. Eris lifted her up the first few rungs then her hands scrambled the rest of the way with him following closely behind.

The moment they had entered the attic, Eris slammed the wooden doors closed and bolted it.

‘That won’t hold,’ Nesta cried.

Together they pushed a large grindstone against the trapdoors as the Horseman pounded them from below.

The Horseman took his axe and began hacking at the door.

‘Up there,’ Eris urged, pointing towards the window.

Nesta’s legs trembled as she climbed another ladder. The mill gave a groan of protest as its massive gears began to turn. The counterwheels above their heads began turning then the rotors slowly began spinning outside.

Eris joined her beside the window and hauled bags of milled grain to the edge of the platform. His rapier cut through it, sending grain spilling below where the Horseman sought to break down the trapdoor. Clouds of dust formed beneath the platform – then Nesta heard the crash of the milling stone falling through the trapdoor.

The Horseman was coming.

‘Get ready to jump,’ Eris said.

‘Jump? From here?’ Nesta’s legs almost gave up. ‘I can’t.’

Before her doubt could swallow her, Eris gripped her hand fiercely. ‘Yes, you can, my love. Hand in hand.’

One of the rotors was moving upwards, drawing closer.

Eris threw a lit lantern into the stream of milled grain still falling upon the Horseman as he sought them out.

‘Now.’

He kept his grip on her as they leapt upon one of the rotors.

A deafening sound came from the windmill as the lantern shattered and flames roared through the interior.

The rotor turned downwards although the entire structure trembled as the mill burnt.

Eris jumped first, grunting as he landed upon the ground, then he held out his arms for Nesta.

It was less of a jump that she managed. Rather, she simply let go of the rotor and tipped. Eris did his best to catch her, the pair of them going to the ground with a thump.

‘You came back,’ she breathed.

‘We cannot linger.’

They made for Eris’ horse, legs moving slower than they wanted. It felt sluggish, like a dream.

The mill gave a great creak as it collapsed in on itself. Flames devoured it.

‘Is he dead?’

‘He was dead to start with,’ Eris replied. ‘That’s the problem.’

The constable threw her in the saddle then mounted swiftly.

From out of the flames, the Horseman emerged.

His horse galloped to meet him.

Eris gave a snap of the reins to urge Gunpowder on.

‘Where will we go?’

‘Anywhere.’

‘Make for the church, Eris.’

‘We won’t reach it.’

Nesta braved a glance behind them. The Horseman was giving chase and moving fast.

A pistol sounded. Before Nesta could register it, Gunpowder made a high-pitched whinny then they were falling.

Nesta could not mourn the horse for Eris was already dragging her towards the trees.

‘What? Still alive,’ came Rhysand’s voice.

‘Run, Nesta.’

Rhysand laughed. ‘Yes, do run. And jump. And skip.’ He cocked his pistol at Nesta. ‘And now let’s see a somersault.’

A force knocked the wind out of her. Eris had shielded her with his own body. The bullet had grazed his arm so blood welled upon his shirt.

The sound of the fearsome horse grew closer.

‘There she is. Take her, she’s yours.’

Eris’ eyes had glazed over as he looked at Rhysand, his gaze lingering on his black satchel. Nesta waited for a moment or two for a great plan to reveal itself. For Eris to solve the mystery and save her.

There was no time.

Nesta pushed herself up and began to run.

***

The wound on his arm burnt. Each thrum of his pulse gave another leak of blood upon his shirt.

But he needed to save Nesta. Needed to pull himself from the shock and save her.

The satchel.

The skull.

Rising out of pure determination, Eris made himself run. To run and close in on Rhysand. He leapt, dragging the man from his horse so they both went down hard.

The satchel opened and the Horseman’s skull rolled out from it.

The pair of them fought and scrambled to reach the skull first. Eris’ nails scratched at Rhysand’s face as a knee hit him in the ribs. He tugged at the collar of Rhysand’s dark suit to bring him close then, with as much force as he could muster, head butted the male.

He went limp.

Eris forced him off and crawled towards the skull, seeing stars in his vision from the impact.

The Horseman had Nesta upon her knees, holding her by her beautiful hair.

No.

‘Horseman!’

Eris threw the skull towards him.

Jurian dropped Nesta to catch the skull. She scrambled over the ground towards him. He held her tightly.

The skull was lowered upon Jurian’s neck. Blood and flesh rose up from his throat, covering the bone. Lips and eyes and hair began growing, turning him into the man he had once been with dark eyes and brown hair. His teeth had been sharpened to points, confirming the stories of Sleepy Hollow.

The Horseman turned towards them and mounted his horse.

Eris braced himself as the horse rode towards them, but Jurian did not brandish his sword. When he rode past them, Nesta made a quivering noise and pressed herself closer to him.

The Horseman reared down upon Rhysand’s unconscious form and hauled him into the saddle with one hand. He gripped the man’s black hair as he began to wake. A scream came from Rhysand for a moment then the Horseman bore down on him, his jagged teeth ripping into flesh.

The earth seemed to give a shudder as they galloped back towards the hole in the ground at the base of the tree then the air went still as if the world was satisfied, that the evil had been righted.

‘I would be overjoyed, Eris, if you would take me home.’

‘And perhaps a cup of tea.’

Nesta gave a shaking laugh. ‘Or something stronger.’

***

Healing was a lie. Nesta would feel the wounds of her sisters’ deaths for the rest of her life. All she could do was bind them tightly and continue on.

‘Do you have everything?’

Eris watched as the last few of her bags were stowed atop the carriage. His red hair was combed neatly and parted on one side. He was tall and slender. A gentleman in deeds if sometimes his words stumbled over themselves with eccentricity.

‘I have what is important,’ she replied, standing beside him and lacing her arm with his.

A kiss was pressed to the top of her head then he lead the way to the carriage.

There was no final look to the house that had been her home for these last few years. It hadn’t truly been a home. Even their cramped cottage in the woods hadn’t felt like a home either. But Nesta hoped that she would find that home with Eris in New York City.

‘I should like to learn to dance.’

‘Certainly,’ he said, offering her a hand into the carriage.

‘You understand that I will need a dance partner, Eris.’

He paled somewhat at that then nodded. ‘For you, Miss Tassel, anything.’

[acourtofthought]

THE ERA OF VANSERRA

I'm starting to think the Night Court is setting themselves up for problems by their lack of respect for the Vanserra's 😂

Nesta lifted her chin, smirking at last. “I suppose once we have the Crown in our hands, the Night Court won’t need you after all. Neither will I.” She could have sworn Cassian was repressing a laugh, but she kept her gaze on Eris, who went rigid, rippling with rage. “I do not appreciate being toyed with, Nesta Archeron. My offer was sincere. Stay with the Night Court and you risk your ruin.”

So Cassian said, “I grew up surrounded by monsters. I’ve spent my existence fighting them. And I see you, Eris. You’re not one of them. Not even close. I think you might even be a good male.” Cassian opened the door, turning from Eris’s curled lip. “You’re just too much of a coward to act like one.”

Rhys said at last, “I can stomach being around him.” “I’m sure he’d love to hear that thrilling endorsement.”

“Am I not doing that now?” He arched a brow. “Am I not sending twice-weekly reports to your spymaster?”

Not feeling very festive at all, I said sharply, “That you now feel more comfortable with humans than with the High Fae. If you ask me—” “I’m not.” “It seems like you’ve decided to fall in with two people without homes of their own as well.” Lucien stared at me, long and hard. When he spoke, his voice was rough. “Happy Solstice to you, Feyre.”

But I asked, “And what, exactly, does this Band of Exiles plan to do? Host events? Organize party-planning committees?” Lucien’s metal eye clicked faintly and narrowed. “You can be as much of an asshole as that mate of yours, you know that?”

Mor took another bite from her pastry. “Lucien can’t be entirely trusted anymore.” Cassian started. “What?” “Even with Elain here, he’s become close with Jurian and Vassa. He’s voluntarily living with them these days, and not just as an emissary. As their friend.”

“And?” Cassian bit out. Lucien threw him a withering look. “I’m not your enemy, you know. You can drop the aggressive brute act.” Cassian gave him a grin that didn’t meet his eyes. “Who says it’s an act?” Lucien let out a long sigh. “Very well, then.”

"I'm talking about you, about to kiss Elain, in the middle of the hallway where anyone could see you, including her mate".

"I think Lucien will never be good enough for her"

"I'll defeat him with little effort".

These two brothers are extremely connected and well informed and they've been going out of their way to share information with the NC. And while the NC is occasionally forthcoming and at times decent to Lucien and Eris, there's always an underlying lack of disdain, disrespect or lack of trust the IC has towards them.

Lucien is known as "the fox" and we know Autumn is a cutthroat Court. Is it possible they'll start working together after being put down one too many times by the IC? That they'll make a plan to head to the continent (with Jurian) to free Vassa and deal with Koschei and Beron but will conveniently "forget" to reveal their plans to Rhys and Feyre? Eris has grown increasingly concerned with Berons activities, and I don't think he's all that fond of the IC after they played him at the ball so it might be a natural breaking off point for Eris to begin distance himself and offering up less information.

We know Eris’s (and Lucien's) fire will probably not be a match for Koschei's lake:

"His fire wouldn’t have withstood Koschei’s lake, I don’t think.”

But know he now has a made dagger which he tried to trade for Nesta though Rhys said he might need it yet:

Keep the dagger, though. You might need it.”

And Lucien has Day Court powers. Both things possible weapons against a Death Lord (after first finding the box where he possibly keeps his soul which Elain may be able to lead them too) AND Beron.

There have been hints that Eris would like to make ammends with Lucien:

But as Eris strode by … I could have sworn there was something like sadness—like regret, as he glanced to Lucien.

Or has possibly been in contact with Lucien:

Eris’s face filled with cool amusement. “I wanted to feel out Vassa and Jurian.” He didn’t mention his brother, oddly enough. “But they clearly know little about this.”

I'd actually love to see them reconnecting and working together in Lucien's book. I have no doubt Jurian will remain Lucien's found family but also having his blood brother as found family sets up an even better core group of people for Lucien.

I wonder if the IC will find out their plans to travel through Azriel's spies (without having all the details), then send Elain to travel with them as their own "spy" to see what they're up to using Mor as her cover, claiming they've been unable to reach her.

Feyre winced. “Mor left for Vallahan this morning and is out of our daemati magic’s range.

Elain had squared her shoulders and declared that she was a part of this court—and would do whatever was needed.

"Don't forget that gardening often results in something pretty, but it involves getting one's hands dirty along the way"

Also, SJM has been hinting at revealing the truth between he and Mor since ACOWAR and beyond. Having Lucien, Elain, Eris AND Mor (as well as Jurian and Vassa) all in the continent together makes a lot of sense when tying up loose threads:

“I knew why you did it.” Again that secret smile that had Mor shrinking. Shrinking. “So I gave you your freedom, ending the betrothal in no uncertain terms.”

“And what happened next,” Azriel growled.

“There are few things I regret. That is one of them. But … perhaps one day, now that we are allies, I shall tell you why. What it cost me.”

Eris nodded to where Mor watched them from beside Feyre and Rhys, her face neutral and aloof. “She knows the truth but has never revealed it.” “Why?” “Because she is afraid of it.”

“Give me a damn answer.” Eris crossed his arms, then winced. As if whatever injuries lay beneath his immaculate clothes ached. “You’re not the person I want to explain myself to.” “I doubt Mor will want to listen.” “Maybe not.” Eris shifted on his feet, and grimaced again. “But you and yours have more important things to think about than ancient history. My father is furious that his ally is dead, but he’s not deterred. Koschei remains in play, and Beron might very well be stupid enough to establish an alliance with him, too. I hope that whatever Morrigan is doing in Vallahan will counteract the damage my father will unleash.”

As both Elain and Mor were absent from the crossover scene in CC2, it's another piece of the puzzle that seems to fit.

And while this line doesn't necessarily go with the above, I kind of love thinking about the Elain / Eris interactions we might get:

Nesta barely glanced to Eris, who pulled his assessing gaze from Elain to stare at the eldest Archeron sister with a mix of wariness and intent that set Cassian’s jaw grinding

[hyacinthoideshispanica]

Elucien Circus au

Rhys is the ringmaster. During the day, Feyre sells sketches of patrons, and at night, she puts on an archery show. Nesta is a fire dancer, and Elain is a fortune teller.

Lucien's fiance Jesminda was killed in an accident two years ago, and since then, Lucien has been a shell of his former self. The anniversary of her death is coming up, so Jurian and Vassa drag him to the traveling circus to try and cheer him up.

Usually, he might enjoy himself, but right now, he's just going through the motions and aimlessly wandering until he spies a small tent that's out of the way and embroidered with salvia divinorum. There's no one around, so he figures it's a quiet, empty spot where he can stop fake smiling and just have a moment to himself.

He goes in, and it's dimly lit, the scent of jasmine and honey lingers in the air. He takes a deep breath and puts his head in his hands, then jumps when he hears a voice welcome him. He looks up and sees a hooded figure sitting at a small table he didn't notice before. He apologizes for intruding, and the figure laughs, "It's not an intrusion when you are expected."

Lucien is confused and a little creeped out, but then the figure gestures for him to sit, and he does. He can't see the figure's full face but can now tell it's a woman.

"You were expecting me?"

"Indeed. A man with red hair and a scar has been invading my dreams for many weeks now. And now that you are here, I shall see what the future holds for you."

"So, are you going to pull out those weird cards or something?"

"They're tarot cards and no. The cards are not calling me this time. Please simply give me your hand."

Lucien, a little hesitantly puts his hand on the table, and the woman grabs it with both of hers. He figures she's going to read his palm, but she doesn't trace the lines of his palms, muttering things about love or a long life line like he's seen on TV. Instead, she just clasps his hand in hers and says nothing.

Lucien is more than certain this is a hoax, but her hands are warm in his, and the lovely jasmine and honey scent is stronger the closer he is to her. He still can't see her face, but she sounds cute.

Finally, still holding his hand, she begins to speak.

"Born in the light of day but forced to live in the shadow of a cruel man. You've had a difficult life, and you've wandered for a long time, trying to find where you belong. You thought you had finally found it, but then it was ripped away from you..."

Lucien feels like he's frozen. This could not be real. Seers and fortune tellers and psychics weren't real. It had to be an elaborate prank. Jurian and Vassa had to be hidden nearby, feeding her information somehow. How else could she possibly know about his abusive father? Or how he left home at eighteen and traveled around constantly, never content with where he was until he met Jesminda?

Jesminda... today was the third year anniversary, and here he was with another woman holding his hand...

Lucien jumps up and for the first time, the woman raises her head to look at him fully.

Lucien couldn't breathe. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. The woman looks beyond him, her brown doe eyes glazed, but they come into focus as she speaks a single word.

"Lucien."

Lucien clenches his fist to keep from shuddering at the sound of his name in her mouth.

"I need to go."

He turns quickly, part of him dying to escape into the sunny, open space free of her intoxicating scent while another part of him is desperate to stay. He's halfway out of the tent when her voice stops him.

"I can hear your heart. When I sleep, I can hear your heart beating... Can you hear mine?"

[siderealxmelody]

--------

Jurian tried to focus on the absence of the pulse on his wrist. Maybe she was hiding. Maybe it wouldn't -

He looked up from his chains. He hadn't seen Vasiya in hours. Was she alive? Did he want to imagine what they would keep her alive for?

"Tell us their plans. We know you know something."

He glared at the intergattor.

"Where is she?"

The other male scoffed.

"She left you to die here witch."

He didn't bother responding to that. He did look toward the doors as he heard a small gasp. He looked to Dean. His teeth gritted and he couldn't stop himself from reaching for his eldest. He hoped they would safe with Anastasiya. He knew she'd die to protect them. She -

He looked from his son to the soldier.

"She's dead isn't she?"

"They both are. Talk and you won't be next...maybe we'll even let you see that pretty mate of yours."

Jurian gritted his teeth, he held tight to his boy's shoulder. Dean was shaking but he didn't cry, just like he knew he would. Jurian looked to his boy, hating that this was the last time they'd be together.

"Listen to me. Find the fire do you understand? Find -"

Dean opened his mouth to cry out, to ask his questions but the gun went off before he could. The revolver shot off the bullet slamming into Jurian's skull. Dean's felt the tears now, he'd never seen death before. He reached for his father. He just wanted to hold onto him one last time. He -

The soliders dragged him out, ignoring as he screamed. One backhanded him, slamming into the brick wall to shut him off.

--------

Vasiya curled into the bed, trying to hold onto the scant memory of Jurian. The way he'd smelled. It had only been hours but it felt like says - lifetimes.

They knew what would happen if they'd got caught. They'd left to scout, to gather enough Intel to hopefully help them. Maybe Anastasiya and Aleksander would think of something.

Maybe they'd create a miracle.

She focused on that, not on the way her body felt sore. Not the way that she could still feel their hands and pieces of them still on her.

In her.

She would not them break her like this.

"Mama?"

She glanced up, sniffing as she looked to the cells. She didn't think as she crawled to her girls. Trying to pull her baby girls close.

"Vanessa, Scarlett. Why -"

"You both lost. They're long dead."

Vasiya stared up at the Gaurd, the one who had held her throat. The one who had laughed as she tried to burn him. Her fire was so far away now. Barely a flicker of light or heat.

She stared at her girls and exhaled. Was it selfish to die? To leave them like this? Was it better to hope they understood?

"Look for the flames, follow the light girls. Do you understand me?"

The Gaurd grunted as she began to speak faster. She reached for them, her nails digging into their arms as the Gaurd grabbed her by her hair and pulled her head back. He slid the blade over her neck and looked down at her. At the blood that splattered over him. He would take her one more time, he'd make her pay for her rejection so long ago.

Vanessa grabbed her sister's wrist as the scary male began to undo his belt. As her mother's body went limp. They ran, trying to see through the tears. Trying to drown the sounds of this nightmare.

--------

Jurian stared at Narcissus and closed his eyes.

"Even death you give nothing but shit news."

Narcissus frowned but didn't respond. Jurian turned back to the horizon his eyes widening as he found her.

"VASSA!"

Vasiya didn't move from the ground. Her eyes glassy. She stiffened as he approached her. His eyes taking in her appearance. Even his usual anger felt hollow. A spark when it should be a volcano.

"Hey Princess. It's me. It's just me."

He knelt before her letting her take him in, letting her feel his touch. She began to tremble falling into his arms. He pulled her tighter picking her up as she sobbed into his arms.

He walked back to them, letting his jacket be around her. At least that still had his scent. But Narcissus was right this place had dirt, sky and landmarks. But it was devoid of everything. Devoid of heat or cold, devoid of everything that made life mean something.

Anastasiya pressed more into Aleksander trembling. Jurian didn't pay them any mind. He let the conversation, debate rage over him.

It was only as Vasiya stirred that he began to focus on it again. She watched them and gestured for him to place her down. He was reluctant but he would not coddle. Not now.

He did so, gripping her wrist though. She looked to him and then back to others.

"There is one way though. You said you both had Stelari right? They - what happened to them? They'd die for you. They could be here, or they could be locked away. They'd be able to get through right?"

She looked to Narcissus who shifted uncomfortablely.

"Stelari are ancient name for Changeling. Being of their blood I know what they're capable of. Are we even sure they are loyal to anyone? Or did they run at the first sign of -"

@siderealxmelody /

They'd fought and fought and in the end it wasn't even the thought of their empire that terrified. 

Anastasiya ran a hand through Wynona's hair, her sweet healer. She didn't deserve this. None of them did, hopefully they'd get out. 

They had to. 

Anastasiya looked to Aleksander reaching for him in exhaustion.

"They'll come right? Jurian wouldn't -"

Amarantha wouldn't let more of her family die...right?

Anastasiya sagged against his chest, her eyes heavy. She couldn't remember the last time she'd truly slept. She didn't know this magic, these Hunters who trafficked in sacrificed and blood. 

She could feel that fire burn, that rage trying to spark in the hollowness in her chest. 

"Mama?"

Anastasiya looked to the doorway and held her arms out letting Willa climb into her lap. 

"You should be asleep darling."

Willa shook her head, her brown hair tangled and mused from sleep. 

"I - I had a bad dream the enemy soldiers broke in. They - they won't right?"

Anastasiya shook her head pushing the hair from her eyes. 

"Of course not. We are strong, we are blessed. The monsters will not get in."

She wished she could believe as feverently as her children did. 

Ursula and Vasily were restless. Ursula looked to their father. 

"We should do something. Call for aid or ambush them when -"

"Enough Ulla. I've had enough of this conversation. Let your father and I think."

Anastasiya stood and handed Vasily Willa and looked to her eldest. 

How grin they looked at just 17. How angry and terrified they were so young. 

Anastasiya exhaled. 

"Get some sleep. Read a book. Just - stop hovering."

Vasily adjusted his grip on Willa careful not to wake her. He shot his mother a look. 

"But -"

--------

Linnea and Nikolai stood just behind Vasily and Ursula. Their magic trying to sheild the younger ones. Linnea couldn't see beyond the tears. Though she refused to look away as their parents were forced to kneel and the swords came down. 

She didn't remember the rest of that night. The pain and hollowness had made her numb. 

Till there was a pounding on her door. She didn't have time to fully wake before her door was opened and the soldiers were in her room. Her heart fluttered, she remembered how they'd looked to her - at Ursula. 

But she wasn't her sister, she didn't have the teeth she did. 

"Please - please don't -"

The soldier grabbed her by her hair and dragged her from bed.

"You keep quiet and the little ones live another day."

"Linnea!"

Linnea turned see Ursula a few feet from her. She reached for her sister before the door shut and the darkness cold and oppressive surrounded her. 

She would not die like this, she would not leave her family like this. 

She shut her senses to the sound of ripped clothes and buckles coming undone. She closed her eyes her mother's words in her ear. 

"They all have a fear just tap into their emotions. Even monsters hold nightmares Nightingale."

She would make them proud. And the smell of fire and heat crackled. The one holding her fumbled and she stepped back finding his sword in the dark and slamming it into his neck. She opened her eyes, the world all tangled with threads of Merzost. She pulled the blade free and threw it another before she threw the door open. 

Ursula stood in the hallway, her captors disremembered she reached for Linnea before she shook her head. 

"They didn't - they didn't Ulla."

Ursula gave a nod and gave her a blanket and looked to the hallway. 

"We need to leave."

"The little ones don't -"

"Linnie we will all die here if we don't seperate -"

The window shattered and Linnea rushed to it ignoring Ursula's hiss of warning. 

She was already reaching for the soldier who stepped before she saw his face. Jesper eyes went wide and he crushed her to him. 

"Linnea I - I'm sorry I was -"

"They didn't touch me Jes. We need to leave. We - we don't have time."

Jesper gave a nod searching her face. Grigori was already a step ahead and moving through the rooms. He looked back to them. Reaching for Ulla's wrist. 

"Let's find the others."

--------

Dean woke in a wagon, he turned to see the castle on fire. He could smell burning bodies on the wind. He swallowed and looked to the Hunters who smuggled him out. 

His hands hurt from squeezing them so tight. 

"Are you going to kill us?"

It was the first thing he'd said in hours. He wasn't afraid. His parents hadn't died afraid but they were still dead. If he died now wouldn't he be with them now?

He would be safe with them right?

He looked to where Vanessa and Scarlett sat huddled together. They held Willa and Wynona close. Samuel had taken little Adam into his lap. 

Dean looked to Waverly in his lap but she still didn't cry. She just stared up at the stars. At six months would she remember any of this? Would he years from now? Or would this all be a terrible dream?

"We are trying to save you child. It isn't right what our king did. We - children shouldn't die for the sins of their parents."

Dean frowned at them. His parents weren't evil...right? But then why else were they being attacked and hurt?

--------

Narcissus stared at them Anastasiya clawed at the dirt. She fell back onto her knees. She gripped Aleksander's wrist.

"They didn't come Aleksander. They didn't - our children they're - Goddess knows what will happen to -"

"Ana? What's happened?"

Narcissus moved toward them, Anastasiya stared up at him wide eyed. Adrenaline keeping the chill of death from seeping into her bones. 

"Nisc? How - where are we?"

"The Otherworld. The place the souls go. The Asteri used to feed on the dead here. Not sure if they still do. It isn't safe out here. We have to -"

"We need to get back. We have to leave. We -"

Narcissus knelt before her pity lacing his voice. 

"We can't Ana. We can't get back even if we -"

𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐏𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐃, but every avenue he thought of seemed closed. They were kept in a place, magics used, that prevented even the barest of summoning. His shadows silent, still. No longer commanded by him, and in a way, he almost wished he hadn't burned those bridges with others of his family--before now.

Perhaps then, they'd come, rather than leave him and his family to this fate.

He held Anastasiya, his arm slung around her as she leaned into him. And he nodded, even if he didn't believe there would be a salvation for them.

Not now.

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄, he'd tried to rend the world apart. He'd tried to bring the stone down upon them-- but the exhaustion weighed on his shoulders. His very limbs too heavy to move, much less summon the shadows to him.

Aleksander stood in front of Anastasiya, the children shielded behind them both. His dark eyes blazed with a fury only few had ever seen, but the magic used against him, the bonds his wrists were in, kept him from acting.

He'd never felt so helpless. Not in ages, not since he'd vowed never to be so powerless again-- when he was a boy, and Death had almost taken him, then; succeeding only in stripping away any innocence that had remained in him.

Mouthing his last words to her, to her alone, as they forced him to kneel. I love you, Ana, his expression said everything he wouldn't verbalize. Not here. Not with the enemy standing over him, as he knelt bound and helpless.

It was the end, and there was no peace to be found in an ending like this--

𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍, of the bitter cold that pierced through every part of him, down to his very soul-- did Aleksander remember what had transpired. He sucked in a sharp breath as he sat up straight, as he felt Anastasiya grab at his wrist--

She's not supposed to be here, he thought, but then he knew. He knew those enemies wouldn't have left her alone after killing him. If he'd been left alive and she taken, the world would have suffered a thousand-fold. Aleksander had no doubt Anastasiya would have done the same.

When he realized Narcissus was there, it was like a confirmation of everything he had feared. The other male's words to his mate reverberating in Aleksander's head.

We can't get back.

His fingers curled against his palm, a hard fist forming. His shoulders were tense; the exhaustion hadn't ebbed away, and it was like he could still feel the blade as he'd been struck. As he'd been killed. The anger he felt, the inferno of rage that gripped him, would have shaken the earth itself, the stars in the sky, if he'd been alive.

As it was... It only burned through himself.

Aleksander shook his head. ❝ There has to be a way. Some... Some magic, some power, that will return us. ❞ His eyes met Anastasiya's, before drifting to Narcissus, as if pleading with the male that he have the answer Aleksander sought.

❝ I will not let them take it all again... ❞

I can't.

[moononastring]

Instincts [ Elucien ]

Prompt: A lovely anon sent me this: "Could I please request a fic based on elain reading a really sad book where 1 of the characters dies and she's absolutely torn up over it and Lucien sees her sobbing but he doesn't know what to do cause he doesn't get being invested in fictional characters (plss the irony has me ded) like she does, so he just sits with her and follows his mate bond instinct." So I took the idea and ran with it lol. Prompt requests are always a hit or miss for me depending on my writing energy and inspiration so I’m glad this one worked out!

This takes place post-ACOSF.

Lucien had been rooted to his spot in front of her bedroom door for about 10 minutes now.

10 minutes of him listening to her sobbing — sobbing. 

He had been invited to stay the night after visiting Feyre and baby Nyx. Exhausted and rather than make the trek back to Jurian and Vassa, Lucien stayed. He stayed knowing he was spending an evening with his mate avoiding him like the plague per usual. But it was alright. He tried not to hold it against her. He let her have her space.

When she excused herself after dinner, Lucien’s eyes followed her as she left the room but with a quiet sigh, he returned to his meal.

“You know she doesn’t actually dislike you, right?” Feyre said with a small wince. 

“I know.” Lucien replied, schooling his expression to not show his continuous disappointment. It needn’t be anyone else’s problem but his. “I’m pretty sure if she did, I wouldn’t be able to set foot in this house.”

“Now, now Lucien. You are a friend. You’re always welcome.” Rhys said then laughed when Lucien flipped him off.

“As mates, you both know exactly how well I can feel her emotions.” he said, his eyes on his plate. “I know she’s still going through things. So am I. We’ll eventually work through it.”

He didn’t bother to glance at Rhys or Feyre as he also excused himself. What Lucien didn’t add was even though they’re both working through it, consistently being around her without properly talking to her left him in a constant state of agony.

But he’d dealt with worse. It would be fine. He’d had his eye carved out. He could handle Elain not wanting to talk to him until she was ready.

It was as Lucien started settling in for the evening that he sensed her distress. He was in his own rooms, upstairs, and on the other side of the house when a surge of emotion washed over him. The book in his hand immediately closed and he was on his feet and out the door before Lucien could stop himself. 

The bond had yanked him here, rooting him in front of her room staring and wondering what in the devil was causing her to be this upset. 

His face suddenly fell. Was it him being here? She had never reacted this badly to him. If this was how she really felt, he would free her from the bond right here, right now. He would never want to be with someone who fucken sobbed at the idea of being with him. He deserved better than that. So did she.

He’d reject the bond and his own psychological wellbeing be damned if it freed them both from the misery he was apparently causing her.

But then —

“I’m going to kill her.” 

And Lucien straightened at the venomous tone and words very clearly not about him.

Her door suddenly flew open and a rage like he’d never seen before was found on Elain’s tear-stricken face. 

“I’m going to kill her.”  she repeated and it was as though she hadn’t seen Lucien at all until he cleared his throat.

“I’m unsure who it is you’re referring to, but I would probably rethink your murder plan.” he said gently. “It won’t do much for your soul.”

Finally seeming to realize who stood before her, Elain immediately straightened with a sniffle and wiped at her tears hastily. He watched her in slight amusement as she wrapped her robe further around herself and with a final sniff, looked at him with a stoic expression.

“What are you doing here?”

Lucien pursed his lips at the clipped tone. “I sensed your extreme distress and wanted to make sure you were alright.” he replied dryly. “Seeing as you’re planning a murder, I guess you’re fine.”

Elain scoffed. “Fine. Of course, I’m fine.” she choked out and Lucien raised a brow. “When am I ever not fine?”

Lucien blinked. Interesting. This development was interesting. She was actually talking to him in full sentences. And being snarky.

He gave her a once-over. “We both know you’re not fine. Which is why you avoid me so much because I know the depth of that.”

Elain’s face flushed and her lips went into a thin line. “There’s no need to bring that up.”

“Yes, of course.” he replied immediately, a humorless chuckle escaping him. “Because that would mean you’d have to talk to me, and Cauldron forbid that happen.” 

Elain blinked at him, surprise flashing across her face as her flush deepened. Lucien’s own face heated at what he’d said but shaking his head and taking a deep breath, he forced down his contempt. He had been two minutes away from rejecting the bond for her. He had to leave her before he said something else that was stupid. 

Turning away from her slightly, he waved a hand. “Since you’re alright, I’ll take my leave then.” he said quietly. “Apologies for disturbing you.”

Lucien slowly walked away, clenching and unclenching his fists to calm his heart. He had almost reached the end of the hall when her voice called out to him.

“Do you read?”

He froze then turned to her slightly. 

She was still standing in her doorway, a book now clenched tightly in her hands and looking at him like — Lucien swallowed. He wouldn’t read into her expression.

Turning, he slowly made his way back to her, his hands in his pockets and when he was one bedroom door away, he stopped to keep a healthy distance between them. 

“Yes, I do. I enjoy reading.” he answered. “Do you?”

Elain looked down at the book in her hands and frowned, her lips trembling slightly. “Nesta was always the reader. I enjoyed reading them here and there but…” she began and looked up at him. “Now that I seem to have forever to do things, I wanted to start reading more.”

The corner of his mouth ticked up. “Based on the emotional breakdown you were having, I would wager you didn’t enjoy that particular read.”

Elain watched him quietly and Lucien tried not to read into the whirlwind of emotions seeming to charge out of her, especially when her lips trembled again, and eyes started watering.

“He dies!” she blurted in a wheeze. “Six books! I've been reading this series for six books and after everything they’ve been through!  Everything that has happened! They’re barely happy for two chapters and then he dies!”

Lucien blinked as she started crying. Or rather, tried not to cry as she sniffled then sobbed. 

“Oh.” he said stupidly and as understanding washed over him, his lips twitched.

“What’s the point? What’s the point if they’re not happily together in the end?!” she continued, her rant clearly not over as she angrily wiped away tears still streaming. “I’ve been rooting for them for six books! His death has no meaning!”

“Was it an important character?” he asked and the fury in her eyes almost made him take a step back.

“He was one of the main characters and the main love interest!” she growled. “I have been waiting for them to have their happily ever after for six books!”

He prayed to whatever gods were listening that he didn’t laugh. 

“I see.” was all he could manage. “He was a favorite character of yours then?”

“He was the best.” she said with a small whine and quickly sniffled, glaring down at the book in question. “He was kind and loyal and he loved her so much! He was her perfect match.”

Lucien paused and the way she had said the words ‘perfect match’ erased his urge to laugh. Elain had clearly been committed to this fictional relationship. Should he...pat her on the back? It wasn’t like he could give her a hug. How does one mourn the loss of a fictional character?

“Well.” he finally said carefully. “The death was definitely done for shock value then.”

“Which is the stupidest reason to kill a character!” she snarled, and Lucien blinked rapidly, trying desperately not to let his amusement show. 

“I agree but I mostly read nonfiction, so this is an uncharted territory of investment for me.”

“Nonfiction?” Elain said with a blink then sniffled. “That seems so boring.”

Lucien’s ears heated. “Nonfiction books are the easiest way to educate yourself on things. There’s nothing boring about that.” he said defensively. “Funny enough, some would say gardening is boring and you’ve invested all your time in that.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, the look not really having the desired effect with the tear streaks on her face. “Don’t you go there.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Those gardening books you have count as nonfiction, you know.” he said with a snort and she squinted at him. 

“Fair point, I guess.” she mumbled, and he watched as she glared at the book clenched tightly in her hands again. A moment of tense silence passed then Elain added, “I hate this thing. If I find the author, I will kill them.”

“I’d offer to burn it for you, but it seems the emotional damage has already been done.” he said, a small smile finding its way to his face as Elain continued to glare at the book. “May I ask, who suggested this series to you?”

And Elain glanced up, tear-stricken face furious. “Nesta.”

“Ah. So that’s who you planned to murder then?”

“Yes.”

And Lucien really couldn’t stop his smile widening in amusement. “Might I also ask, how do you plan to do that?” he asked and her gaze snapped to his. “I’m only asking so when they question me, I have an alibi ready.”

Elain sniffled, wiping at her face but a ghost of a smile tugged on her own lips. “People underestimate gardening tools, but they hurt if you know where to strike.”

Lucien’s brow went up and then a quiet laugh slipped from his lips. “Unexpected answer but seemingly very you.”

Elain looked down at the book in her hand again. “And how do you know what I am or not?” she asked quietly.

“I’m very observant.” 

A heartbeat of silence passed between them before Elain finally said, “Too observant.”

Lucien only shrugged, his heart going at an erratic rhythm. Their conversation had gone on longer than he had anticipated, and he didn’t want to do anything to risk spooking her. It was a strange dance between them. He wasn’t sure what tone it would take next.

But Elain surprised him once more. She frowned then without warning, stepped out of her doorway and whirled the book with all her might down the hall. It landed with a soft thud on the other side of the house. 

Lucien blinked, eyeing how much closer she stood to him now. 

“I’ll grab it tomorrow. I can’t stand it being in my room.” she mumbled, crossing her arms. “I’m going to beat Nesta over the head with it in the morning.”

Lucien’s lip twitched again. “I would support that plan as it would be a better one than murdering your own sister.”

Elain snorted. “After letting me get invested for six books only to have the main love interest die in the end?” she said, her eyes flashing. “She’s lucky I won’t.”

Lucien gave her a teasing smile. “As terrible as it is to say this, I’d pay good money to see you whack Nesta with a book.”

“I know she’s faster and stronger than me, but I’ll at least get one hit in.” she said, determination in her eyes. “The element of surprise will help.” 

“I’ll cheer you on.” he said with a chuckle. “But also have Madja on call just in case.” 

Elain looked at him curiously, a small smile on her face. “That doesn’t sound incredibly supportive.”

“If you’d like the fight to be fair, you’d probably need to train just a little.”

“I don’t want to be a fighter.” she snapped immediately, and Lucien’s brows shot up.

“I know.” he said simply. “Basic self-defense doesn’t require you to become a warrior.”

She glanced at him and her lips went into a thin line. “We’ve barely spoken in two years. How could you know that I don’t want to be a fighter when both of my sisters are? Why would I be different?”

“Because you are not your sisters. And again, I’m observant.” he replied curtly, and the familiar contempt flared up. “The only reason we haven’t spoken much in two years is because you don’t want to. I’ve respected that decision.”

The fight in her vanished at his response and instead, Elain shot him a slightly annoyed look. She crossed her arms again and the two stood there, in awkward silence. After a moment, she spoke.

“So what, you’d be willing to teach me basic self-defense?” she asked and Lucien quirked a brow.

“If that’s what you want, I’d be happy to do that.” he replied, crossing his own arms. 

Elain assessed him and Lucien allowed it. It had been a long time since she’d stood before him and actually looked him in the eye. 

But Elain ended up shaking her head and Lucien watched her expression shut down. “They’d just laugh at me if I suggested it.”

Lucien’s expression softened. “No one will laugh at you. I’m sure they’d love for you to learn to defend yourself.” 

But Elain shook her head again and sighed. “I can’t win. I’m mocked for wanting a quiet life and then shut down if I try to take chances.” she said quietly. 

Lucien’s hands dropped to his sides and his fists clenched. “I will tell you this once so please listen,” he began, and Elain’s brows furrowed. “You don’t need anyone’s permission to make changes to your life. You get to decide that and then just do it.”

Elain glanced at him. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

“Well, what do you want, Elain?” he asked and watched as her eyelids fluttered shut for a moment when her name slipped from his lips. His fists clenched again at his sides.

“What do I want?” she repeated, eyes still closed.

“Other than your favorite fictional character to have survived the series?” he said and smiled softly as a small smile emerged on her face.

“I want —” she began, eyes still closed, expression focused. “I want so many things.” 

“Like what?” he asked softly, taking the time to memorize every inch of her face. 

“I want to train a little. I want to travel. I want — I want to get to know you without everyone’s involvement.” she said quickly. “I want my choices to matter in everything.”

His heart started racing and when Elain opened her eyes, the flush in her cheeks matched Lucien’s, who could only stare at her with a barely managed intensity. 

It took Lucien a few moments to find his voice again. “I’m not going to coddle you.” he said firmly. “If there is something you want to do, you can do it. You don't need my support to do anything but you will have it.”

Elain took a breath, her eyes scanning his face. “Good.”

“Great.” he agreed, and he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Without everyone’s involvement huh?”

Elain flushed. “You’re a mystery to me and everyone has opinions. I’d like to form my own.” she said then quickly added. “With zero expectations between us. Whatever happens will happen.”

Lucien nodded slowly. “Whatever happens will happen.” he repeated then gave her a small smile. “As soon as you’re done mourning your loss, we can begin. My condolences by the way.”

With an eye roll, Elain huffed a small laugh. “Oh, shut up.” 

And Lucien smirked. “You’ll have to talk to me much more when we train, you are aware of that, yes?”

“Push your luck with your teasing, I dare you.” 

Lucien’s eyes gleamed at the challenge. “Don’t tempt me, I barely started.”

Elain fought back a smile then looked away from him with a sigh, curling a hair behind her ear, “For training,” she started, licking her lips. “Will...I need pants? Because I don’t have those.”

And every thought seemed to slip out of Lucien’s mind at the statement. The sheer innocence in it. The self-consciousness. She had no idea Lucien was barely holding on to his sanity as is. 

He swallowed. “I’m sure Feyre can help you buy some training pants.”

“No!” she said immediately then flushed at his expression. “I don’t want anyone asking questions.”

Lucien chuckled. “Buying pants is a very normal thing, Elain. You shouldn’t be this worried.”

She bit her lip and Lucien had to look anywhere else until she very quietly asked, “Will you go with me then?”

He blinked at her, then swallowed. “To — to buy you pants?”

“You said we haven’t talked because I didn’t want to. I wasn’t ready.” she said and looked him in the eye. “I want to change that. Shopping allows some of the best conversations.”

He tilted his head, taking in the question and the challenge in her eyes. With a small smile, Lucien nodded. “Shopping it is.”

“Good. We can go tomorrow.”

“So demanding.”

“I’m making decisions.” she said with a firm nod, a small smile gracing her face.

“I can work with that.”

They watched each other for a few moments in silence before Elain finally looked away shyly again, making her way back to her bedroom door. “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“See you tomorrow.” he confirmed with a nod. “I’ll even grab the book that shall not be named and hang on to it for safekeeping for you.”

Elain laughed softly. “Thank you.” she said then added quietly, “And thank you for checking on me. Even when you didn’t have to.”

He waved her off with a good-natured smile. “I was only following my instincts. It brought me to the right place.”

It brought me to you, is what he wanted to say but held back. They balanced a delicate line and Lucien didn’t want to burden her. But the small smile on Elain’s face as she waved goodnight and gently closed her bedroom door gave him the impression she heard it anyway.

Feeling lighter than he had in quite some time, Lucien made his way back to his room, stopping only to pick up the now cursed book and taking it back with him. Closing his bedroom door behind him and leaning against it, Lucien realized then, he only had a few hours to mentally prepare himself to see Elain in pants for the first time.

Gods above, he was barely going to survive it. 

_______________________________________________________________

Tagging my elucien readers: @vanserrasvalkyrie​ | @chloepereyra​ | @helion-ism​ | @arielle-reads​ | @bananaaazinpyjamas​ | @twigoftrust​ 

[vassiensupremacy]

wedding 💒

VASSIEN WEEK | DAY FOUR | WEDDING

Vassa takes a breath and steps towards the beautifully decorated venue. She takes in the people present, all of them here to celebrate their love story. She has waited forever for this moment. She has waited forever to wear this dress and walk towards the love of her life with flowers in hand and a crown on her head. Vassa sees him standing, dressed immaculately and her heart thunders in her chest. She can't help but smile as she drinks in his sight. Lucien, her Lucien. The love of her life, her confidant, her safe space, her partner in crime and now in just a while, her husband. Her always and forever.

Lucien's breath catches in his throat when he sees Vassa walk down the aisle. She looks so beautiful that no words could ever describe her. From the gorgeous dress to the flowers in her hand, from the crown on top of her reddish gold hair to the ethereal smile on her beautiful face. She looks like perfection. Lucien cannot believe that this amazing woman could fall in love with him and choose him over and over. Considering himself lucky, he smiles back at her. He cannot wait to spend the rest of eternity with her now that the war, the mortal queens and Koschei's drama was behind them. Everytime Lucien is reminded of how he could've lost her, not only due to the war and Koschei, but also due to her mortality, he shudders. Those days he spent in pain, thinking of how he could lose Vassa were some of the hardest days of his life. He is more than grateful that Vassa now has an eternity to live with him as well. Without her, he couldn't have lived either, she was his life.

Vassa walked by familiar smiling faces from the Night Court: Feyre and Rhysand, Nesta and Cassian, Elain and Azriel, Amren and Varian, Morrigan and Emerie. All of the other Prythian High Lords were present too and so were Vassa and Lucien's allies, political connections and contacts from Prythian, the mortal lands and from across the Continent. They were all here to celebrate their union. It was a beautiful sight, one Vassa knew she'd cherish forever. In the front row sat the people closest to Vassa and Lucien. Jurian who was not only a friend to but also a brother to them both. Next to him sat the High Lord and Lady of Day Court: Helion and Aurelia. Lucien's parents. Aurelia smiled seeing Vassa while Helion winked, ever the flirt. Vassa grinned at them, so happy to see them together after everything they had been through. When Vassa reached Lucien, he held onto her hands, such genuine adoration in his eyes that she had to close her eyes to stop the flow of tears ready to fall down. Standing next to Lucien was Eris, his half-brother. They had a rocky relationship their whole lives but decided to reconcile after Beron's death. Eris gave Vassa a smile, his eyes showcasing how happy he was for Lucien.

The ceremony was beautiful. Tears of joy and laughter followed throughout the day. The vows were so heart wrenching, that they made even Amren shed a tear. Cassian was a riot through out while Nesta rolled her eyes, though secretly enjoying herself. Feyre and Rhysand laughed at his antics while Elain and Azriel were grinning from ear to ear as they stared at one another. Lucien was happy, beyond happy. Infact, this was the happiest he had ever been in life.

After the ceremony, Vassa and Lucien arrived back at their palace in the Day Court, gifted by Helion himself. It was a sight to see, like out of a fairytale. Moments after the two stepped into their room, Lucien was kissing Vassa. The kiss was happiness and joy, passion and fire. Within moments, their clothes were off and they fell onto the soft fabric of the bed. What followed after that was a rigorous session of lovemaking. Passionate, hot and steamy. Later, the two lay next to each other as Lucien's fingers circled the freckles on Vassa's beautiful brown skin.

“I love you Vassa,” Lucien sighed letting it sink in that he had finally found his home, after all the problems and pain. He was happy.

“I love you, Lucien.” Vassa replied.

“I love your hair, I love your beautiful blue eyes, I love your smile, I love your body and I love your soul. I love your fierceness, I love your passion, I love your determination, I love your foul mouth, I love everything about you. Top to bottom. And in every way possible. Now and for eternity.”

Tears welled up in Vassa's eyes as she listened to Lucien talk about his love for her. She really was the luckiest. She wanted him to know how much he meant to her as well, so she told him.

“I love your hair, I love your russet and your gold eyes, I love your scars, I love your smile, I love your body and I love your soul. More than you can ever know. I love your wisdom, I love your sensibilities, I love your sass, I love your teasing, I love everything about you. Top to bottom. And in every way possible. Now and for eternity. My heart and soul is yours, Lucien.”

Vassa wiped the tears running down Lucien's cheeks. She knew how much this meant to him and seeing him happy, made her happy.

Her lips met his and there was no going back. They made love, again and again. Intensely and slowly, feeling every nerve and every part, every emotion and every sensation possible.

Vassa and Lucien were one, forever and ever. After everything they had been through, they were together. Happy, at peace and with an eternity in front of them waiting to be lived.

[cinaja]

Before the Wall Epilogue

Masterlist

----

Ten years after the Wall

 The crops have been coming along well this year, just the right balance of sun and rain and wind promising a rich harvest. It leads to a good mood throughout the human parts of the Continent. In the aftermath of the war, they have all made their experiences with food shortages, and so everyone is relieved that they seem to have moved past these times. All the bigger is the shock when, only a week before the grain was meant to be brough in, heavy thunderstorms with rain and hail ruin most of the harvest in one of Angolere’s northern provinces.

Andromache spends two mildly exhausting days visiting the region, travelling from city to city and offering reassurances that everything is under control, there are no risks of food shortages. Her presence has no practical purpose, the local authorities are more than capable of handling the situation, but everyone is nervous enough that they need someone to reassure them that all will be well.

By the time she reaches the last village, she is drained, although she is too well-trained to show it. As patiently as in the first village she visited yesterday, she listens to the town spokeswoman describe their situation, allows her to show her the village and the mostly-ruined regions.

“We will send grain from other regions,” she promises, as she did in every place she visited so far. The south of Angolere had rich harvests these years, and the other queens have already promised to send food as well should we not get by after all.”

She accepts an invitation for dinner and spends a few hours sitting in the townhall together with most of the village, making pleasant conversation, before she excuses herself. When she steps outside, she expected to be greeted by one of her guards. Instead, Yanis is waiting for her, leaning against a fence.

When he sees Andromache, he offers an exaggerated bow, grinning broadly as he straightens. “Good evening Your Majesty. May I be your escort for the evening?”

Andromache grins back. “I don’t know. You see, I have a husband who is waiting for me at home with our children.”

“I hear those children are sleeping already, and your husband missed you terribly these last few days and thought he’d pick you up.”

Andromache laughs and leans over to kiss him.

“How did it go?” he asks, wrapping an arm around her middle.

“All good,” Andromache says. “I barely needed to do anything, just reassure people a bit.”

These days, all problems she has to deal with seem easy. There is still a lot of work – drafting laws, dealing with arising problems, day-to-day governing work – but it only ever seems pleasant. What is a disagreement over a new law compared to the horror of war? Or to the initial years afterwards, when there were millions of displaced, traumatized people to deal with and they came close to starvation almost every year. Six years ago, a loss of harvest like this would have meant famine and deaths. Now, all she has to do is organize for food to be sent over from different provinces.

Things are good.

“I’m sure you were brilliant,” Yanis says with a broad smile. “Meanwhile, I have won a significant victory in the never-ending battle of convincing Leli that when her teachers tell her something, it is not a suggestion but an order, and I managed to keep Tano from breaking any priceless artifacts while running through the palace.”

Andromache laughs. “You’re my hero,” she says, half-teasing and half-sincere.

Yanis quit his work in the palace guard when Andromache got pregnant with Leli six years ago and has been staying at home to raise her and – three years later – Tano ever since. He could have kept his job had they hired someone to look after their children, but for Yanis, there was never even a question in that regard: He wanted to be there for their children as they grew up. It makes it easier for Andromache to know that even when she is busy at work, sometimes for days at a time, he is home with their children.

“My first meeting tomorrow is at eleven,” she says. “That ought to leave plenty of time for a nice family breakfast.”

----

Mor spends her days travelling the Continent, dealing with anyone her uncle currently wishes to improve relationships with. She has yet to decide whether she loves or hates her new position. Both, perhaps. She loves that it allows her to travel far and wide, to leave the Night Court and its restrictions behind, if only for a few weeks at a time. She loves the protection it gives her.

She hates the memories it brings up, though. For her, the Continent is full of memories of happier times. (No, that is not right. She shouldn’t think back to the years of war and wish herself back into that time. But then, to go back would mean getting Andromache back, and for that, she would accept a hundred years of war. But Andromache is on the other side of the Wall, married now and forever lost to her.)

Sometimes, Mor also hates the people she has to deal with. Today, it is Shey, who has been loosely allied with the Night Court ever since the war ended. Mor doesn’t know exactly how that came about, but her uncle exports iron for weapons and armour to Shey and he sends Mor to visit the emperor at least once a year.

Today is the first day of that annual visit and Shey is holding a welcome-celebration for her. It is a huge honour – Shey is easily the most important person on the Continent now, and him holding a celebration in honour of the emissary from a tiny Prythianian court is very unusual.

If Mor had been stupid enough to think it is for her sake, she might have actually felt honoured. But this celebration isn’t because of her, none of this is because of her at all. It’s all about Miryam and the fact that everyone knows that Mor was friends with her. That is why there are no doors locked to her on the Continent, why everyone so readily meets with her. Because Miryam and Drakon were her friends, and so to host her is to flaunt some sort of connection to them.

No, Mor does not enjoy the party at all, even if the music is brilliant, as is the food. She just makes conversation because it is what is expected of her and downs glass after glass of the clear, sparkling wine favoured here in the north to make it bearable.

She wonders what they would all say if they knew how things ended between Miryam and her, that she abandoned her before the end and left her to die. If they knew that she was so terrible that Andromache could no longer bear to so much as be around her anymore. If they knew about the charmed necklace that still lies unused at the bottom of some drawer in her rooms in Velaris.

No one knows about any of that, though. And no one ever will. Maybe one day, Mor will even be able to fool herself into believing that the sole reason her and Andromache split up was the Wall, that she never argued with Miryam and the only reason she isn’t visiting her is out of worry for her safety. It is not today, though, and so she downs another glass of wine and smiles at the nearest dignitary and allows him to pull her to the dance floor.

----

No one is coming for him.

Jurian fought against that truth for years, but he has given up on denying it for a while now. What use is it to lie to himself? No one is coming to save him. His allies, his friends, seem to have forgotten entirely about him. They moved on with their lives and likely never thought of him again, didn’t care enough to bother freeing him from that terrible nightmare his life turned into.

Jurian hates all of them. Andromache and Nakia and all the others for leaving him behind. Drakon for pretending to be his friend and then betraying him and making Miryam turn away from him. Miryam for turning against him. For not saving him. For dying. Her, he hates most of all.

----

Drakon puts down his quill and scans the contents of the text he just finished once more before putting the paper on the stack with the other usable results. That stack is the only tidy part of the table he was working on, the rest is a mess of books, most of them lying open on the relevant pages, and crumbled papers filled with ideas he dismissed as useless already. A few of those even ended up on the floor.

Well, that ought to be enough for now. He’s done with his edits on the draft for the new tax law they will be discussing later today. He still wants to show his edits to Miryam before then, but he still has plenty of time left for that.

Rising to his feet, he sets about cleaning up his mess. The papers he doesn’t need anymore go into the fire, he closes the books he used for reference and puts them on a second stack next to the one with the finished edits. He will be taking them with him, just to be sure.

Carrying the eight books as well as the stack of papers is a difficult task, given that he still doesn’t have proper use of his right arm. He has to carry the books with his left hand, the papers stuck between his useless right arm and his body. That movement alone hurts, but he is used to it by now. (There are magical prosthetics that function almost as well as an actual limb. But… well, Drakon hasn’t decided yet.)

A look at the clock reveals that it is almost seven. Drakon was in the library for the last four hours, and by now, Miryam should probably be awake. (Their sleeping schedules do not align very well lately. They usually go to bed together, but Miryam rarely manages to sleep more than half an hour before waking up again and then spends most of the night working, going to bed only in the early hour of the morning, while Drakon generally manages to sleep for a few hours but then cannot go back to sleeping when he wakes up. Miryam sometimes jokes that at least their inability to ever sleep through the night makes them both very productive rulers.)

Books balancing on his left hand, he walks through the halls of the library and out into the city. They founded their new capital nine years ago, and everything about the city still screams new. Many houses are only half-finished, as are all government buildings. Right now, their government meets in an improvised city hall and most of the high-ranking government members (including Miryam and Drakon) live in nearby houses. The council insisted that they start building a palace sometime, but that hasn’t been a priority yet.

The city Drakon is walking through now is nothing like Sajeo or any of the other cities in Erithia, all of whom were old, each building full of history. Drakon does miss Erithia, but he doesn’t think that difference is necessarily a bad thing, at least for their purposes. Not all history is good, after all, and in their situation, it certainly isn’t helpful. As it is, they all get a fresh start. There are human houses being build next to faerie ones, and all of them are equally new. They are all starting over together, and in a few centuries when this city has matured a bit, that will be the history the people living here will be able to look back upon. It will be one of unity, Drakon hopes.

----

Miryam frowns at her reflection in the mirror. Hair mussed from sleep and still wearing her long nightdress, she doesn’t look particularly dignified, but that is not what she has a problem with right now. No, the problem is that she looks young. It’s like she hasn’t aged at all in the last ten years. If she is being honest, the years of peace actually make her look far younger than she did at the end of the War. Then, at twenty-five, she looked more like thirty-five than she does now.

“Would you say,” she asks, turning to look over at Daín who is floating over her bed, “that I look my age?”

Daín is silent for a moment, cocking his head to the side to study her. “Now?” He asks. “You want to talk about that now?”

Miryam shrugs.

“Mortal ages are terribly hard to tell just by looks, really. There is no telling how old anyone truly is, as evidenced by you now looking younger than you did when we first met,” Daín says. When Miryam gives him a flat look, he quickly adds, “But in your case, I would say that you look twenty-five, for the simply reason that you haven’t aged a day since you were resurrected. Which is what you were getting at, isn’t it?”

Miryam glares at him, trying to ignore the sting of the words. “You knew the entire time,” she says, more statement than question. “And you never thought to tell us? Even when we spent the last five years trying to figure out if I was aging or not?”

“And yet, through all that time, you never thought to ask me,” Daín says with a sharp smile. He has been getting better at mimicking precise expressions lately. “You ask about everything – history, human culture, magic, the other worlds. Yet this one thing, you never brought up, not once in the four years since you decided to talk to me again. Neither did Drakon.” He shrugs. “I figured you didn’t want to know.”

Like it or not, he might have a point. Miryam didn’t want to know. If she is entirely honest, she still doesn’t. She never wanted to be immortal, not even in the not-actually-immortal way the Fae are. She always thought that having a limited number of years made those years more precious.

“Resurrections are a tricky matter,” Daín offers. He actually manages to sound comforting. “There is no telling what side-effects there might be. Even I still cannot tell exactly how it works.”

“Well.” Miryam wraps her arms around herself. “I suppose the alternative was to be dead.”

She doesn’t like the idea of being immortal. Not at all. But if there is one thing she knows for sure, it’s that she prefers it to having died and stayed dead at the end of the war. These last ten years certainly weren’t easy, but they were good. The best ones of Miryam’s life, probably. She wouldn’t have wanted to trade them for the world.

“So you’re alright with it?” Daín asks.

“I guess I’ll have to be,” Miryam says with a shrug. At least it doesn’t bother her as much as she thought it might. It isn’t ideal, but she would rather have a too-long life than a too-short one. She smiles at Daín in a way that is hopefully reassuring. “And now, I need to get dressed. So, you know.”

“I’m already gone,” Daín says, winks at her and vanishes.

Miryam glances at her reflection once more before turning to her wardrobe. She sincerely hopes that she is at least only “immortal” in the way the Fae are, which isn’t so immortal at all. But well, that is a question for later. For now, she has other things to worry about, and for those, she needs to dress.

Drakon barges into the room just as she buttons up her jacket. He doesn’t look at Miryam – cannot, because he is balancing a stack of books on his left hand, it swaying dangerously with each step.

Miryam picks up the four books at the top and stands up on her toes to kiss him over the now-smaller stack of books he is still holding. “Busy morning?” She asks, smiling softly.

Drakon smiles back and manages to place the rest of his books as well as the stack of papers he was holding under his right arm on the nightstand without any incidents.

“Yes,” he says, turning back to Miryam and wrapping an arm around her. “Very productive, though. I reviewed the new tax law we were drafting, and I think it should probably work out. Maybe you could read over it once more before the meeting later, though. And I brough along the books I used for reference, just to be sure.”

Miryam’s smile deepens. Of course be brought the books, as if there will be anyone but him at the meeting who read all of them.

“Sure,” she says, although she doesn’t think her reading over it will accomplish anything but making Drakon feel more secure about it. “I’ll read them right after breakfast.”

That way, they will still have time for small changes before the meeting, even if Miryam doubts she will find anything of note. She learned a lot about law-making in the last years and she would say that she is decent, but especially when it comes to the small details (which is what they are dealing with at this stage), she’s nowhere near as good as Drakon.

They go have breakfast on the small balcony belonging to the set of rooms they share. It is Miryam’s favourite place in the entire city, high enough that she can overlook the square below as well as some of the nearby streets. As her and Drakon eat and discuss the things they both worked on during the night (the tax laws for Drakon and a logistic issue with distributing food for Miryam), Miryam looks out over the city.

By now, the city has awoken and the square is full with people rushing about, going about their daily activities. Humans and faeries, all living together in peace. A woman is hurrying along, trailing two small children behind her. A young Seraphim girl and a human boy are playing together by the fountain. Next to them, a group of adults sits and eats a quick lunch, likely before going to work.

Miryam could spend hours watching them. On bad days, when her nightmares are worse than usual and the shadows of what happened chase her, she sometimes does. Watching the people down there go about their lives, happy and free and at peace, always makes the guilt and pain easier to bear. These people will have good lives, they and their children will be free, and that alone makes all that it took to get them here worth it. It makes everything worth it.

----

A/N: So, this is the final chapter. After over a year and 370k words written, I can't quite belive that this story is actually over. Writing this story has been lots of fun (and I might revisit it for a few oneshots sometime), and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.

At this point, I'd also like to thank everyone who read this story and left comments or likes - all of you have really made my day every time. A special thanks goes (once again) to @croissantcitysucks for all the wonderful conversations we had about this story, for all the great feedback and help when I had problems, and, of course, for all of the backstory surrounding Daín and the Mother (also, I'm looking forward to you acotar rewrite so much and I can only recomment everyone read it when it comes out!) It's really been so much fun!

Tags: @femtopulsed @aileywrites

[abraxos-is-toothless]

Summer Lovin’ (Lucien x Tarquin)

Hello all!

This fic is something new, and will be in multiple parts, updated as and when I finish the next part. It is a Lucien x Tarquin fic. I know what you’re think but I had this thought about them because everyone writes crackships, but then I told @tswaney17 and the two of us fell in love with the idea. She is to thank for this spiral.

I’m using my general ACOTAR tag list for this, but you do not have to read it. Also do let me know if you would like to be kept out of the tags for this in the future. (The title is just something for now because I honestly haven’t decided something yet😂)

~~~~~~

Lucien’s life had been chaotic lately, but still, he hadn't quite expected this to happen, of all things.

Elain had finally said she didn't want this bond between them. He knew it was going to happen and he couldn't exactly blame her. Having it related to a traumatic experience wasn't going to be something positive, and no matter what the Cauldron thought of them matching each other, accepting the bond wouldn't have made them happy. She had the Spymaster for that, and Lucien was grateful to see how much she’d healed since seeing her as skin and bones in the library of the House of Wind. Azriel helped her and loved her; it wasn’t something predestined or whatever other shit people liked to talk about. They had chosen it for themselves, and Lucien couldn’t fault them for being happy.

Then came one of the biggest bombshells of his life.

Beron was not his father.

Though he had found out several months ago, it was still fresh in his mind, as though it were yesterday that he had been told.

Lucien still didn’t understand what he was doing in the River House. Rhysand had turned up in the human lands this morning to get him. When he’d asked why, the bastard just smiled at him. Lucien had honestly thought that the male might have been taking him to his death. But then he winnowed them into an office, Feyre sitting in the window, little Nyx in her arms and a content smile on her face. Now it was a few hours later, Nesta had been and gone, collecting her nephew for his nap, and still, he didn’t know why they had brought him here.

“Are you going to tell me what is going on now, or do I have to wait several more hours?” Rhys was just smiling from where he sat on his chair, wings hidden and humming, making Lucien roll his eyes. Feyre came to sit next to her mate, giving him a reprimanding look. She gave Lucien a soft smile.

“Just a little longer, I promise.” Feyre had barely even finished the sentence when there was a knock on the door. “There we go.” She stood, smoothing the skirts of her dress before walking towards the door, trailing light fingers over Rhys’ shoulder as she went. When she pulled the door open, Lucien could honestly say he was shocked to see that it was Helion on the other side, led by Cassian.

“Your guest, dearest sister. Please, take him.” Helion let out a low chuckle behind the general. He placed a hand over his heart, faking pain when Cassian turned to look at him.

“You wound me. Why so hasty to get rid of me?”

“If you keep looking at time the way you are, I will not be held responsible for what Nesta does to you in a jealous rage.” Helion’s retort was cut off when the female in question shouted from somewhere else in the house.

“You can take him! He’s been a pesky annoyance as of late.” Cassian disappeared then, grumbling about how she didn’t mean that, he was never annoying and Nesta was madly in love with him. Which was true,-the madly in love part, not Cassian not being annoying- anyone could see it. Lucien would never tell her about the doe eyed look she got though. He valued actually being alive.

Helion laughed again, bending down to kiss Feyre on one cheek and then the other.

“Feyre, you look as lovely as you always do. Motherhood suits you.”

“That I agree with entirely.” Rhys said as his mate welcomed the newcomer into the room, closing the door gently behind them.

“I’ve told you Rhysand, no more babes until Nyx is older.” The male nodded in agreement, though Lucien thought they were going to be having this discussion a lot in the near future. She smacked him over the back of the head when he smirked, before sitting once more. He had a feeling they were talking to each other in secret again. “Have you made it so no one can hear us?” She asked when they were all settled. Helion now sat in the chair next to him, giving him a nod, Feyre sitting on the arm of Rhysand’s seat. The High Lord of the Night Court gave a dip of his head. “Warded the moment you closed the door, my love.”

“Good. Now, onto what we brought the both of you here for.”

Helion crossed an ankle over the other knee, hands linked where they rested in his lap. The High Lord of Day was dressed in a mix of gold and black. Gold fabric covered his body. One side of his chest left bare, clothing pinned at the other, flowing down his body, belted at the skirt. It was embroidered around the hem with reds and greens, and it seemed to shimmer like glitter under moonlight. Sandals wrapped around the dark skin of his calves. “Forgive me for asking, but why such secrecy? Can you not trust your own family?”

Lucien didn’t understand why they were being so careful all of a sudden, either. Any time he’d been in here, discussing all the problems they were still trying to overcome from the war with Hybern, they’d never stopped the others inside the house from being able to hear too. Rhys tilted his head slightly to the side. “The information will leave this room when you do, and you will do with it as you see fit.”

Lucien spoke then, frustrated. “You brought me here hours ago, told me absolutely nothing on why I had to come. Just tell us what’s going on.” Rhys raised a dark brow at him, but said nothing, so he turned to Feyre. She sighed, wringing her hands together before stopping herself. It was one of her nervous traits, and nervous traits accompanied by serious conversations never boded well.

“Back when we were trying to get the High Lords to work together, to help us against Hybern, you told us a story about Lucien’s mother, Helion.”

“Yes, I did.” Lucien hadn’t known that. But he supposed looking for Myriam and Drakon meant he wasn’t privy to a lot of information. There were things from the time he was gone that he was still learning about.

“Including the affair that you had.” Lucien sucked in a sharp breath, slowly looking at the male seated beside him. Beron was not nice to his mother, he knew that. But the man had spies everywhere, always had. He would have had to have known about his mother being with Helion. And if he knew, he would have had her killed for it.

“But my mother lives. My father wouldn’t have allowed her to live after he’d found out. And trust me he knows, he always knows when his family isn’t doing exactly what he wants them to.” Beron would have wanted to set an example, a vicious one at that. He showed that with what happened to Jessminda. Thinking of her only made Lucien think fondly of their good memories together now. He was no longer attacked by grief and self hatred, though waves of sadness would come and go. On the bad days, the storm in his head made them rough and dangerous, but those were few and far between.

Feyre started to look uncomfortable, causing Rhys to continue. “To have killed her, would have caused a scandal. He was younger then, and it wouldn’t have done him any good.”

Lucien still didn’t understand and it was starting to piss him off. His fire tempted its boundaries, flames growing hotter and higher in his frustration. It felt as if it were boiling his blood, heating his skin. He pushed it down into the depths where it belonged. “The only scandal is that she wasn’t faithful. The gods know he fucking hasn’t been. But then again it was always ‘do as I say and not as I do’ with him anyway.” Feyre simply shook her head at him. He opened his mouth to say something, to say how pointless this meeting was if they weren’t going to get to the point, when Helion suddenly sucked in a sharp breath from beside him. Lucien startled slightly.

“Mother above.” He breathed. “He can’t be. No, you’re lying, I don’t believe you.” Helion just stared at Lucien when he turned to him, amber eyes wide, mouth partly open.

“I’m not lying, Helion. I figured it out that day, and I’ve also had his mother confirm, but do not ask me how. You can see why Beron hated him the most now.” Lucien was severely done with them taking but still not explaining anything to him.

“Confirm what! What are you fucking talking about?” Rhysand looked at him, not even phased by his outburst.

“Beron is not your father, Lucien.” No. No. They were lying. When he looked at Feyre, when he looked at his friend, she gave him a small nod. He looked back at the male beside him, the male who seemed to be shocked into silence by the situation.

As if Lucien’s life couldn’t get anymore fucked.

It had been months since that day. Feyre told them again that she wouldn’t say how she’d been in contact with his mother, and Lucien didn’t want her to tell him anything anyway, no matter how much he wished to find out so he could see how she was. To talk to her himself. It would put her at risk, and Lucien wouldn’t allow that. And he knew now that Helion wouldn’t either. His father. The High Lord of Day was his father. Lucien was the sole heir to the Day Court. Helion had been nothing but welcoming in the time sincerely but he never pushed. Said that it didn’t have to mean anything, if it wasn’t what he wanted. Lucien had been a little confused with his wants at first, but had decided that he wanted them to acknowledge it. Wanted them to get to know each other.

Helion asked him a few weeks ago to stay with him. They didn’t have to be in the same building, that Lucien could stay wherever he liked in the Day Court, but he did want him to stay. Lucien had found he couldn’t refuse. Jurian and Vassa had been angry with him, saying that he was just abandoning them, that clearly he’d only used them. He had tried to explain that he’d just found the one who had actually fathered him. That he wanted them to have some kind of relationship, something that was robbed from the both of them. The two wouldn’t hear it, and told him to leave. So he went. They had each been closer to each other than they ever had with Lucien anyway.

That was how he was here now, standing in the garden of the small townhouse his father had found for him, the male in question standing across from him. Helion was standing in the early morning rays, arms at his sides, golden crown absent and spouting words Lucien never thought he’d hear in his life. “You want to do what?” Lucien said, still wondering if this was something that was actually happening. Helion sighed, rubbing both hands over his face for a moment, before pulling them away.

“I know that it’s not even been that long since we’ve found out the truth. And I know I don’t have the right to ask anything of you, but I think this could be the biggest step towards allying the courts together.” Lucien could see the frustration on his face, knowing that he struggled to ask this.

“You want me to marry the High Lord of Summer?”

“Yes.”

“Does he know that you want to do this?” Helion moved closer to him a little.

“I proposed a marriage alliance to Tarquin, but I didn’t say who. He agreed after a lengthy discussion, but only if who I chose wanted it. You know I haven’t formally announced that you are my son yet, and this would mean I’d have to.” Lucien folded his arms across his chest, suddenly self conscious.

“And you don’t want to announce it?”

“No.” Lucien stopped, hands tightening where they rested on his biceps. Helion, suddenly realising what he’d said, scrambled to backtrack. “Gods, I meant yes. Yes I want to tell them all I have a son. I just weren’t sure if you were ready for that.” His father let out an unsteady breath, meeting Lucien’s eyes for a second before looking away, only two repeat that over and over. “You don’t have to do this, but having my son marrying into another court makes the alliance stronger than if I were to pick out anyone else.” Lucien understood. And he understood wanting all of the courts to get along. It would mean they could truly live in peace, something they had all hoped for.

“I’ll do it.” Helion’s head shot up, disbelief written across his face.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“I really thought you were going to say no, probably yell at me or something.” Lucien’s brows furrowed, a red lock of hair falling in front of his face.

“Why would I do that?” Helion sighed, almost exasperated. Though Lucien noticed he didn’t hold tension in his shoulders anymore, seemed more relaxed and at ease now that Lucien had answered him.

“Because I didn’t want you to think I was using you. Also, I didn’t even ask. Do you like males? That should have been a question right? I mean, I just assumed, I shouldn’t have.” His father was rambling, and Lucien chuckled.

“Yes, I like males. And Tarquin is a good male, a good High Lord. It might not end in love but, I might get a friendship out of it.” Lucien smiled, a full grin, teeth showing. It was something he realised he hadn’t done in a long, long time. Suddenly the breath was sucked out of him, and strong arms wrapped around his body. It took a moment, but Lucien returned the gesture, hugging him back. Helion was taller than him, and nearly pulled him off of his feet.

“I’m sorry. Sorry for asking. I should have found another way.”

“It’s alright. I think this might be good for me. I had Tamlin and we both know how that ended. I didn’t fit, at the Night Court, not like they do. And Jurian and Vassa...well, I told you what happened. Maybe I’ll find a home with Tarquin.” Helion pulled back, holding his shoulders, a soft smile on his face.

“You may not think it, but you fit here. I never got to be there before, and part of me is glad because the not knowing kept you and your mother safe, but I’m here now. I want to be your father.”

“Thank you.” They decided to continue walking through the garden then. Mostly in companionable silence, occasionally asking the odd question here and there. Lucien was getting lost in his own thoughts. He wondered whether Tarquin would be okay that it was Lucien he was marrying. If they’d be able to make some kind of happy life together. The few times he’d seen him before, Lucien could admit he was attracted to him. It was easy to make conversation with Tarquin, to find common interests. There was the chance it would never turn romantic and Lucien would be okay with that, but at least he’d have a companion to live his life with.

Maybe this was his chance to get his own happy ending.

~~~~~~

Well there it is. The beginning. You’ll see Tarquin next time I promise but I just wanted to give you something to see if you were going to like the story or not. Please be respectful, I’m tired of the ship wars. I want this to be a safe place for me to post the ideas that I have.

Tags: @myfriendscallmeraba  @thesirenwashere @elrielllll  @stars-falling @silver-flames @1islessthan3books @bamchickawowow @empress-ofbloodshed @sleeping-and-books @tswaney17 @awkward-avocado-s @courtofjurdan @junkiejosten10 @mu-si-ca-l @agem10 @harmonyindark245 @tanaquilpriscilla @starrynightsbooks @maastrash  @elriel4life @illyriangarbage @b00kworm @thewayshedreamed @rhyswhitethorn @22emmmmmm @mimianyy @stop-breathing-its-annoying

[nomattertheoceans]

My time without you

This is set between the end of ACOTAR and the wedding scene in ACOMAF. Basically, Rhysand’s few months when he came back from Under the Mountain (so not really a very happy time for our boy...)

This came to me yesterday at night, so I kind of free-wrote it and I hope you’ll enjoy it!

He was going to drown. As Rhys winnowed away from the Mountain to the living room of the townhouse, where Mor was waiting for him, he knew he was going to drown on this thought. She's my mate. He'd known it, of course, but he hadn't expected it to rattle him this much when he saw her. He'd never experienced anything that strong before, nothing could compare to the feeling of wanting her, he could feel it in every bone of his body, singing to him as if in an ancient song, older than the world itself. She's my mate. Thanks to a tiny still rational part of his brain, he'd managed to get out before doing anything stupid. But it was all he could do not to go back and snatch her away to Velaris. The instinct was so strong, it was hard to control his winnowing.

Finally, he managed to solidify on the floor, and his cousin was in front of him immediately. Untouched, unharmed, beautiful. But still, his thoughts wouldn't move away from her, the most important person in his universe. And when he tried to speak, to greet Mor and make sure she was okay, the only words that came out of his mouth were:

“She's my mate.”

“What? Who? Rhys, are you okay?”

“She's my mate,” he only repeated, the words like a balm to his aching soul, aching at the lack of her by his side, aching because he'd forced it away from her.

“Rhys, calm down. Talk to me. Who are you talking about?”

“Feyre,” and her name was the most beautiful music in the world. He knew right then that he could spend his days thinking only of her name and he would be content for the rest of his life. Her name, her wonderful name that answered every question he hadn’t been aware of. He stayed silent for the longest time after that, and Mor didn't say anything either, both of them seated on the floor. Finally, his lips parted, and everything poured out of him in somewhat inconsistent sentences:

“She's a human. She was human. She's High Fae now. She saved us all. She freed Prythian.”

“Rhys I don't understand, please can you try to be clearer?”

The concern in his cousin’s voice helped tethering him to the ground, long enough to pull his thoughts together and form more logical sentences:

“Feyre. She was human, and she was brought into Prythian through the Spring Court.” He couldn’t say his name. “I had been seeing her in my dreams for years, and she was here to free us.”

“A human? How would a human free us?”

“There was a curse. She could lift it with the right words but she didn't. She made a deal with… Amarantha. And she won and freed the magic, but Amarantha killed her,” his skin recoiled at the memory of her dead human body. “We brought her back, all of us.”

He fell silent and Mor stared at him:

“And she's your… mate?”

“Yes.”

“Then where is she? Why didn't you bring her with you?”

The questions his entire being wanted to acknowledge: Where is she? Why isn't she with me? Why? Why? Why?

“Mor, she was here with… Tamlin. Years ago he told Amarantha he'd rather bed a human than her, and with what happened between Jurian and her sister… The curse was that she was supposed to fall in love with him despite her hate for our kind. And she did. She's with him.”

The idea of his mate with him almost made him vomit, or winnow to her to get her away, and he had to look right into Mor’s eyes to stay where he was.

“She's with Tamlin?! Oh Rhys…” her voice died away and she took him in her arms. He didn't need words, he needed her. Feyre. He would never stop needing her, longing for her presence beside him. But he hugged Mor back, as he was starting to take in his surroundings. He was in Velaris, Mor was here, alive and well. He was home. He wriggled gently out of her embrace to look at her:

“Morrigan,” the semblance of a smile formed on his lips as he realized it was all real. She was real, there in front of him. His dear cousin he'd spent hours dreaming about when the torture had been too great, when Amarantha had been too much for him to want to go on. And all of the sacrifices that he'd made for his family, his city… Looking at Mor’s happy face, he knew it'd been worth it. They hugged again, and Mor spoke:

“Azriel, Cassian and Amren are on their way, do you want to delay for a bit? I mean, if you don't feel well…”

“No, no it's fine, I'll be fine.” And he would be. After all, a mating bond was not necessarily a synonym for love, and he didn't know Feyre that much. And he couldn't have her anyway, so there was no point moping about it. He would be fine. His family was on the way, all of them safe and sound, and real, after 50 years apart. “I need to tell all of you what happened.”

Mor nodded, and he realized that in his panic, he'd told her more than he’d intended. There was no point telling anyone about the mating bond, not when his mate was in love with another male, and thinking of him as an enemy. He had decided to keep it to himself before leaving the Mountain, but seeing Feyre had shaken him so much the words had come out without filter. So now, Mor knew. But there was no reason to tell the others.

“Mor, can we keep what I told you between us?”

“Alright.”

A knock on the front door, and his brothers entered without waiting for an answer. In seconds, he was surrounded by them, and they were all laughing and crying into each other’s arms. Amren stood in the entrance of the room, and greeted him with a soft but somewhat joyful “High Lord” before sinking onto a chair. He let go of Cassian and Azriel and said “There is a lot I need to tell you.”

The atmosphere of the room changed at that, and everybody sat down to listen to him. He didn't know exactly how to start, how much to tell them about his suffering and his actions during those last fifty years. But Cassian helped him:

“So are you going to tell us how you were freed? Azriel went looking for answers those last few hours, but nobody seems to know what happened exactly. Is Amarantha actually dead?”

“She is. Tamlin killed her.” Oh, how much he regretted not being the one killing her, not watching the light go out of her eyes, as he'd dreamed it for years when she was in bed with him. But it was done now, and at least she was dead.

“Rhys,” Azriel started, his voice methodical and calm, “We know very little of what happened those fifty years. Since yesterday I just managed to gather which High Lord was alive, which had been killed, which Court was spared or not. The informations are very shady, it seems that Tamlin had a big role to play? Also, some human girl I didn't get the name of?”

That was it, he needed to tell them the story of Feyre and how she'd saved them all. His soul was still crying out to her, trying to reach her through that bond they shared. But his voice remained miraculously calm when he spoke:

“Tamlin didn't do anything. But he was part of what freed us. Years ago, a few months after she'd stolen our powers, Amarantha threw a party and cursed Tamlin. She had wanted to take him to bed but he'd refused, and had told her he'd rather bed a human. You can imagine how pissed she was at that. She cursed him, told him she'll give him his powers back if he could make a human woman fall in love with him. The woman needed to hate our kind enough to have killed a fae, and to tell him she loved him. He had 49 years to win. But he did nothing. Until about a year ago when apparently he started to send males back across the wall in the hope to break the curse. And it worked. This woman you heard about Azriel, she killed one of his sentries and Tamlin brought her into Prythian.”

“So did she fall in love with him? Did she break the curse, is that what happened?”

“Yes,” and the next words stung his tongue, “she fell in love with him, but she didn't break the curse in time and Tamlin was taken Under the Mountain. But she came back for him, and she made a deal with Amarantha. If she managed to complete three tasks of Amarantha’s choosing, Tamlin’s court, his power, would be free.”

“That's a fool's bargain,” Cassian interrupted.

“It was, but Feyre won all her tasks nonetheless. And Tamlin killed Amarantha on the spot after she broke Feyre’s neck.” The words were killing him. Her name, the image of death in her eyes, the joy of seeing the light come back,... It was all too much. “But we were all there, all the High Lords, and we brought her back.”

“Like Myriam. So there's three of us now,” Amren said, her voice no more than a whisper.

Mor must have seen the look on his face, the difficulty he had talking, because she rose and said:

“Rhys, you can give us more details later about all of this. For now, we need to get organized. Azriel, tell him what you learned.”

“While you were gone and we were stuck in Velaris, it became a bit chaotic in your territory. Keir is still ruling the Hewn City on a pretty tight leash, so they stayed within their borders, even though I'm sure he won't be happy to see you. But the Illyrians took advantage of the lack of commands to expand their territory, initiate wars between camps, take up clipping their females again,... we'll have a lot of work to get them back like it used to be.”

“Alright,” Rhys said after considering this information. “There's also the matter of Hybern. The King was preparing for war fifty years ago, and I doubt he's abandoned the idea. We need to have spies there as soon as possible, as well as in the other courts. He's going to take advantage of our weakness, we need to be prepared.”

For a long time nobody talked, until Cassian said with a smile:

“It's good to have you back, brother.”

***

Two weeks after Under the Mountain

Amarantha was smiling at him, straddling him in a way that he could not move, couldn't do anything but look at her as she took her pleasure on top of him, her fingernails scraping his tattoos as if to rip them off. He wanted to kill her, the world was twirling around him until there was only Amarantha left, until even she disappeared but he still couldn't move, strapped on the floor, the only sensations the ghost of her body and his rising nausea. But then the setting changed, and he wasn't in her room anymore, he was in the Throne Room, and the female High Fae was kneeling in front of him, reciting prayers. Except when the hood was taken off, it wasn't the dead Fae. It was Feyre, her beautiful face contorted in pain and covered in tears, but he didn't hesitate as he plunged the dagger into her heart.

Rhys jerked awake, his eyes wide in terror as he looked at his hands and realised he wasn't killing his mate. He was awake, he knew it, but yet the vision didn't leave his mind. He saw from her eyes as she got out of bed and ran to the bathroom, got on her knees and started puking. For a second he wanted to join her and caress her back to help her through the pain, but the rational part of him reminded him that she was in the Spring Court, not here, and she would not want to see him. Plus, her dear High Lord was probably on his way to comfort her himself. It wasn't the first time he'd woken up to visions of her retching in the middle of the night. It had started mere two days after his return and had happened nearly every night since. But the dream… it had been her nightmare, he was sure of it. Did she really have dreams in which she killed herself? The thought was unbearable to him, the idea that she might feel bad enough that she might not have the will to live anymore... His heart skipped a beat at that. He went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face, the images of their intertwined dreams still fresh. It was going to be a long night.

***

One month after Under the Mountain

He didn't know how he had been able to spend fifty years without flying. As he roamed alone through the Illyrian steppes, enjoying the currents of warm air tickling his wings, he wondered again how he had endured it for so long. The faces of his brother sprang to life in his mind, the face of a few citizens of Velaris too: the owner of that lovely restaurant across the Sidra, the couple of High Fae living across the street, that he'd seen the day before with their newborn youngling, Amren’s face during their last meeting, eyes closed and drinking heavily the blood he'd brought to her. It had been worth it. Because if he hadn't suffered fifty years of Amarantha, the restaurant might have been ash and cinders, ad the youngling might have never been born.

But he was free now, free of her wretched body and free to fly through the skies again. In his waking hours, at least. Sleep still escaped him, his night tormented by nightmares of being pinned down on a bed, of his wings being torn off, of Feyre’s neck snapping again and again without ever coming back to life. Tormented by her nightmares too, killing the two High Faes, the blood of a Nagga drowning her, the bloody pelt of an enormous gray wolf turning into human skin… Every night he woke up to her thoughts, and every night he wanted nothing more but to winnow to her and hold her. It was another form of torture, the longing for her, the need to talk to her and touch her and kiss her. The week before, Cassian had asked him to tell him in great details the first task she'd had to endure, and Rhys had been more than happy to talk freely about her for so long without having to come up with an excuse, or without having to seek out Mor. His thoughts drifted constantly to her, whereas he was alone in bed, or in a meeting at the Hewn City, or listening to Azriel’s daily reports. Sometimes, she even sent him images and thoughts, when she felt too much all of a sudden - the rush of fear when she entered a room too small or saw a glimpse of Lucien’s hair unexpectedly.

As if he'd summoned it, one of those feelings came to him through the bond. But it was not horrified for once, it was almost… joyful. Almost. He felt his heart warm up at the idea that she was getting better, but then the images flooded his mind. A meadow under the Spring light, and Tamlin, kneeling in front of her, a golden and emerald ring in his hand. Rhys came back to his reality and had to land in a hurry, incapable of forming a rational thought. She was going to marry him. That had been a wedding ring in his hand. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think outside of the ring.

Hours later, he winnowed back to the camp, and listened to Azriel’s report. Among other news of the different Courts, Spring had announced the engagement of Tamlin, High Lord, and Feyre Cursebreaker.

***

Three months and a half after Under the Mountain, two days before the wedding

Two days. Two days before she was bound to his enemy forever. Rhys was seated at the desk in his bedroom, alone except for a bottle of liquor and a large glass. As time went on, everything was becoming harder. He didn't want his family to see he wasn't recovering, so he kept the moments of weakness contained to his room. They didn't know. He hadn't told them what Amarantha had made him do, what she’d used him for. He didn't see the point in telling them, not when there was nothing they could have done to help him while he'd been forced to kill and torture, and tortured and fucked himself.

A flash of images took over his vision, along with waves of… pleasure? He saw a bedroom in the night, saw a pair of female legs moving against the sheets. And between those legs, a blonde head moving, while broad hands ending in claws were holding on to the thin thighs.

He got up and ran to the bathing room. A second later, he was vomiting. The retching continued as he kept on seeing flashes of bodies interlaced together, as he kept hearing moans and whispers of love, incapable of blocking them out. Finally, the visions and the puking stopped, but Rhys didn't get up. He stayed seated on his bathroom floor, head in his hands, trying to calm down. He let his head fall against the wall behind him and looked at the stars outside, his vision blurry with tears he didn't bother to stop.

It wasn't fair. He knew he didn't deserve her, knew he could never be with her. He'd spent a considerably large portion of time trying to forget her those last few months. But did he have to endure images of his greatest enemy having sex with her?! If he was to forget her, why did he have to suffer through this? Maybe he sounded like a child, but while the tears kept on rolling down his cheeks, he thought again: it's not fair.

And outside the images of sex, she was sending him so many mixed messages that he didn't know what to make of it. She seemed to enjoy nothing these days, not the preparations of her wedding, not the walks on the garden, not the painting. It broke his heart a little every time he felt her panic or sorrow and could do nothing to help her. But it wasn't his place, Tamlin was the one blessed with her presence and her love and the honor of helping her get better. And two days from now, it would be his for the rest of their life together.

He needed a drink. Or a hundred.

***

Three months and a half after Under the Mountain, the day of the wedding

Rhys grabbed a second bottle of liquor and passed it down to Cassian. It was nearly night already, and he knew he needed to be passed out in the next two hours if he wanted to avoid the visions of Tamlin making love to his mate.

In about five minutes, she'd be lost forever, married to the male she loved, bound to him for the rest of eternity. Maybe the visions would stop afterwards, maybe he could try to think less about her. Highly unlikely to happen, he thought as he sat down again and listened to an already kind of drunk Cassian ramble about the new assortment of knives he'd gotten for the Winter Solstice. He was about to answer when his vision blurred.

Red everywhere. On the floor, a pool of rose petals marking a path. On her hands, blood dripping down on the white wedding dress. And then words: murderer, liar, unworthy, shackles, mixed with more images of the crowd at the wedding, the crowd Under the Mountain, and Tamlin, magnificent and a hand extended to her. And finally, her voice, more afraid than anything, praying: Help me. Save me. Get me out, end this.

He winnowed without thinking twice about it, leaving Cassian to the liquor. As he appeared amidst darkness and thunder - a cheap trick, but he wanted the crowd to disperse - he saw her, the female lacing his every thought, finally here in front of him. But she was not looking good. She was so… thin. So, so, thin.. It looked like her arms could break at the faintest touch for how weak they looked. Her collar bone appeared at the front of the hideous dress, and her face. As she turned to him, he saw the violet circles under her eyes, covered by makeup but still there. And the dress didn’t do anything to help her look less sickly. It was an awful piece of tulle and chiffon and gossamer, with enormous skirts and puffed sleeves that seemed to swallow her whole. Gloves had covered both her hands, going up to her elbows. They had chosen to cover the tattoo up, hiding away every piece of her that didn’t fit the tale they wanted to show to the world: the blushing bride she was supposed to become didn’t bear marks of a bargain she’d made with a High Lord from another Court. Nevermind that she’d bargained with him to save her life because she’d almost died, trying to free Prythian. Nevermind that the tattoo was a reminder of what she had endured to save them, they had hidden it away, dressing her up in that hideous wedding dress, and she looked… She looked like a doll, a precious, beautiful and quiet doll, a gift. For him. Rhysand couldn't stand the idea of it. Of this brave and powerful female trapped in a gilded prison of eternal Spring for the rest of her life. He wanted to take her in his arms, help her, but he remembered the role he was supposed to play if he wanted to get her out, and, straightening the lapels of his jacket, he purred:

“Hello, Feyre Darling.”

[sanborg]

ACOWAR Spoilers here

I know I said I would, but I need to talk about some of all these feels ACOWAR gave me, so my heart will remain in one piece. Soo...

SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT!

Seriously, don’t read these if you haven’t read the book. I am being kinda vague some places, and dropping bombs that I think are far more impactful if you read it first. Come back, and nod furiously instead.

Okay, so first of all. Feyre, you’re a fucking badass. Even if what you’re doing is a giant fucking mistake. But it was still pretty rad and satisfying.  Flawless execution. 10/10

Jurian is... not how I imagined him. That’s a good thing, btw.

SWEET SWEET REVENGE TO IANTHE (and even sweeter later hahaha. Oh god that was satisfying.)

Road trip with Lucien <3 

I have never felt such utter relief as when Cassian and Azriel came in.

Feyre and Rhys reunion made my knees buckle too (good thing I was already sitting) especially what follows.

Lucien’s utter surprise there are children laughing in the Night Court. xD

Oh Elain, my sweet, sweet Elain. :’( Someone hug the poor girl!

Also, Nesta and Cassian interactions is my lifeblood.

I’m in full support of Elain and Lucien having a future together some day down the line, but right now... Elain and Azriel is just so, so, so sweet.

Cassian can’t stay away from Nesta oooooh. Because Nesta is death and Cassian is the Lord of Bloodshed. Oh my heart. (or, at least... that’s what the Bone Carver implied.)

The Bone Carver appears as Rhys and Feyre’s son, and it knows it too. Rhys’ utter shock when he realized Feyre wasn’t just seeing any black-haired, blue-eyed boy. *wipes tear from eye*

Dunno why everyone thought Azriel was going to be the one to die. After the Bone Carver scene, my bet is on Amren, pretty sure she wanted a way home. Perhaps the only way would be to die.

Friendly reminder that Cassian thinks Nesta is beautiful.

I love Helion, he’s great. He’s like the Day version of Rhys, albeit much gayer haha.

That Lucien twist tho. Holy frigging shit. Or like Rhys said... Holy burning hell.

I’m not sure what to think of Eris anymore. He’s better than Beron, that’s for sure. But it’s hard to forgive for all the shit he’s done.

Azriel is far, far, faaaar more terrifying than Rhys in his mask. It’s always the quiet nice guys, huh. Also the sass is real in this one.

The Suriel meant Rhys when it told Feyre to stay with the High Lord in ACOTAR. I freaking knew it. 

MOR IS GAY (well... bisexual, but homoromantic) I no longer feel guilty for shipping Elain and Azriel. Well... maybe a little.

Cassian wants to spend a lifetime with Nesta, and he was willing to wait beyond death to be with her. Just kill me already, this is too many feels..!

Nesta’s character development was better than I hoped. It was great to see her grow, to start extending her caring nature for Elain towards the rest of the world. In her own cold way.

Also, what’s with SJM and evil Kings? Does she have something against Kings? And why do they never have a name?

Probably going to be an unpopular opinion but... I don’t like the ending. I mean, it summed up everything great, and the epilogue is better than I hoped. But I’m not a fan of killing a character just to bring them back. To me, it’s a very delicate hit-or-miss action. I will always hope the character can come back, but make me feel anxious at the race of time, that it might not work.  That something could go very, very wrong. That is far more powerful than letting me mourn and then just go “haha, he’s ok.” The impact of the death is lost on me because I knew it would work, knew they’d come back, because it happened before, because of where it happened.  But that’s just my opinion, and I’m very picky about these things.

Last words, I really, really hope Tamlin will find happiness. I really hope he will find a way to better himself, to move on after Feyre.. I hope he will find his mate, and I hope she is as strong as him, perhaps stronger. I disliked what Tamlin did in ACOMAF, but I pitied him in ACOTAR. I felt sorry for him, and ACOWAR only made me do so more. I would wholeheartedly read a post-ACOWAR Tamlin novel, if only to see him fully finish that character arc, and heal. And grow. In the end, Feyre taught him something he’s likely never, ever going to forget.

[theladyofbloodshed]

Au Acosf - Chapter 53

@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

It was a different sort of release to channel her magic under strict tuition. Eris had not gone easy on Nesta despite the hangover throbbing behind her temples.

There was more to her magic than just flame, he had acknowledged when he also admitted that training her fully might be beyond his capabilities.

She had asked him to stop for the day in the warm afternoon heat when she felt dizzy and sick from hours of training. Eris had persisted, asking for one more attempt at focusing her magic then releasing a trickle towards a log that had taken the brunt of her magic. It had resulted in Nesta losing control; her whole body had erupted in flames that she could not quench until Eris had thrust a burst of his magic at her. It sent her staggering into the putrid waters of the green pond.

‘You have one minute to winnow yourself to safety,’ she’d snarled, emerging from the stagnant water.

Fighting hard to hide his grin, Eris sauntered away with a wave over his shoulder to collect his dogs.

Nesta stalked past the sentries, keeping her head held high to maintain her last scrap of dignity. When she reached the group consisting of Fionn, his family, and Lucien, Nesta tried to scurry by but Lucien laughed loud enough to send a crow swooping out of a tree.

‘Do not,’ she hissed, skulking inside the house with stinking water dripping from her dress. The lilac material was stained with algae and her skin felt slick with grime. Curse Eris Vanserra. Curse Rhysand too for making her train her magic.

After scrubbing her skin until the traces of the pond had left, Nesta curled up in the bed. It was easy to sleep away the hours despite the bright sunshine outside.

When Lucien knocked on the door, darkness had engulfed the room. She hauled open the door, squinting at him. At the sight of her bare legs and arms on display, Lucien recoiled a step or two.

‘I’ll winnow you to Vassa. When you’re ready.’ Lucien looked anywhere except for Nesta stood in her nightgown.

A patter of rain met them in the grounds of the home Lucien shared with the two mortals. Ever the gallant male, Lucien held the door for Nesta as she followed him into the manor gifted by Elain’s ex-fiancée's family. She wondered how it was for him to live in a place that was undoubtedly reminding him of the mate who did not want to meet him.

‘Kingslayer,’ the mortal general said, appraising her from the ludicrous pink couch he was sprawled across.

Jurian did not move from his perch but his cunning brown eyes trailed Nesta’s skin like phantom fingers. For a mortal, he was handsome, but Nesta was aware of how painfully mortal he seemed, despite being trapped in a ring for centuries. How was it for him to be trapped in there, she wondered. Morrigan had called him arrogant and unstable before being held captive by Amarantha and tortured to death. The man was obsessive, his ambition and bloodlust his downfall. But he rose to greet Lucien and embraced him like a brother. She did not believe Lucien would align himself so closely with an unhinged male.

‘I remember this one well,’ he mused, gaze catching hers again.

Silver-flames wreathed her hands, begging her to strike Jurian. It was only her iron will that prevented it. Jurian had been the one to shoot Azriel before she and Elain were dragged into the Cauldron. It was tempting to remind him what had happened to her that day. To remind Jurian what she had taken from the Cauldron – even if she couldn’t wield the powers properly.

‘Shame you weren’t mated with his one,’ he said.

‘Enough of that,’ Lucien snapped as he stepped in front of Nesta – blocking her path to Jurian.

Jurian only smirked over Lucien’s shoulder. ‘What happened to the king’s head? Did you spike it in the garden or has it taken pride of place on the mantelpiece?’

‘Is he always this irritating or is it just for my benefit?’

‘Always,’ came a female’s voice.

Wearing a golden gown, Vassa strode into the room. Her smooth red hair bounced just past her shoulders as she turned to face Nesta. Lucien had warned Nesta that Vassa’s temper was worse than Jurian’s. The last time Nesta had seen the mortal queen, she’d gushed about how wonderful the Archeron patriarch was and Nesta had had to walk away before she’d spat out the truth. Jurian had already fanned Nesta’s temper, so if Vassa wanted to play then she was ready.

‘You’ve been insistent in your requests to meet,’ she said, seating herself in the high backed arm chair.

In the flickering yellow light of the candles around the room, Vassa’s freckled golden skin seemed to shine. She was without a crown though she sat as regally as a queen would in a throne rather than the aging manor house they’d been gifted.

‘You did receive them then. But you chose to ignore me instead.’

‘I am not bound to Prythian.’

Nesta clenched her jaw shut for a few moments before speaking. ‘They’re called manners. You could have had the decency to respond to decline a meeting rather than ignore my requests.’

‘I’m meeting you now, aren’t I?’

Behind her, Jurian snorted. He’d tugged the other armchair close to him so his bare feet could rest across the cushion while he sprawled out still on the couch. Lucien jumped up at once from his seat beside him to offer it to Nesta who had remained standing.

‘Jurian, why don’t you fetch us all a drink?’ He suggested.

‘No, I’m rather enjoying this.’

Lucien shifted his weight between his feet, trying to decide who Nesta was more likely to attack first out of Jurian and Vassa. These weren’t fae who could withstand a level of injury and heal quickly, Nesta had to remind herself. If she loosed her temper, she could kill them. Accepting the seat offered by Lucien felt like submission, but Nesta took it all the same. Her stare was hard as she turned back to Vassa’s cerulean eyes.

‘I would like to know what you know about Briallyn and Koschei.’

‘I’ve already told Lucien and the others.’

‘Briallyn seeks revenge on me, not them.’

Vassa tutted then sank back into the chair. ‘Briallyn wants her youth returned to be desirable. What use is forever if you’re a crone? Do not underestimate her. It was her who first sought contact with Koschei. There is nobody she cares for, nobody she is not willing to sacrifice for her own gain. If Elain is who you value most, keep her safe.’

At the mention of her sister, Lucien sucked in a breath. It had been months since she had spoken to Elain – but Nesta had found that she did not even miss her sister as much as she thought she would. Absence had allowed for reflection; Nesta gave and gave while Elain took and took. They had little in common. Elain was happy for Nesta to be her guard dog without ever standing up for Nesta in return.

‘And Koschei?’

‘He has many girls. They’re transformed into swans and kept at the lake too.’

‘Why were you different?’

‘Not just the red hair,’ she said with a smirk. ‘He liked my temper, he said. Full of fire.’

‘What did the other queens gain by selling you?’

Vassa’s face faltered for a moment, but she recovered quickly. ‘I didn’t trust the mad mortal general-‘ Jurian laughed, ‘-and urged them not to trust Hybern so they wanted me out of the way.’

‘You misunderstand me. You were not gifted but sold. By selling you to Koschei, it benefitted them, but I imagine he had to give in return.’

Jurian sat up and edged closer to Nesta on the couch, his arm slung around the back of the cushion, brushing her shoulders. The grin he gave her was another attempt at riling up her temper.

‘She’s got a point,’ he admitted, watching her carefully. ‘Nobody does anything without gaining something.’

‘Move away from me.’

Jurian did not. Another crooked smile full of malice twisted onto his face. ‘You should have seen the tantrum the Cauldron threw after you’d pillaged it. It was magnificent.’

‘You won’t want to see the tantrum I will throw if you do not move away from me.’

Nesta eased out her power as Eris had taught her so her eyes blazed like quicksilver. That worked. Jurian backed off. His hand flitted to his side as if about to reach for a knife, but he wore no belt in the comfort of his home. He had no weapon to raise against her – and certainly no magic. With a loud sigh, Lucien plonked himself down between them, deciding that Jurian was more likely to be Nesta’s current target.

‘Perhaps that’s why he’s assisting Briallyn,’ Vassa offered, trying to steer the conversation away from the cliff it was careening towards. ‘I can imagine he offered that and she’s too proud to realise it benefits him too.’

‘What did my father offer?’

Nesta studied Vassa carefully, desperate to catch her in a lie. ‘I don’t know. I only know that whatever your father offered must be collected by Koschei himself. He believed it would never happen.’

The sudden cold feeling that sluiced through her clenched all of her muscles. She could imagine her father’s arrogance that he could trick a sorcerer-lord. She could not stop the niggling worry that it was her who her father had offered; that was why Koschei haunted her dreams. Free Vassa and Koschei could have Nesta – if he could leave his lake to claim her. A girl for a girl. But it was not a mere sorcerer her father had made the deal with, it was a death god. And her father had not known that his daughters had been Made by the Cauldron. He had not known that Nesta had stolen from it. He had traded what he thought was only his cruel eldest daughter, but he was gifting Koschei a weapon. If Laynths had known who she was, Nesta did not need to wonder if Koschei did too.

‘That is why he seeks a release from the lake. He kept an onyx box made of stone,’ said Vassa. Her voice sounded far-away and dream-like. ‘It was that which he guarded more than anything. Other girls, they said it was his heart inside of it.’

Nesta rose abruptly. ‘I have to go.’

‘You wanted to discuss the Wall too, didn’t you? We have hours until sunrise.’

‘I have to go,’ Nesta snapped, flames crowning her once more.

Vassa shrunk into the back of the chair and Jurian leapt across Lucien to step into Nesta’s path of destruction.

‘Your father was a good man, Nesta. You might not want to accept that, but he was,’ she said quietly from behind the shield of Jurian’s body.

‘Do you want me to tell you the ways he failed me and my sisters chronologically or alphabetically?’ She spat. ‘He did not want to waste money finding a cure for his wife so let her die. We would have starved to death if Feyre did not hunt. He was concerned with wealth and wealth alone. You did not know him. Do not tell me what my father was like, because I know better than any.’

Her shoes were not made for trampling through the damp forest, but Nesta had to march away to try and ebb that fire soaking into her veins. Rain dripped through the canopy above her, but it did little to cool her temper. She knew Vassa would mention her father; had tried to prepare herself as best she could for the mention of him, but the wound was too raw and painful still. The world knew him as the man who’d brought an armada of ships to their rescue. She could not take the fawning.

‘Nesta,’ Lucien’s voice called as he hurried after her. ‘Please, let me winnow you back to Spring.’

‘Leave me, Lucien,’ she shouted, voice shaking with anger.

‘Allow me to escort you if you wish to walk.’

‘I can find my way,’ she gritted out. ‘I don’t need you. Or anyone. I have never needed anyone.’

Nesta could not decipher the look on Lucien’s face in the dark, not as she turned and continued trampling through the trees towards the wall. No footsteps followed her. Nesta was alone, how she always ought to be.

***

‘To the Hewn City.’

Cassian blinked. ‘Is it wise to keep it there?’

Rhys had his nose inches from the harp examining it again. It seemed that his high lord thought he could unravel the harp’s secrets by inspecting it thoroughly at all hours of the day – and night. Cassian had been woken the previous night by Rhysand standing by the desk in his room, having slipped silently in. He’d nearly pulled a knife on him before he’d realised who it was.

‘I don’t want it in Velaris. I can ward it properly there. Helion will come in a few days too. We will need Nesta’s blood.’ At Cassian’s growl of warning, Rhys’ brow creased. ‘Only a few drops Helion has assured me.’

Using magic, Rhys summoned a breakfast for them which they ate up on the roof of the House of Wind. Their legs dangled off the edge of the petrifying drop as they surveyed their city.

‘We need all the items, Cass. The mask and the crown. If they’re out there, it’s better we know their location than others.’

Cassian shrugged. ‘So find them.’

Violet eyes flickered to him. Perhaps Rhys was regretting having this conversation so high up. He cocked his legs back over to solid ground. ‘Nesta needs to find them. They’ll likely only answer to her or Elain.’

‘So get Elain to do it. Why does it always have to be Nesta?’

Rhys frowned at his tone, folding his arms across his black shirt. ‘Elain is more delicate.’

‘Because she was allowed to be. The same allowances Nesta was never given. While Elain was allowed to bloom, Nesta had to become as hard as steel.’

‘All the better to find the Dread Trove,’ Rhys countered.

It was too early to think such violent thoughts, but Cassian could not deny that it was tempting to throw Rhys off the roof – even if he could fly himself to safety.

‘Mother forgive us all when you two are finally mated. I don’t think anybody will be able to mention Nesta’s name without your hand going round their throat.’

Cassian chuckled. Since Nesta had left a few nights earlier, his thoughts had whirred around that word: mate. Nesta was in no hurry to accept the bond, and although he understood her reasons, he was still anxious that the day might never come.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘It’s nothing.’

‘You’re not as good as lying as Azriel is,’ Rhys said softly. ‘What is it?’

‘You treat Nesta as an object when she’s useful to you. I’ve been trying to so hard to build a relationship with her. If I tell her she needs to find the Dread Trove, it will ruin everything. She’s scared of her power, scared of the future.’ Cassian blew out a breath. The tightness in his chest was loosening at his confession. ‘What if she never wants to accept the bond?’

‘She will.’

‘Rhys. She doesn’t want to be in Velaris. She doesn’t want to call this place home.’

‘You wouldn’t leave…’ Rhys’ voice trailed off and his jaw tightened, apparently not so sure of the answer now. ‘You wouldn’t leave Velaris, would you?’

‘I’m being torn in two, having to choose between my family or my mate.’ Cassian tracked the winding Sidra River as it flowed from the mountains through the city below, unable to look at Rhys. ‘The worst part is, she won’t make me choose. She knows how much you all mean to me and wouldn’t make me choose. Why can’t I have both? Why can’t I be in the city I love with the female I love?’

‘You really love her?’

‘I’ve loved her since the moment I met her. I want her to be happy and safe. If it’s not in Velaris, not with me, I have to let her go. I’d have broken the bond if she wanted it, if Eris could love her like she deserves.’

At that, Rhys blinked. The thought of Nesta choosing Eris still nibbled away at him.

‘That’s not the bond,’ Rhys said quietly. ‘The bond would never want to be broken. You love her, you do love her. I felt that with Feyre. I’d have let her go, let her be with Tamlin, if it made her happy.’ His fingers flexed beneath the sleeve of his shirt. ‘I’ll speak with Feyre and see if we can convince Elain to look for the Trove rather than Nesta.’

‘No,’ Cassian grumbled. ‘If she finds out I made Elain search for those items, she’ll flay me alive. I’ll speak to her about it.’

***

It was late into the night when Nesta made it back to Tamlin’s manor. The sentries on duty were sharing an ale and playing cards by faelight so they received a barrage of angry words from Nesta about responsibility. She promised that they'd both be shovelling horse manure for the next month.

She expected a quiet house but footsteps echoed down the empty hallway. It wasn’t Zasha because the dog could do nothing quietly; he was likely curled up with Nuala. No, the source of the noise was a groggy high lord clattering through the kitchen cupboards.

‘What are you doing?’ Her voice came out more accusatory and brittle than she planned.

Tamlin stared at her, grunted and continued rummaging for food. He was still only in a pair of bed shorts but Nesta struggled to take her eyes off his sculpted back. A number of wounds had begun to heal but those infected with naga venom blotted with blood against the muslin bandages.

‘I’ll make it. What do you want?’

The high lord was the worst person for her to encounter when her mood was abysmal but seeing his wounds had shook something loose from her. In its place came acceptance that all she would ever be was an unstable female who made people uncomfortable.

Her cooking skills left something to be desired but it was edible at least. Nesta had the feeling that Tamlin wouldn’t have cared as long as it was hot.

‘Your wounds need to be cleaned,’ she stated.

Her hands were moving without conscious thought, boiling water then pouring it into a bowl with drops from the vial that the healer had left. She lined the fresh bandages up then set to work peeling away the old ones. Tamlin remained quiet. She didn’t know if he was in pain from the wounds or shock from her not rowing with him. Nesta didn’t care. She needed something to occupy her hands.

‘Who knows? About me?’ Shame burnt in Tamlin’s cheeks.

‘Lucien, Eris, a handful of sentries, the healer who looks as if she hates everyone.’

‘Did Lucien find me?’

Nesta dabbed at the deepest section of the bite on his tricep making him hiss.

‘I did.’

‘You?’

‘I came home and couldn’t settle until I’d seen you. Something did not feel right.’

Nesta would not ask why he had done it, whether he wanted to do it again. The scarlet colour in his cheeks was indicator enough that he was ashamed.

‘I drank myself into oblivion in the Night Court. Every drunken stagger home in the dark, part of me hoped that somebody would… I don’t know what I wanted. Only for it all to stop.’ Nesta wrapped a bandage around his wrist. ‘I once snapped the tendons in my knee falling down the stairs and wished it had been more serious. I’m not telling you this for sympathy. It’s just that… you’re not alone, even if it feels like that. We aren’t friends but we want the best for the people here. And Lucien, he stayed by your bedside for hours.’

Tamlin leaned forwards in the chair so she could clean a deeper wound on the back of his neck. He held his blonde hair out of the way so she had better access.

‘Come,’ he said when she was done and beckoned for her to follow down the darkened corridors.

Nesta ought to have protested that she was too tired – her eyes were burning with fatigue – but refusing him now seemed too wretched even for her. It was the first attempt Tamlin had made to engage with her.

She followed his sluggish steps into the back room. The rain cascaded against the glass enough to lull Nesta in serenity. With a wave of his hand, Tamlin launched a dozen tiny faelights towards the ceiling that seemed to twinkle.

‘Sit. Please.’ He gestured to the cosy armchair in the corner of the room so Nesta settled herself there. When her head pressed against the back of it, she released a content sigh. Tamlin took up a seat on the stool in front of the pianoforte.

‘I’m out of practise, but your sister said once you love music.’

Tamlin flexed out his fingers then pressed down on the keys. Nesta should have protested that he didn’t need to, that he might wake the children in the other wing of the house, or that she was too tired. But for once, she stayed quiet and let the beautiful music lap across her skin. The hairs on her arm stood on end, so enraptured with the notes. She had not heard music for so long – and music played just for her was a treat she did not deserve. The melody rose and fell with dramatic, sweeping undertones.

Years earlier, a watery-eyed music teacher had declared that while Nesta was hopeless at singing or playing, she did have a fine ear that could pinpoint the notes she heard. With her eyes sagging closed, only the music mattered. Tamlin played magnificently so Nesta let every note engulf her. It lulled her down, down, down into a pure ancient place where no time existed. She saw mossy earth and golden sun, clear rivers and deep shadows in a forest as old as the world then her dream shifted to a quiet land where all the sound was devoured by the night-black waters. It was a living tomb, the land in her vision, filled with heavy air and mould and loamy earth. The trees were bleached white and jutted from the earth like broken lances covered with thick moss. But it was the waters that called to Nesta. A steady pulse rippled across the surface and her thoughts tugged her there, deeper towards the black waters. Not Koschei, she knew, this was not his lake.

The music stopped.

Nesta forced her eyes open. Her finger was pressed to a map of Prythian on the wall having risen from the chair without realising and stalking across the room. Facing away from the pianoforte towards her, Tamlin’s skin had faded of colour.

‘You… scried. The music made you scry.’

Her finger remained pinpointing a location on the map. She squinted to read the name in dim light of the room.

‘What is the Bog of Oorid?’

[knightoftheroundtablereviews]

A Court Of Wings and Ruin - Sarah J Maas

*SPOLIER ALERT!!!! - Do not read if you do not want spoilers about this book*

‘A gift. All of it’. - Feyre “I’ve got one hell of a story to tell you” - Lucien This book was a gift from beginning to end for the following reasons:

The sad yet beautiful times: . 'I understood why The Suriel had come to help me, again and and again. Not just for kindness … but because it was a dreamer. And it was the heart of a dreamer that had ceased beating inside that monstrous chest’ . 'I wondered who would carve his death in the Prison. If he had perhaps already carved it for himself on the walls of that cell. If he had wanted to make sure I was worthy not to taunt me, but because he wanted his end … to be worth carving’ . “He told me that he’s got three daughters who live here. And that he failed them for so many years. But he would not fail them this time”- Drakon . “I will find you again in the next world- the next life. And we will have that time. I promise.” - Cassian . Amren: “I watched them most- the humans who loved. I never understood it- how it happened. Why it happened”. She paused a step away from the Cauldron. “I think i might have learned with you, though. Perhaps that was a last gift, too.” Varian’s face twisted with anguish. But he made no further move to stop her. . “Be happy, Feyre” - Tamlin

The I am going to die laughing times:

. “You sent the Bogge after them” - Tamlin . “why should I be sacred of an oversized bat who likes temper tantrums?” - Nesta . “I think it’s a wing fetish” - Helion . “you handing Eris’s ass to him will be my new fantasy at night by the way” - Helion . “someone fish out dear Amren before she catches a cold” - Rhys . “I just stabbed him.” - Elian

Lucien . “I did it for you, too, you know” . “I’m going with you” “I’m getting my mate back” . Mor said, “it will be- very dangerous”. A half smile curved Lucein’s mouth. “Good it would be boring otherwise”.

Nesta and Cassian . “because I can’t stay away” - Cassian . “why should I be sacred of an oversized bat who likes temper tantrums?” . “where is he?” - Nesta . “I do not want to be remembered as a coward” - Nesta . Only that raging intensity, that blend of contempt and understanding and fire. . “That bastard” “ May wind up being the only person standing in the way of Hybern’s forces and your people” . She was a freshly forged sword, waiting to draw blood . “I will find you again in the next world- the next life. And we will have that time. I promise.” - Cassian

Amren and Varian . Varian dropped to his knees before Amren’s chair, took her shocked face in his broad hands, and kissed her soundly. . Amren: “I watched them most- the humans who loved. I never understood it- how it happened. Why it happened”. She paused a step away from the Cauldron. “I think i might have learned with you, though. Perhaps that was a last gift, too.” Varian’s face twisted with anguish. But he made no further move to stop her.

Philosophy . “there are many types of strength beyond the ability to wield a blade and end lives” - Nesta . The Nephelle Philosophy: “what we think to be our greatest weakness can sometimes be our biggest strength. And that the most unlikely person can alter the course of history”- Azriel . “it’s a rare person to face who they truly are and not run from it- be broken by it” - The Bone Carver

Shocker yet not at the same time: . Helion is Lucien’s farther. . “Don’t you touch my sister”- Elain . 666

Overall this book gave me so many ups an downs, I enjoyed it thoroughly and I hope the next ones will be something on the lines of:

. Lucien’s story with Helion and Elain . NESTA AND CASSIAN . Eris’s story (who is he really?) . Mor finding love . Tamlin rebuilding Spring . Jurian, Drakon and Miryam’s story

'A dream still unanswered but not forever’ ~ Rhys I hope ;)

[azrielsiphons]

ACOMAF Hunger Games AU Chapter 3

Favorite. Chapter. Yet.

Reblog! Enjoy! Tell your friends!

Part 1 Part 2

CHAPTER 3

Rhys tapped his foot impatiently as he sat by the main window of the train taking him to Hybern – to the Capitol.

They would be arriving any minute now and he had already spent the majority of the trip pouring over all of the Reaping footage, assessing his opponents, and watching the previous year’s games.

A few tributes had stuck out to him: Obviously the careers from District 1 and 2, Jurian and Attor, who would more than likely be the most physically difficult opponents. Then there was Amarantha from District 2 with the red hair who grinned at the camera like she had already won – he knew she would be the one to watch for when it came to tricks. Kallias from District 6 was angry and wild and that made him dangerous in other ways.

Then there were all of the other less-than-fit tributes. The 12 year old from District 9 who ran to her father in tears when she was called. The two family members from District 4 that looked at each other in horror when they realized what had happened.

The one tribute that struck Rhys the most though was the girl from District 12 who had volunteered for her sister. He must have watched her footage ten times – staring in awe when she volunteered and walked up the dais with her head held high. And he knew from experience how difficult that must have been for her.

But what struck him the most about this one – Feyre – was the way that she glared at the ghastly dressed Capitol representative. She looked at the woman with an expression that should have sent her running. She looked at her with murder in her eyes. She looked at her like... like the same way Rhys himself looked at anything relating to the Capitol. Like she was as sickened by the Games as he and Azriel and Cassian and Mor were.

Like she was going to fight as hard as he was.

“You’ll be able to see the Capitol as soon as we pass the next bend,” District 7’s representative suddenly drawled in a bored tone.

Rhys gave him a brief glance before sitting up in his seat and almost pressing his nose to the window. On the next window up, his fellow tribute Deanna was doing the same. She hadn’t said a single word to him the entire trip.

They passed the bend smoothly, the Capitol’s technology making it feel as though they were barely even moving, and then there it was. Hybern. The Capitol.

On the surface, it was beautiful. Skyscrapers shot into the sky, buildings of gold and silver and bronze. It was so shiny.

The longer Rhys stared at it though, the uglier it became. Excess upon excess upon excess – evidence of the Capitol’s greediness as they took everything from the outer Districts and left his people to starve and work themselves to death so they could be the ones to have such luxury.

Rhys’s hands balled into fists at his sides.

He would become every bit the animal he needed to be in order to win these games and rip the Capitol apart from the inside. He would become the Capitol’s pet – even become one of their whores like so many other winners had become if need be.

But first he had to win. And that meant putting on the mask of everything he despised. And it had to start right then.

Steeling his rolling stomach, Rhys plastered an absolutely vile smirk on his face, looking over at Deanna until she met his gaze. Her eyes widened in terror and Rhys wanted to vomit.

“Ready to play?” He purred.

She turned and ran into the next room.

__________

“Ah, here we are,” Alis chirped brightly as she led Feyre and Lucien through a building bigger than either of them had either seen. Lucien was staring at everything in awe, but Feyre only felt numb. “Now children,” Alis said suddenly, turning on her giant heel and bringing the pair to a stop.

“We’re not children,” Feyre snapped. “We’re both adults, we have been for a while now thanks to you and the rest of--”

“Feyre,” Lucien said, harsher than he’d ever spoken to her. She met his gaze only to take in a deep breath and release it slowly. “We’re here, alright? Just let Alis do her job.”

“Thank you, Lucien.” Alis’s voice was thick with emotion as she placed a hand on her chest. Feyre couldn’t hold back the roll of her eyes. “As I was saying though, when we enter this room I will do my best to lead you directly to your stylist and her assistants to get you two Capitol ready for the Games! But since you two are from the furthest District, all of the other tributes have already arrived. They may try to intimidate you, but stand tall!”

“When do we meet our advisor?” Feyre asked, completely disregarding everything Alis had said. She could keep her head up high and deal with the asshole tributes without her coddling. “The guy who won from District 12 like 20 years ago. Suriel, or whatever his name is.”

“Ah, yes,” Alis said, her chipper smile dimming slightly. “You two will meet with Suriel tonight, after the stylist’s do their work.”

“Well how long will that take? Like a half hour?”

Alis only laughed as if she had heard the funniest joke of her life.

“Oh Feyre, my dear... you are so naive it’s adorable. Come now. And remember, don’t let them see if you’re afraid.”

A part of Feyre noted that Alis seemed to actually care about her and Lucien’s well-being for a moment, but that thought went out the window when she opened the double doors ahead of them.

The room was massive and there were people everywhere. If they could even be called people.

Capitol workers – it was clear just by looking at them. Some had hair in a million different colors, others had actual tails, or their faces had been altered to look like animals, and most had tattoos swirling all over their skin. Some of it was actually beautiful and Feyre appreciated it as an artist, but some of it was also... disturbing.

“Quick now, Feyre.”

Feyre snapped back to reality to see that Alis and Lucien had already taken about ten steps ahead of her. She hurried to catch up beside them, side-stepping a man who looked like he had been literally stretched to make himself taller.

“Now your stylist is Amren, and her two assistants are Nuala and Cerridwen,” Alis said hurriedly, walking through the crowded and fast-paced room like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Amren is brand new this year. I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting her, but I hear she is... intense. Just so you’re aware.”

Feyre nodded absently, briefly noticing that Lucien was actually paying attention. Good for him. That was better than being scared out of his mind.

Feyre continued to look around as they walked, bumping into people here and there and mumbling apologies. It didn’t seem as though any of them particularly cared though.

Out of nowhere though someone almost half a foot taller than her stepped right in front of her path. Feyre slammed into the stranger, stumbling backwards and looking up at them ready to bite off their head.

Whatever retort she had been planning though froze in her throat though when she looked up and saw a grin that looked positively vile on a face she already recognized. It was the boy from District 1 – Jurian.

“You’re Feyre, right?” He asked, pointing down at her. She took the slightest step backwards from him and his grin only widened. She tried to look around him for Alis and Lucien, but they had already disappeared. “I’m Jurian. But from the looks of it you already knew that.”

Feyre was frozen for about two seconds before she remembered that she couldn’t afford to let any of her opponents see a single bit of weakness in her. She straightened her back and lifted her chin, looking Jurian right in the eye.

“Right. Jurian,” she said coolly. “Career from District 1. Excited about the Games?”

“Oh positively delighted,” he said without a second’s hesitation. “And so are my friends. Amarantha! Attor!”

Complete and utter terror clanged through Feyre as the two career tributes from District 2 waltzed up. Attor was massive – his muscles looked like they had muscles of their own. And Amarantha still had that expression on her face that Feyre had seen in her Reaping footage: an expression that said ‘I already know exactly how I’m going to kill you and I’m going to enjoy it, too.’

“Meet Feyre, guys,” Jurian continued, crossing his arms and sneering down at her. “She’s the girl from 12.”

“Feyre,” Amarantha crooned, emphasizing both syllables slowly. Her red hair was long and shiny, framing her wicked face. “What a pretty name for a pretty girl.”

Attor just grunted, staring down at her like she were a meal as he took his time looking her up and down. Feyre fought back a shiver.

“It’s a pleasure,” Feyre managed to say, surprising herself with how confident she sounded.

“Oh the pleasure is ours,” Jurian said dramatically, putting his hand to his chest. “We were really touched by the way you volunteered for your sister. That must have been awful.”

Feyre glared.

“I know I was certainly emotional over it,” Amarantha said with a giggle. “A sister’s love just seems so pure. I wouldn’t know though, my own sister died in the Games three years ago.”

A brief memory of a girl who looked like Amarantha getting her head cut off in the Games flashed through Feyre’s memory. She pushed it away, keeping her mind focused on the trio in front of her.

“Planning to follow suit?” Feyre asked the redhead, once again shocking herself with her own words.

Absolute rage flashed across Amarantha’s face as Jurian and Attor barked in laughter.

“I like this one,” Jurian said lowly, taking a step closer to Feyre. “You’re feisty, aren’t you?”

Feyre forced herself to stand her ground. She looked back to Amarantha, who had schooled her face into neutral features though the rage still ran across her eyes. Maybe pissing off someone like Amarantha wasn’t the best idea.

“I meant no disrespect,” Feyre said. “Your sister was one of the last three left that year in the Games, wasn’t she?”

Amarantha smiled wickedly. “Last two,” she corrected. “And I plan on redeeming my family’s name this year. So I would watch yourself.” She took a step closer, pushing Jurian aside as she got in Feyre’s face. “You know if you choose your words carefully, I might make your death quick.” Her smile dropped to a deathly glare. “But if you ever say anything about my sister again, your death will last for hours. After all, the most brutal deaths usually result in the most sponsors.”

Well – being her friend certainly wasn’t going to work.

Feyre swallowed. Where the hell were Alis and Lucien?

Amarantha laughed lowly, looking down at Feyre’s mouth.

“You know you’re actually a pretty girl. I know Jurian and Attor think so. Maybe I’ll let them have some fun with you before I kill you.”

Amarantha trailed her finger down Feyre’s cheek. Feyre slapped it away and shoved Amarantha back with both hands.

“Don’t touch me,” she hissed.

Bad move.

The trio all looked furious immediately, none more so than Amarantha.

“You little bitch,” she seethed, surging forward.

Feyre took a step backwards, fully planning to run, only to step right into someone else. A heavy arm draped around her shoulders and she froze, keeping her eyes on Amarantha.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you,” said a deep, sensual male voice she had never heard before.

Feyre only kept her eyes trained on the three Careers. Amarantha still looked like she was ready to rip out Feyre’s throat with her bare hands.

“Thank you for finding her for me,” the stranger said to them, smooth and polished. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”

The Careers stiffened, and for a moment Feyre thought they wouldn’t leave.

Finally though Amarantha huffed, turning on her heel and stalking off, the two boys following after her.

As soon as they were gone Feyre released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, stepping out of the shelter of her savior’s arm and turning to thank him.

And standing before her was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

He radiated sensual grace and ease, but also something... else that Feyre couldn’t put her finger on. His hair was so black it almost looked blue when the light hit it a certain way, and his eyes were the strangest shade of violet she had ever seen. His skin was golden brown – even darker with his tan that told her he was outside in the sun quite often.

She realized who it was immediately – Rhys, from District 7. A volunteer. But he certainly didn’t look like a career.

But her shock at his beauty went out the window when she saw that his mouth was turned up in a smirk. Not wicked like the Careers had been, but it was clear he was amused.

“You’re welcome,” he purred.

Feyre felt like a bolt of lightning had shot through her spine as he spoke to her directly.

“What?” She asked a bit dumbly. He chuckled deep within his chest and she shook her head to refocus. “Oh, right. Thank you.”

“Anytime.” His voice was like pure sex and Feyre had never felt more out of her depth. “Those careers are positively vile. Best to stick with someone like me.”

He winked and Feyre’s legs felt like jello. But the last thing she needed was to be affected by another tribute that was clearly dangerous. Maybe not dangerous like Amarantha, Jurian, and the Attor, but dangerous all the same.

“And what makes you different from them?” Feyre deadpanned, cocking an eyebrow. Rhys’s own brow shot up in surprise.

“Well for starters I’m not a Career,” he said with that ever present smirk. “I’m brand new at this. Sort of like you.”

“But you volunteered...”

“So did you,” he pointed out. “And I don’t think you’re a Career. Or are you hiding any wicked talents, Feyre darling?”

“Don’t call me that,” Feyre snapped, her blood boiling. Why was this man affecting her so much? “I’m not a Career either. No one in District 12 is.”

“No one in District 7 is either. It seems as though we both volunteered for someone we love.” Feyre briefly noted that as soon as the words came out of his mouth, Rhys seemed to berate himself for saying them.

‘He must be trying not to show any weakness either,’ she thought to herself.

“Oh,” she said simply. “So you and the blonde guy you volunteered for... Tamlin. He’s your... boyfriend?”

Rhys barked out a laugh and Feyre jumped.

“No, no,” he said through his laughter. “If I happened to be attracted to men, Feyre darling, it certainly wouldn’t be to Tamlin. The situation was... complicated.” It was clear he didn’t intend to elaborate further. “Regardless though, I’m here now and simply thrilled.”

“Thrilled?” Feyre asked, her body stilling as fury began to bubble up. “Thrilled?” She repeated louder. “You mean to tell me you’re enthusiastic about all of... this?” She gestured all around them. “Being plucked and primed only to be sent to the slaughter? Killing people you don’t even know – killing little kids? Being put on a camera for everyone to watch while you destroy your own humanity for entertainment?”

Feyre’s voice was carrying now, but she didn’t even notice the people around her coming to a stop – or the other tributes listening in. Her eyes were locked on Rhys’s, who was staring at her with an unreadable expression, letting her scream at him.

“You’re thrilled about becoming a murderer just so the King can have his shits and giggles while we’re all torn apart? How the hell can you stand there as if you don’t have a single damn care in the world while everyone in this room is--”

“Oh Feyre, Feyre, Feyre.”

Alis was by Feyre’s side in a split second, as if she had appeared out of thin air. She ran up beside Feyre, gently putting her hand on Feyre’s elbow with that ever present smile plastered on her face. “Amren is waiting on you my dear,” she said quickly, glancing around them. “Best to calm down so we can--”

“Don’t touch me,” Feyre snapped, jerking her arm away. Alis stepped back in fright. Feyre only glared back up at Rhys, who hadn’t looked away from her. “I bet your heart is as black as night,” she seethed, pointing at his chest.

He didn’t say a single word.

Feyre’s breathing was still heavy as she looked back at Alis.

“Take me wherever I need to be so we can get this over with.” Alis nodded, looking more than a bit terrified as she turned and began walking towards the back of the room. Feyre followed.

“I’ll be seeing you, Feyre darling,” Rhys called out.

Feyre shot him the finger without looking back.

[booksbandspizza]

“Games“ (Nesta x Cassian Fanfiction)

Nesta and Cassian is OTP. And when you have an OTP what do you do?

Write fanfiction about it.

Feel free to read and comment below for feedback and suggestions.

{Set in The House of Wind, after Cassian is injured in Hybern}

(This fic isn’t finished, this is only a small part of it.)

- Tris

I was lying in bed and the entirety of my body hurt like hell. The healers had administered a pain killer but it was beginning to wear off. But it wasn’t the fact that I had received a physical beating that weighed on my mind so severely. It was my wings.

My wings. An Illyrian’s pride. My pride. The only part of me I cared and treasured more than my nether region. Shredded and wasted. When Rhys and the healer were speaking in low tones last night they had believed me to be unconscious. But though I couldn’t move, couldn’t even bare to blink, I heard them with perfect clarity.

“Will his wings be fully functional do you think, after this?” Rhys had asked the healer quietly.

A pause, and then, “Truly High Lord, it’s hard to say at the moment. We must wait and see and pray to the Mother for healing.”

Now I was awake and my throat was impossibly dry. Moving was impossible so instead I had to wait till someone came along. I didn’t have to wait long though, because Mor came bustling in looking agitated.

I saw her face perk up when she saw me awake and I managed to smile weakly at her.

“You’re awake!” she exclaimed, obvious relief flooding her features.

I had hoped to say something annoying to get on her nerves, to assure her that my tongue was still intact, but my throat, my mouth, my lips, they were all too dry. I managed to croak out, “Water.” Pathetic.

Mor didn’t hesitate, she brought me the water and held the glass to my lips. I drank in slow, painful gulps until every last drop was finished. After recovering, I said weakly, “What happened?”

“What do you remember?” Mor asked

“I remember...” What did I remember? Feyre freeing us with a bit of acting and Hybern, that prick, forcing Nesta and Elain into the cauldron. Nesta. “Nesta,” I say quickly. “Where is she? Did Hybern...Is she alright?”

Mor looked amused. “She’s fine. Funny you’d inquire after her before your own High Lady.”

High Lady. Feyre. Of course. I remembered that.

“IS Feyre alright?”

“I think so. Rhys says she is anyway. They have this strange way of communicating. I’m not sure if it’s from the mating bond or because Feyre has a kernel of Rhys’ power that allows her to contact him.”

I sighed, and leaned further into the pillows. I was relieved, glad, that Feyre was okay. That Nesta and Elain were okay.

Nesta and Elain. They were both fae now. As I remember how the two of them were so prejudiced against the fae, I’m suddenly curious, suddenly concerned about how they’re dealing with their new...transformations.

I ask Mor this.

“Not well,” Mor says ruefully. “Elain, sweet thing, told us she’s just glad to be alive. Although I think she’s taking this harder than she lets on. And Nesta...” Mor’s voice trails off.

I can only imagine the fire and wrath Nesta must be experiencing. I remember her final moments as a human. The finger she lifted towards Hybern. It was an expression of damnation. If Nesta had lifted that finger to me, I’d have been terrified.

“But you’re getting along with them, Nesta and Elain?”

“Elain’s polite but afraid of me and Nesta is cold and distant.” Mor smiles, “But Az.... Az has a way with those two, especially with Elain. She gets her to talk to him, to smile and laugh even.”

“Are you jealous, Mor?” I ask carefully.

Mor looks at me with an expression that says that if wasn’t handicapped, she’d have smacked me by now. Probably in the low area. “Don’t be a busybody,” she snarls.

Ah. So she is jealous. I doubt she’s jealous of Elain. No one can harbor an ill thought about that girl. But of the closeness Az is demonstrating towards her. Well.

Generally, I try to keep my nose out of their business. Safer for me and safer for my favorite parts. But still, there are times when I cannot help but stick my face in between them.

There’s a million things I want to say to Mor. To Az. But instead I shrug and Mor is her chirpy self again. As Mor speaks in her usual cheerful tone, I can tell it’s just a mask. I can tell that she’s not quite as cheerful as she tries to make herself seem.

Likely it has something to do with the fact that I’m injured, and Feyre is in the heart of enemy territory, and our mission to nullify the Cauldron failed. And also that Jurian, that vile and cruel creature, has come back from death.

No, not likely. It has everything to do with those things.

But I allow her to talk. I know that it distracts her like it is distracts me.

Eventually, Mor glances at the clock and stands up. “I have to go,” she says. “But I’ll tell Rhys you’re awake.” Not bothering to use the door, Mor winnows out. Moments later, Rhys winnows in.

“What does an injured male have to do for some damned peace?” I demand jokingly.

Rhys ignores me and moves to stand at the foot of my bed. He surveys me with a critical eye and then he asks, “How are you feeling?”

“Physically or emotionally?”

“Don’t joke Cassian,” Rhys says sternly. “Tell me the truth.”

The truth? I’m feeling like hell. I’ve taken many a physical beating, but it’s not that that that weighs on me. It’s the state of my wings. And Rhys knows this. He knows damn well how I feel.

“Where’s Az?” I say instead.

“Patrolling,” Rhys replies simply.

“And Nesta...and Elain?”

“In the cabin.”

When I don’t respond, Rhys continues speaking. “I consulted Healer Wrayne about your injuries and she says-”

“I know what she said,” I interrupt. “That my wings won’t likely heal. Don’t dance around the fact that I’ll soon be flung into the most shameful situation an Illyrian can find himself in.”

A bastard. And not just that, an Illyrian bastard who can’t fly. Gloom clouds my thoughts. The thought of never flying, of never tasting the skies again. It carves a hole more painful in my heart than I care to admit. I shut my eyes and turn away.

“Well,” Rhys drawls, “those are fitting thoughts for a flightless bastard.”

I open my eyes and snap them back to glare at Rhys. In my anger, I snarl at him. Every depressive thought in my mind is replaced by an urge to tackle and pummel my High Lord into the ground.

It occurs to me that Rhys riled me up on purpose. To get me to snap out of it.

My anger fading, I murmur, “I know what you’re doing. Stop it.”

“Then stop thinking things like that,” Rhys counters.

Rhys’ gaze is fierce as he says this. But I can’t let go of it. So I say slowly, “If...if in the event my wings can’t be healed-”

“Don’t,” Rhys says sharply, cutting me off. “Your wings will be healed. By the Cauldron Cassian if I have to burn this world to ashes to find a cure, I will. You will taste the skies again, I swear it.”

I swallow. I’m grateful for Rhys’ outburst and for his faith in my getting better. I say nothing though, simply nodding to convey my thanks but Rhys understands the depth of my gratitude and that’s all I need.

“Are you in communication with Feyre?” I ask, changing the subject.

Rhys nods then he smiles. It’s a smile I have only seen him wear for when he is truly happy. “She says that she will skin Hybern for what he’s done to you.”

“Thank the Mother, the Cauldron, and all the gods, the skinny human is going to avenge me,” I sigh.

“She says you’re a prick Cassian,” Rhys replies. Then he cocks his head at me, “Also, don’t talk about your High Lady like that.”

I roll my eyes. Territorial males.

Rhys then frowns, like he’s listening to something. Then abruptly he turns to leave. “I have to call Mor, Amren, and Az. Feyre’s found something.”

I try to sit up, but pain racks through my body and my head. I fall quickly back down on the bed.

“Rest up Cassian,” Rhys says. “That’s an order. I’ll be back later to fill you in.”

He leaves and I stare at the spot he just vacated.

Bedridden, sick, and utterly useless to my court’s efforts, I feel that burning throb of anger fill my veins once more. Flightless bastard. Those two words are whispered repeatedly in my ears by an ugly voice that refuses to be shut out.

~

A knock sounds at my door. It’s my dinner I know and damn good too. I’ve been starving for half an hour. The knock sounds again and I’m confused. Mor usually brings me my food and she never knocks.

“Come in,” I call out.

My heart nearly stops when Nesta Archernon stands in my doorway holding a steaming bowl of stew. I know that shock now shines clearly on my face because Nesta glares at me defiantly, daring me to tell her to leave. I do no such thing.

Nesta closes the door behind her and I don’t say anything as she moves to sit in the chair by my bedside usually reserved for Mor. I watch her as she moves. It’s a game of silence. My eyes gaze at her body, at the clothes that cling to it. She’s wearing a loose white shirt, tight black pants, and leather boots. Her reddish-gold hair looks as though it was done hastily, tendrils of it curl at the sides of her face.

I study her face. As a human, only a blind male would deny that Nesta Archernon was anything but beautiful. But now, with immortal blood coursing through her veins, her beauty is more vibrant. It was as though someone had enhanced every part of her that made her beautiful.

Good for her, bad for me. Because now whatever appetite I had vanished and was replaced with a deeper need that throbbed and burned in the pit of my chest.

Nesta dips a spoon into the stew. She starts to move towards me but I manage to growl at her. It comes out sounding more like a whimper. “I can feed myself,” I mutter.

Nesta rakes her eyes over me. I can feel her gaze on my body and somehow, the weight of it is worse than if she actually touched me. Slowly, she stares at my injuries; her eyes trace the outline of my wings.  Then, she lifts her gaze to my face and sneers, “Obviously,” she says in that cool, viscous voice that heats my blood.

Mother help me. That voice. That beautiful, brutal face. The heart coursing through me soars. I want to pin this woman to the ground, I want to graze my teeth against her neck and claim her mouth as my own.

We stare at each other and it’s a game. It’s a battle of who can yield first.

Nesta wins. After what seems like an eternity, she wins. And I yield to her. As gently as I’ve ever seen her, she helps me eat that damn stew. Though she doesn’t look at me I’m staring at her. More specifically, I’m staring at her pointed faerie ears.  The mark of her new-found immortality.

We’re both silent as she feeds me the food, and I’m wondering which one of us will break first.

This time, she does.

“Thank you,” she whispers softly.

I almost choke on my stew. “For what?”

“For what you did in Hybern. You tried to help us, and I thank you for that.”

“I made a promise to you,” I say evenly, “and I plan to see it through. Although, a fat lot of help I was.”

Nesta shrugs, “You tried all the same.”

The silence commences again and when I finish the stew Nesta stands up.

“Wait,” I say.

She stops. Sits back down.

“How....how are you and Elain doing?” What I mean to say, how are they holding up with their new fae abilities? But Nesta understands what I mean because she frowns.

“Your....friends have been good to us,” she says. Then she asks, “Rhysand, what is he to my sister? Is he her husband?”

“He’s her mate,” I reply. “And he may as well be her husband. They haven’t made it official, but essentially, he is her husband and more.”

“This bond,” Nesta continues, “what is it exactly?”

“It is.... a romantic bond between two fae. It’s when one faerie finds another who is equal to them in every way.”

“And is it something you cannot escape?”

“You can decline a mating bond,” I say carefully, “But it will always be intact for if you change your mind.”

Nesta is quiet and I know she is thinking about Lucien. About the bond he shares with her sister.

“Lucien,” I say softly, “you’re thinking of him aren’t you?”

“Do you mean the red-haired man?”

I nod. “Lucien isn’t bad,” I say slowly. “And I believe he will take good care of your sister, should she accept the bond.”

“She will do no such thing!” Nesta snaps. “Elain and I, we’re going to be human again. I’m going to find a way to fix this, to fix her.”

“And are you sure that’s your decision to make?”

Nesta glares at me.

“Hear me out,” I say. I try to sit up, so as to speak to her better. Instantly, Nesta moves to help me. With fae strength she manages to lift me so that I’m in a sitting position. I thank her.

Nesta sits straight up in her own chair, arms crossed over her chest, “Well?” she demands, “Let me hear what you have to say.”

I clear my throat, “What if,” I say slowly, “what if Elain wants to be with Lucien? What is she wants to stay immortal?”

“Elain is in love with a human boy and he won’t take her like that, I have to find a way to fix.. to fix all of this. She has a wedding in the summer and I plan to carry it out.”

“If this human boy won’t take Elain the way she is now, then he doesn’t deserve her.”

“You don’t understand,” Nesta snaps.

“Perhaps I don’t. But I think you should let Elain make her own decisions.”

“You don’t understand,” Nesta says, but this time it comes out weaker. “Elain is a good thing in this ugly world. And if you had a good thing,” Nesta looks at me, “wouldn’t you want to ensure that it stays safe?”

“Of course I would,” I say looking at her, my gaze unwavering. “But Elain is more than a good thing. She is a good woman. A good woman who deserves to make her own decisions. She’s not your child Nesta, she’s your sister.”

“She may as well be my child!” Nesta says. “She is good and she is pure, and I will protect her at all costs.”

“So protect her,” I reply. “But don’t suffocate her.”  

Nesta doesn’t reply to this. Instead, she bites her lip and again I feel that heat in my chest, but I manage to shove it down.

“What do you know of this Lucien anyway?” she asks.

I ponder over this. What do I know of Lucien? Any other time, I might refer to him as Tamlin’s dog but now.... “Lucien is loyal,” I say. “And I believe that his heart is good. Beneath any sort of swagger I believe that he thrives to love, serve and protect.”

I do believe this of Lucien. There is anger on my part for him for his abandoning Feyre in that manor, but I believe he can be better than that. “Lucien is confused at the moment as to where his loyalties lie. Perhaps Elain can help him with that.”

Nesta stands and she takes the bowl with her. “Well,” she says, “I’ll think on what you have said.”

I grin at her. “Listening to me, are you?”

She snarls, “Only because Elain’s happiness hangs in the balance."

“Still,” I say, pushing it, “It’s a start.”

She calls me a few choice words. And shows me a particular finger on her way out.

Once she is gone, I laugh.

Oh, I’m going to have so much fun with her for as long as she lives close by.

~

When Rhys shows up to gives me updates, I ask her who sent Nesta and who thought it would be good idea given our previous spats.

“Nobody sent her,” Rhys says raising an eyebrow, “She asked to do it.”

This surprises me and Rhys can evidently see it.

“We were all betting she’d injure you further after your little meeting, but,” he surveys me, “you don’t look any worse.”

“Well thanks,” I mutter.

The door to the room opens and Nesta, to both mine and Rhys’ surprise steps in once more. There is another bowl of stew in her hand. She greets us both with her usual glare.

Rhys looks at the bowl, “I thought Mor was supposed to bring that.”

“Mor asked me to do it.”

Rhys looks at me, then at Nesta. A small smile plays on his lips as he turns to leave me. “Well, I have things to attend to. Have fun you two... but not too much fun. I think he’s too weak for too much fun Nesta, darling. Go easy on him.” With that, he vanishes from the room leaving Nesta and I indignant.

“Prick,” I mutter at the empty space.

And she. Nesta. Smiles. She smiles like she can’t help it and I blink at her.

She bites her lip again as she nears me.

“Don’t do that,” I say.

She frowns and I continue, “Don’t bite that lip, because when you do.... when you do I can’t think properly. And I hate not being able to think.”

Nesta looks as though she doesn’t know if she should be angry with me for telling her what to do. I grin at her, “When I’m better Nesta Archernon,” I say, “I promise you, we’ll have fun, you and I.”

“Don’t you remember how your last attempt at fun ended?” she coos.

“How could I forget?” I say darkly, “I think you left a mark.”

“Are you sure you want to play, Cassian?” she says sweetly, “I might leave worse marks on you.”

“The only marks you’ll leave on me when we’re done are those on my back, made by your fingernails.”

Nesta puts the bowl on the table beside the bed and I hold my breath as she nears me. She sits beside me on the bed. Slowly she crawls towards me. Her face is so close to mine. I can feel her breath on my skin.

Cauldron boil me.

I lie still as she presses her face to my neck. I can feel her nose graze my skin. “When you’re better Cassian,” she whispers on my skin, “we’re going to play, and you’re going to lose.”

She kisses my neck then and I go liquid and hard at the same time. I want to reach for her, to pin her to this bed as she uses her teeth to graze my skin.

Oh gods. I’m burning and I won’t stop now.

Just as I try to turn my head to take her mouth on mine, I feel a sharp pain on my neck and I cry out.

Nesta pulls back until she is gone from my side and from my bed. She stands before me, grinning wide. I can see her elongated canines, they shine with blood. My blood.

I reach my hand to my neck and it comes away with blood. She bit me. The bite isn’t deep and already, it is starting to heal.

Nesta lets out a low laugh as I look at her, half anger, half desire.

“I suppose this fae body has its uses after all,” she drawls.

She leaves and I’m left hanging and burning. My body is still on fire. I can still feel her mouth on my neck, her teeth grazing my skin.

I see her, grinning, my blood staining her canines, and never in my life have I wanted a woman more.

The stew lies on the table forgotten.

[cinaja]

Before the Wall part 30

Masterlist

Warning: There is a bit more violence (tw mentions of torture and death) towards the end, but nothing too explicit. Still, if you want to skip it, you'll notice well in advance where it starts.

----

Just like for their first meeting, it is Jurian who suggests the meeting place. Standing in the stable, he only allows himself a moment to prepare for what`s about to come. He leans his face against his horse`s flank and runs a hand through its mane. In his head, he counts to one hundred. Then, he climbs into the saddle.

Tia stops him as he rides out of the stable. “Where are you going?”

“For a ride.”

It really is a good thing that Miryam isn`t here. She would never have bought that lie. But even though Tia knows him longer – they both joined the rebellion at a similar time, when he was thirteen and she twenty – reading people isn`t one of her talents. Still, Tia seems doubtful.

“For a ride?”, she echoes. “That sounds like an extremely easy way to get ambushed and die.”

Jurian can hardly tell her that the chances of him getting ambushed are low, since he is already meeting an enemy commander. Tia would be more likely to tie him to a chair than allow him to go meet Clythia. But he needs the information she might have.

“They are free to try and ambush me”, he says with a wink, “They`ll see what it gets them.”

Tia rolls her eyes and mutters something about how she`ll write that on his tombstone. Jurian laughs and gently presses his heels into his horse`s flank, sending it into a gallop.

This time, he didn`t try to delay the meeting and he arrives before Clythia. He ties his stallion to a tree and gently strokes its nose as he waits. Not even five minutes pass until a faint pop sounds behind him.

“Hello”, Jurian says without turning around.

His heartbeat quickens and he tries to breathe as regularly as he can. Fae can smell strong emotions, and if he wants to get anywhere with this, she can`t notice his fear and disgust.

“You actually came”, she says from behind him.

“I said I would, didn`t I?”

It is probably not the most flirty reply. But Jurian has decided that he doesn`t have the biggest talent with words, so he might as well give up the attempts. Besides, the more he tries to play games with Clythia, the more he feels like throwing up.

Clythia steps around him and leans against a tree facing him. Jurian continues stroking his horse.

“I wasn`t sure. You never replied to me letters.”

Jurian doesn`t give a reply, mostly because he doesn`t have one. The truth hardly seems helpful to his goal of getting information out of her.

“If I went too fast last time”, Clythia says, “I apologize. I thought you might prefer going quickly.”

“It`s just all very confusing”, Jurian says. It`s the most neutral comment he can think of.

Clythia nods quickly, looking relieved. “I can imagine! For me, with my visions, it`s like we already know each other.” She shrugs. “I sometimes forget that it`s not the same for you.”

A perfect opening. Jurian pretends to consider, then nods. “What are they like? Your visions, I mean. Can you really see the future?”

She nods. “It just isn`t always as clear as I`d like. Some things are veiled, others change with time.” She smiles at him. “I`ve seen what would happen between us for years, though.”

“But other things can change?”, Jurian asks.

Clythia nods. Good. That means her idea that they are sure to end up together doesn`t have to become true.

“There are a few things that more or less stay the same no matter what, though.” Clythia laughs brightly. “Almost like it`s written in the stars.”

“Really?”, Jurian prompts. Now, this is interesting.

“Yes. For example, I`ve always known that I`ll die before Mara.”

It takes Jurian a heartbeat to realize that Mara is her name for Amarantha. Then, he has to keep from smiling. The words seem like a confirmation for his plan.

“Or take that friend of yours. The witch”, Clythia says. It seems that she has chosen to ignore the fact that Miryam isn`t just a friend. “She`s another one of those constants.”

She might as well have dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. “What about her?”

“She doesn`t survive the war.”

Jurian stares at her. It takes a moment for the words to register, for him to truly realize what it is that Clythia just told him. When he finally understands, it is all he can do not to gasp. No. No, this isn`t possible. It can`t be.

Clythia merrily breezes on, like she didn`t just completely upturn his world in a single sentence. “It`s what I keep telling Ravenia. No need to worry about the girl. She`ll die anyways. But does she listen? Of course not.” She winks at him like this is some kind of shared joke. “Ravenia doesn`t much like seers, you know.”

No, Jurian doesn`t. His mind is still caught up on the fact that Clythia just casually revealed that Miryam will die. That it`s written in the stars, nothing to be done about it.

“Besides, I think Ravenia takes it personally”, Clythia continues, “I mean, I can`t blame her. I know how I would feel if one of my slaves ran away and decided to go to war with me.” She laughs. “Imagine the audacity!”

The only thing Jurian can imagine right now is drawing his dagger and killing her. He takes a deep, calming breath and tries to focus on why he is here. He looks around, trying to find a way to distract himself and settles on a bag lying next to Clythia.

“You brought breakfast?”, he asks.

Clythia blinks, obviously surprised by the sudden change in subject. “Yes”, she says, “Sure. Do you want to eat?”

Jurian nods. His stomach is churning, but eating will give him something physical to focus on. And then, he`ll just need to get some information out of Clythia, and all this will end.

----

They fly for most of the night. By the time they land in the early hours of the morning, Miryam`s entire body is stiff and in spite of the thick cloak, she feels like she is half-frozen. She slowly walks a few steps up and down, trying to get feeling back into her legs. Unfairly enough, Drakon doesn`t seem bothered at all by the long flight. He is already laughing with one of his captains. Around them, the other soldiers land and fall into rank.

Miryam uses the time where nobody pays much attention to her to look around. They landed in the mud on the edge of a camp that`s much smaller than their own, but well-organised. Pitch-black tents stand arranged in neat lines, surrounded by defence systems. A night court banner flies over the highest tent.

Wonderful. At least the soldiers don`t seem to be Illyrians, which will hopefully spare her any freak-outs over her being a witch. Unfortunately, Night Court High Fae are, in her experience, far harder to deal with than any others.

She steps closer to Drakon. “You`ll have high command over the battle, right?” He nods.

“Then let`s go introduce ourselves”, she says.

Finding the person in charge of the camp turns out to be quite a challenge. The soldiers at the entrance let them through without putting up a fight, but none of them seem interested in helping them any further. Miryam and Drakon both ask after the camp`s commander, but the soldiers just stare at them.

Finally, Drakon picks a Fae male standing at the front. “You”, he says, “Take us to your commander, if you`d be so kind.”

The male shrugs and turns without a word. Miryam exchanges a look with Drakon, who looks torn between disbelief and annoyance as they follow the soldier. On their walk through the camp, Miryam can`t help but notice that she is the only woman around.

She really can`t stand the Night Court.

“There”, the soldier finally says and jerks her chin towards a big, black tent at the edge of the camp. It doesn`t look like a command tent.

“What is in there?”, Miryam asks, but the soldier has already disappeared back into the crowd.

Drakon gives her a bewildered look, shaking his head softly. “What was that?”

“Prythian”, she replies with a grin. “They aren`t big on politeness.”

With that, she walks towards the tent. Two guards stand in front of the entrance, but they don`t stop Miryam and Drakon as they enter the tent.

As soon as Miryam pushes aside the entrance, she realizes that she made a mistake. She spins around to Drakon to tell him to stay outside, but it`s already too late. Next to her, Drakon has frozen in the entrance. Then, before Miryam can do anything, he takes a stumbling step backwards, spins around and rushes out of the room.

Miryam desperately wants to run after him, but instead, she forces herself to turn around to the slender male who is standing in the tent, sneering at her.

“Keir.”

She does her best to focus only on him and ignore the six people hanging by their wrists behind him. All of them are covered in so much blood that Miryam has a hard time making out facial features.

“I asked for reinforcement”, Keir says, shaking his head. “The Alliance sends children.”

Miryam ignores the jab and nods towards the six people behind Keir. One of them groans softly. “Are these people your source?”

“Captured enemy soldiers. Sang like birds after an hour or so.”

“You got your information on the movement of Amarantha`s army through torture?” Miryam shakes her head. “But you realize that it is possible for people to lie, right? Torture doesn`t stop that.”

Keir waves her off like she`s no more than an annoying insect. “Believe me, these people would tell me anything to make it stop.”

“That`s exactly what I`m worried about”, Miryam shoots back.

Keir completely ignores her comment and turns to one of the prisoners. “You want to tell the girl what you told me?” As if to emphasize, he takes a small, bloody knife from a table.

“Stop this”, Miryam says sharply, “You will not continue torturing these people. Have them brought to a healer and then have them locked up.”

“No”, Keir says thoughtfully and moves his knife closer to the prisoner, who whimpers. “I don`t think I will.”

He angles his knife, aiming for the prisoner`s face. Miryam steps forward and grabs him by the wrist.

“I wasn`t asking”, she says.

Slowly, Keir drags his brown eyes over to her. Then, he looks at her hand on his wrist.

“How would you like it”, he asks, “if I made it public that your little friend can`t stand to see a little bit of blood without freaking out? Not a good trait for a military commander, is it?”

Fury crashes into Miryam like a wave and sends her magic spinning. She digs her fingernails into her palm and replies, “How would you like it if I had you stripped of your command for refusing orders from a superior?”

Keir slowly lifts his eyebrows. “Not quite as nice as your reputation, are you?”

“I make an exception for people who sell their underage daughter to marriage and then torture her for refusing.” She gives Keir a hard glare. “I`m not the child you met in your Hewn City anymore. If you think you can refuse my orders, or Drakon`s, and get away with it, then you`d better think again, because I won`t hesitate to end your career over this. Are we clear?”

Keir`s eyes are positively burning. But slowly, precisely, he nods. Miryam lets go of his arm.

“Good. Then I want you to have these prisoners locked up in a proper cell and have a healer see to them. Afterwards, you`ll get your army ready and make it clear to them that it is Drakon who has high command over this mission, not you.” Without waiting for a reply, Miryam turns around to leave the tent. In the entrance, she pauses. “And you`d better hope that information you tortured out of your prisoners is correct. Otherwise, I`ll make sure that it`s your head on the line.”

With that, she goes looking for Drakon.

He isn`t with his soldiers. There, she only finds Drakon`s captains, who ask what is going to happen now. Miryam tells them that they just need to wait for the Darkbringer army to get ready. She tries not to slip through that she unfortunately has no idea where their Prince vanished off to. His personal guards look worried.

Since Drakon usually tries to avoid crowds and closed spaces, she decides to walk a circle around the camp and see if she can find him that way. In the light forest, Miryam can`t see very far. She doesn`t dare to shout – after all, there might be guards and the last thing she needs right now is a run-in with a bunch of Night Court guards.

She is almost ready to give up her search and make up an excuse for why Drakon had to leave at a sudden notice when she basically runs into him. He is sitting on a fallen tree by a river, drums a quick rhythm on the wood next to him and stares into the water.

Miryam sits down next to him. Asking if he`s alright seems stupid, so she just remains silent. Drakon keeps drumming his rhythm, fingers dancing too quickly for her to follow the movements.

“So that was Mor`s father”, he finally says without looking away from the river.

“Pleasant, isn`t he?”

Drakon nods. They are silent again for a while. Then, he says, “I still have a battle to lead, don`t I?”

“If you`re up to it.”

She isn`t yet sure what she`s going to do if he decides that he isn`t up to it. She`ll probably have to hand over command to Keir, since there`s no way that she will be able to take the lead. And she`ll have to come up with an explanation for why Drakon is indisposed. Maybe some emergency in Erithia?

“I`ll manage”, Drakon says.

Miryam still hesitates. I wish I could give you a break from all this. But this is war, and they have no time left to squander.

“Then let`s go.”

Maybe when they are back in camp, they will find the time to do something nice together for once. They could arrange another party – music, dancing, more food for everyone. Everyone, from soldiers to commanders, could use a bit of happiness.

They walk through the forest in silence. Fortunately, Drakon`s soldiers like him and are polite enough to ignore the fact that he just vanished. Keir, who has assembled his soldiers by now, sneers at him, though. Miryam gives him a sharp glance and then turns her attention back to Drakon, who orders his soldiers to get moving.

Their sources – also known as enemy soldiers who were tortured for information – claim that Amarantha will march her army west. On the way, she will need to cross a ravine. Drakon discussed the situation with his generals and they decided to plan an ambush at the only bridge in an one-hundred-mile-radius. There, they lay in wait hidden between the trees.

They wait. And wait.

Miryam looks up at the sky. It has been at least three hours now.

“Didn`t you say they`d be here before midday?”, she asks Keir, who is unfortunately sitting with her and Drakon.

“It`s not midday yet, is it?” Keir brushes some dust off his black clothes. Miryam wonders if anyone ever told him that it is a bit over-the-top for Night Court soldiers called Darkbringer so wear all black. “What even is your role here?”

“I`m back-up”, she says. And she really hopes she won`t be needed today.

They sit around some more. Drakon leans against a tree and drums a complicated rhythm on the bark. Keir silently glares at him and Miryam stares up at the sky. Slowly, the sun creeps over the sky.

It has long passed its highest point when Miryam breaks the silence. “They should be here by now.”

This time, Keir doesn`t object.

“I`ll see if I can find anything”, she says.

Unfortunately, she hasn`t brought Kiel, but she finds a hawk in a tree somewhere above them. Miryam easily slips into its body and has it circling above the forest. After ten rounds, she gives up and slips back into her body.

“There is no sign of an army”, she says with a pointed look at Keir, who is smart enough to look worried. “Not within miles.”

“But they have to be somewhere”, Drakon says, “So if they aren`t here, where are they?”

They look at each other. Miryam sees the understanding dawning on Drakon`s face the same moment she realizes their mistake.

“Shit”, Drakon whispers.

“We need to get back to our camp”, Miryam says, “Now.” Even though a small voice in her head whispers that they are likely already too late.

----

Jurian sits with his back against a tree and watches Clythia brush a few crumbs of cake off her clothes. She brought cake for breakfast. That, and all kinds of other expensive food, most of which Jurian has never seen in his life.

He looks up at the sky. It`s past midday now, which means that the trap Miryam and Drakon laid for Amarantha has likely already been sprung. Maybe the battle is already decided. And maybe, and unbidden voice in his head whispers, they lost and are both dead by now. And if not in this battle, then in another. Jurian pushes the thought away.

“You are close, aren`t you?”, he asks, going back to their conversation, “You and your sister.”

“Very. She practically raised me.” She starts playing around with her hair. “Our parents died when I was still young.”

Normally, Jurian would have sympathized with her for this. He also lost his parents early – his mother died in childbed when he was four, his father five years later from a cold. He basically grew up with the rebellion. But this is Clythia he`s talking to, so instead of pity, he feels disgust. He can see her as a slave-owning monster. But if that monster loves her sister and lost her parents, that makes it worse. A monster is monstrous by nature, but a person has a choice – and if Clythia chose to be the way she is, that makes it all the more horrifying.

“And how did you end up in charge of an army?”

“Oh, Mara figured the best way to get power in this world was the military, so I kind of just tagged along. The King would have preferred to have me in court, but that life wasn`t for me. Besides, Mara and I don`t do well apart.”

Jurian nods and tries hard to look like he cares. In truth, he is annoyed. He was meant to get information, damnit, yet here he is, chatting with an enemy commander and having gained exactly nothing. In retrospect, his plan to use Clythia for information doesn`t seem as smart anymore.

Oblivious as always, Clythia continues chatting. “Besides, the military is fun, don`t you think?”

Jurian gives a non-committal shrug. No, he doesn`t think the military is fun. What is wrong with her?

“Well, most times”, Clythia continues, “Lately, they had Mara and me training new recruits. The training camp it just horrible. It always rains there – it`s by the coast, you know, in one of Hybern`s wettest areas. Whoever decided to have it built there should be hung.”

Jurian blinks at her. There is no way she is actually this stupid. She did not just give him a major hint on where to find their secret training camp.

“And these recruits.” Clythia rolls her eyes. “You cannot believe how incompetent they are! They can`t even shoot straight.”

But even they probably wouldn`t be stupid enough to tell an enemy commander about the position of one of their secret camps. “It takes some time to get them properly trained.”

Clythia nods and stifles a yawn.

“Tired?”, Jurian asks.

She nods. “We spent most of the night marching south.”

A cold feeling settles into Jurian`s stomach. Most of the night. South. Amarantha`s army was not supposed to be marching all night, or south. They should have spent the night at some camp over a hundred miles west from here, and then set off to march east in the morning. If they were on the march all night and in the wrong direction, the trap Miryam and Drakon set failed. And if they aren`t marching east like their reports claimed, then where is it they are going?

The answer hits Jurian like a punch to the gut. South. He jumps to his feet.

Clythia`s eyes widen. “Don`t”, she says and thereby confirms his worst fears, “Amarantha promised you`d be fine, but only if you aren`t there.”

Jurian doesn`t listen to her. He races for his horse. The stallion seems to sense his unease, he throws up his head and whines. Jurian jumps into the saddle. He nudges his horse in the side and sends it into a sprint, back towards his camp.

He smells the smoke one mile off already and knows that he is too late. But nothing could have prepared him for what he sees when he reaches the camp.

He wasn`t just too late by minutes but hours. His camp lies in cinders, most of the fires have already burned out, only a few embers still glow faintly. All that`s left of his camp is ashes. Ashes and the corpses of his soldiers. So many corpses lying everywhere.

In a daze, Jurian dismounts. Slowly, he walks through the camp. Stares at the dead humans all around him.

This is a nightmare. It has to be. Any moment now, he`ll wake up, drenched in sweat and screaming. This can`t be real. It can`t.

But he doesn`t wake up. He just keeps walking, staring at the dead soldiers lying on the ground where they were killed. Some of them barely show any injuries at all, others are so mutilated that they are barely recognizable.

Jurian knows most of the dead. They are the soldiers he sat with at the fire in the evening. Soldiers he comforted when they sat shaking after battles. Soldiers he trained. He knows their faces, their names, their stories. All dead now. Gone.

Jurian keeps walking, stumbling through the ashes. He only stops when he reaches the centre of the camp.

Huge stakes have been rammed into the ground in a perfect circle where the centre of the camp should have been. And on them… The bodies that hand on the stakes are so mutilated that they are little more than slabs of meat. Jurian stumbles backwards until he is standing in the centre of the circle. He recognizes Tia first. Then the others – his captains and commanders, the friends.

A sob escapes his chest. His legs give out from under him and he drops to his knees into the ashes. There is a low noise, like that of a dying animal, and it takes him a moment to realize that it`s coming from him. It seems that his body already understood the truth his mind is still straining against: This is truly happening.

Time stops moving. Jurian isn`t sure if he`s breathing. His mind appears frozen.

He doesn`t know how long he`s been kneeling on the ground when someone says his name from behind him. Instincts have him jumping to his feet and whirling around.

Drakon, with his ornate uniform and his snow-white white wings looks so out of place between all the death that Jurian just stares at him stupidly for a few heartbeats. It doesn`t make sense that he is here, he doesn`t fit the picture at all.

Drakon takes a step towards him. “Thank the Cauldron, you`re alive. We thought –“

Jurian shoves Drakon backward hard enough to make him stumble. “Where were you?” Drakon lifts his hands like he`s trying to get him to calm down.

“You should have been here!”, Jurian shouts.

He lifts his hands to shove him again, but someone catches his arm.

“Jurian, stop!”, Miryam tells him firmly.

But he can`t stop. He keeps struggling, flailing wildly around. Miryam catches his other arm as well and holds on. No matter how much Jurian struggles against her, she is stronger.

“Jurian.”

He keeps struggling.

“Jurian, stop.”

Jurian stops moving. He looks from Miryam, who still has him grabbed by the wrists, to Drakon, who stands a few steps back and looks like he`s one second away from bolting.

All strength leaves Jurian. He sags against Miryam, who lets him glide to the ground. Suddenly, he is sobbing into her shirt. His body is shaking so hard that he thinks he might fall apart. Miryam whispers something to him and gently rubs his back, but her words don`t register.

“It`s my fault”, he manages to get out between sobs.

He is sure that Miryam objects, but he doesn`t feel inclined to listen. He knows it`s his fault. It was him who insisted Miryam go with Drakon. Maybe if she`d been here, things would have ended differently. And he – he flirted around with an enemy commander while her sister slaughtered his soldiers. If he hadn`t been so stupidly focused on Clythia, he would surely have seen the trap well before it sprung. If it wasn`t for Clythia, none of this would have happened.

Anger shoots through Jurian like a glowing-hot knife. It is even enough to get him to stop crying. He lifts his head.

Miryam is kneeling before him. Her dark eyes are full of concern, but her face is guarded in a way that usually means she doesn`t want anyone to catch her real feelings.

“It wasn`t my fault”, Jurian whispers, voice hoarse, “It was theirs. Amarantha and Clythia.”

With shaking fingers, he fumbles for the knife at his belt and draws it. Miryam frowns slightly, but before she can grab for his hand again, Jurian draws the blade over his palm. She winces.

“I`m going to destroy her”, he whispers and watches his blood drip into the ash-stained ground. “I`m going to destroy both of them. I won`t stop until they are both dead.” He looks around the circle of his dead soldiers and feels a fire flicker to life inside him. “I swear it.”

-----

Tags: @croissantcitysucks @sjm-things