#cassian herringbone

[ehlihr]

Dnd npc sketches (+ my friend @toastrovn’s pc fang!)

[separatist-apologist]

Throw Me To The Flames

You could drag me through hell if it meant I could hold your hand

Summary: Elain only ever meant to deliver a message to Vassa on behalf of her sister's court. She never intended to see Lucien.

And she CERTAINLY didn't mean to get in the way of a knife that was only ever meant for his chest.

Kidnapped, and dragged helpless to the continent, the two will have to work together if they want to survive.

Note: HAPPY HOLIDAYS to my BEST @acotargiftexchange, @fieldofdaisiies

I hope you enjoy this as much as I have enjoyed hanging out with you!!!

Chapter 1/7

Elain took a breath, squared her shoulders, and knocked. She ignored the look from the very human gardener just as she’d done as she’d marched up the stone drive. Human faces everywhere. Ones that might have recognized her, had they ever attended a party at her fathers once palatial estate. She’d been told it had fallen to ruin for a time, until some wealthy merchant scooped it up. More land for a human she’d never meet. 

Elain kept her eyes on that wooden door, listening to the familiar heartbeat just on the other side. It wasn’t his footsteps coming to the door. Small mercies, she told herself. Elain didn’t think she could face him.

The door opened, revealing the face of another human servant. That surprised her. Feyre had said Queen Vassa lived alone. She’d expected to see her, maybe Jurian. She’d pass along her message, ask for a room for the evening, and be gone before she ever saw her mate. 

“May I help you?” the human asked, dragging wide blue eyes over the lilac gown she’d chosen. Elain swallowed, eyes closing slowly when the clipped steps of the very man she hadn’t wanted to see filled her senses.

“Elain?”

His voice ripped through her like a canon, reducing her to little more than a trembling mess. If she looked, instinct would all but beg her to touch him. Elain clenched her fists at her side, furious with Lucien as he dismissed the servant. Her eyes focused on his immaculate black boots set against the herringbone pattern of the wood beneath them. 

“Did you come to stare, then?” he asked cooly. Elain’s eyes snapped to his face, her temper rising in her chest. She had to swallow to smother it, holding the metal and russet gaze looking back at her. She ignored the vicious gouges cut against his eye and cheek, wrecking what had likely once been a truly beautiful face. 

Not anymore. 

“I have a message from Feyre,” Elain informed him, just as she’d rehearsed when Cassian had brought her over. Lucien crossed muscular arms over his broad chest in a green jacket all too similar to the one she had folded in a box just beneath her bed. 

“Oh?”

“For Queen Vassa,” Elain added, refusing to pass it along to him. Lucien cocked his head, a tendril of auburn hair fluttering over the golden brown of his skin. He’d tied it back, but she remembered how he’d looked on the battlefield. Blood splattered and clothes tattered, his long hair tangled around his face.

She almost liked him that day. 

Lucien shrugged. “She’s not in until nightfall.”

Elain took one step forward, only for Lucien to snap the door in her face. She stared, blinking with surprise. Had he…had he truly shut her out? Gathering herself, Elain knocked again, waiting until Lucien swung the door back open.

“Yes?” he asked. 

She didn’t know what to say. He was so infuriatingly calm, as if he’d done nothing rude at all. She swallowed again, resisting the urge to call him a bastard. 

“You intend for me to stand outside all evening?” she asked instead. Lucien cocked his head, accessing her with his cool gaze.

“Is that not your preference? This is my home, after all.”

“I…” she didn’t know how to answer him. Lucien nodded, as if to say that’s what I thought, and made to slam the door again. Elain caught it with her hand, wood stinging against her palm. She looked around at the humans, certain they would harm her if they could.

Lucien, irritating as ever, tried to prompt her into speaking by raising his eyebrows. She could practically hear his infuriating voice say, Well?

“May I wait inside?” she asked him, hating how timid and small her voice sounded. 

Lucien offered her a long-suffering sigh for her trouble. “If you must.”

Elain swallowed a breath of warm summer air, forcing herself to just let it all go. He didn’t like her and she didn’t like him. It was ridiculous how much it annoyed her that Lucien didn’t, though. Everyone liked her and always had. Lucien had, perhaps, tried, just she’d always seen the gleaming distrust in that one good eye of his. 

Elain was tired of swallowing the humiliation that was Lucien. She hadn’t asked for him. Didn’t want him. He didn’t want her…it should have made things simple. A polite no thank you ought to have been enough. Elain always swore she was going to just the next moment she saw him.

And then the scent of him would slam into her chest, filling her with yearning. She’d see him, all wrong with his long hair, his muscular frame, his rakish, half-ruined good looks—at least when the light struck him just right— and Elain wavered. 

Lucien glanced over his shoulder at her, lips pressed into a thin line. Guiding her through the wide halls, he ignored what might have been a rather elegant sitting room had there not been a garish pink couch seated along a far, brick wall. The colors clashed unforgivably, making a room that was otherwise beautiful so, so ugly.

It was an apt metaphor for the man before her. Not that Elain would ever dare say so. Still, it felt unfair to her at times that she was saddled with him while her sisters had been given lovely males. She didn’t want him to catch her staring, given it was the scarred side of his countenance that faced her. She’d never been brave enough to ask what he had done to earn such a vicious wound. Something so terrible his magic had been unable to heal. She’d seen Azriel’s shredded wings patched up twice. Had watched Cassian’s innards replaced without a scratch to his person. 

And then Lucien, who bore the marks of the violence like some strange badge of honor. 

She turned her eyes back to her feet, mapping the dark wood below. He took her to a winding staircase, his broad hand gliding up the rail. Elain didn’t argue, strangely grateful he was offering her a room instead of forcing her to sit on that sofa all day.

“You didn’t bring anything with you,” he noted, keeping his eyes on the gold floral leaf that papered the walls. 

Elain only nodded. To say anything else was to betray what was happening at home. To give him insight into the Night Court she didn’t think Feyre wanted him to have, given her parting words.

“Be careful what you share with him. He can pick your words apart to find the truth.”

And what would Lucien find? A family still at odds? That no matter how Elain tried to fit into her sister's home, her sister's court, there was no room for her. She’d made herself useful, had learned to cook and clean as penance for the years in the cabin. Elain had tried to find a different partner, too, hadn’t she? Surely Feyre and Rhys would soften if she was with Azriel?

Of course, that required Azriel to want her and given their disastrous near kiss on Solstice, Elain knew she’d miscalculated on that front as well. She was out of place in their Court of Nightmares so laughably that none of the denizens under the mountain took her seriously.

And out of place in the Court of Dreamers, too. No one noticed her there, either. She was only good for her connection to Lucien, given Elain had been trying to help use the magic the Cauldron had given her all year. Someone kept overriding her, kept her trapped in that estate, and Elain was desperate to know who. And why. 

She had it narrowed down, at least. Nesta, Azriel, and Rhysand. She was tempted to scratch Rhys off the list after Feyre had cornered her that morning demanding she give Lucien a message. Feyre did nothing if Rhys didn’t know and approve. Nesta was up at the House of Wind and Azriel on some other assignment, leaving only Amren and Mor to witness Elain’s plaintive—and ultimately successful—bid to take the job.  

And Cassian, of course, to apologetically drop her off before she could pack even a nightdress. As if Feyre thought Elain would climb out a window and run away. She wanted to go and had thought Lucien would still be in Spring. 

The sound of a creaking door dragged Elain back to the present. Lucien remained in the doorway, offering her a rather plain, beige room. Nothing overly large—she was clearly not a favored guest given there wasn’t even a bathing chamber inside. Just a four-poster bed draped in uninviting white and flanked by two wooden side tables. A cedar chest across the bed for whatever things she might have brought with her—if she’d even had time.

Elain turned to look at Lucien lounging against the frame, one booted leg crossed over the other. “Why are you really here, Elain?” he asked her. A muscle worked furiously in his jaw, marking his displeasure. 

“To see Vassa,” Elain replied, holding his gaze. 

Lucien looked as if he wanted to call her a liar, as if it took great effort not to say everything he was thinking. 

“A letter wouldn’t have sufficed?” he questioned. Had she liked him, Elain might have agreed. He was watching her like he always did, with those shrewd eyes that told her she wasn’t the only one seeing him in her dreams.

“I didn’t come to see you, Lucien. Just as you don’t always come to Velaris to see me.” His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, though she couldn’t ascertain the reason. Perhaps he was working to settle his temper, to keep him from saying something unbearably cruel. Elain didn’t think she could handle it, could feel tears rising up her throat despite how angry she was. She’d cry and he’d think her foolish. 

“Great,” he finally said, his tone utterly devoid of emotion. “Make use of the house as it suits you.”

Lucien spun on his heel, leaving her alone in that miserable little room. In some ways, it was no different than Night, except at least her room in Velaris was filled with her things. Her books, her clothes, her amusements. None of that was here. Just her, just Lucien. She’d be damned if she hung out in bed all day, and decided that perhaps this was a chance to show off her worth. This was not just Lucien’s home, but Jurian and Vassa’s, too. Secrets likely lingered everywhere. If she could find something valuable to take back to Feyre and Rhys, they might be more willing to trust her. 

At the very least, they might be more willing to include her without her needing to beg. 

Elain took one step on the bottom landing before she all but slammed into Lucien again. He held a sandwich in one hand, his face graced with an infuriating smirk. 

“Hungry?” he asked, offering her his food of which a crescent had been bitten from. 

“No, thank you,” Elain replied. He was ridiculous. 

“Can I give you a tour?” he asked, his voice rich with amusement. As if Lucien had guessed her plan on sigh and the whole thing was funny to him. “Perhaps of my office?”

Elain was surprised he had one. In her mind, she imagined Lucien lounging about like the human lords she’d known. An eldest son would have taken on the family books but the youngest sons were typically spoiled little beasts that spent their days drowning in cups and chasing skirts. 

“You have an office?” she asked stupidly. She was so bad at speaking to him. Lucien always had the advantage given how little she affected him. He was never at a loss for words. 

“As I just said,” was his infuriating reply. “Perhaps you’ll find some hidden secrets? A list of all my many crimes?”

He was mocking her. He’d read her intentions and he found her ridiculous. Just like everyone else. Elain forced herself to only breathe, to turn away from him to look at the sitting room behind her. That awful couch beckoned, a light cutting through the darkness of her misery. She walked towards it, steps wooden, only to plop on the deceptively soft cushion.

Perhaps function could override style on occasion. 

Lucien remained in the entryway, eating his sandwich obnoxiously. “You really won’t tell me your message?” he asked, cocking his head. The tail of his hair spilled over his shoulder, the ends curling gently against the gold embroidery of his chest.

“So you can shove me back out again?” she asked, not meaning for her words to sound so cold. Lucien raised his eyebrows. 

“If you have complaints about my behavior, feel free to direct them right here,” Lucien offered, pointing down the hall towards the door.

Ass. 

Elain smoothed out her skirt. Kill him with kindness, she decided. It was only a night. She merely needed to weather him long enough to give Vassa her message and then she’d be free. Cassian would come for her. 

“I appreciate the offer,” Elain told him primly, refusing to look at him even as he strode into the room, boots echoing off the ceiling over them. Lucien plopped himself into a chair, one ankle crossed over his knee, his hand gripping the black fabric arm. 

“Did they tell me you couldn’t trust me?” Lucien questioned, his mouth half filled with bread, cheese, and meat.

“Who says I require an education on who I can and cannot trust. I have eyes, do I not?”

Pink stained the brown of his cheeks. Lucien gripped the edge of the chair so tightly she could see the whites of his knuckles. It was almost a marvel, realizing she was under his skin like a splinter he couldn't rid himself of. 

“You–”

“Where is Jurian?” she interrupted, not caring to be insulted any further. Lucien’s metal eye narrowed alongside his good one, and she wondered what, exactly, he could see. 

Lucien exhaled a nosy breath. “Out.”

“I wanted to meet him,” she lied. Elain had no interest in Jurian at all. History had never been her best subject to start, but Jurian was something of a legend among humans. A warrior who’d taken on the fae themselves and brought them to their knees. It would have been a little fun, though, to fawn over one of Lucien’s friends, if only to annoy him.

“Oh?” he asked, tapping his foot loudly against the wood. 

Elain only shrugged, allowing them to lapse into an uncomfortable silence. Too much hung between them unsaid, and Elain had no intention of filling the gulf between them with her secrets. Lucien would never understand, besides. He was too busy being smug to ever be vulnerable, to hear her out.

And no matter what choice she made, they would be stuck with each other for an eternity. She’d never be freed of him, which made the prospect of being mated to him miserable. How long could she reasonably fight him? Before she gave up and gave in, and resigned herself to whatever terrible, loveless marriage she was destined for? A decade? Less? 

The thought wounded her. She’d been so fortunate to have a father that didn’t care to meddle in her romantic affairs. While her friends had been paired with men they loathed, Elain had been granted the freedom to choose for love. 

What had she gotten for her efforts? A body she didn’t understand, a home she didn’t belong to, and a man–male–-that couldn’t stand the sight of her, but would have still taken her if only to sooth the instinct roiling through him.

Elain was so lost in her momentary self-loathing that she’d forgotten she was still sitting in front of Lucien. He hadn’t, though. He watched her, head cocked as if trying to untangle the messy thoughts tumbling around her head. She wondered how much he could feel and how much he had guessed. 

“Elain—”

“Lord?” a human servant skittered into the room. She was young and wide-eyed like a newborn calf. Lucien looked over, his irritation plain. 

“Not now.”

“Please, lord.” Her voice trembled so badly that even Elain took notice. Lucien’s eyes slid from the servant to Elain, his brow furrowing ever so slightly.

“Is everything all right?” he questioned, rising to his feet. Elain recognized the human’s emotions the moment Lucien took a step towards her. She’d been one, once. She knew the fear the fae instilled in humans, how his casual grace would seem threatening to her dull senses. Elain stood, intending to protect the young woman from Lucien. 

“I…” her trembling voice trailed off in a squeak. Elain’s heart squeezed. She remembered feeling the same the first time she’d see Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel on her doorstep. They’d been massive, and winged to boot. Ferocious and grinning in that way that suggested perhaps she might become a meal. Feyre had been too wrapped up in her own inner world to truly notice, but right then, Elain saw too much of her former self in that servant.

She pushed ahead, slipping past Lucien to walk towards the girl. “It’s okay,” Elain told her, careful to keep her steps slow and her movements jerky. 

The girl shook carefully coiffed blonde hair. “I need…I need to talk with Lord Vanserra,” she whispered.

“Elain,” Lucien barked in warning. She twisted, her face screwed up in irritation. She knew that tone. Stay out of things you don’t belong in. Of course he’d be just like the rest of them. He’d seek to sideline her, that he saw no value in—

“Oh,” she whispered, touching the side of her body. White hot pain lanced through her, and when Elain looked between an ashen-faced Lucien and the terrified servant, she realized a knife had been buried in her side. Blood bloomed over the once lovely lavender dress, staining it irrevocably. 

Lucien had thrown out both hands, frozen in place. He pulled his lips over his teeth, barring vicious fangs. “Don’t you—” his words choked into an echoing snarl when the knife was pulled from Elain, eliciting a soft, gasping cry from her lips. She collapsed between them, catching herself bruisingly against her palms.

“This was for you,” the servant told him, tears coloring her words. Elain’s vision blurred as tears spilled down her cheeks. “Don’t touch her.”

“Or what,” Lucien demanded, coming closer. Elain wanted him to. Heat radiated from the wound, sluicing through her veins with each frantic pound of her heart. Something else was wrong. Elain couldn’t get the words out, couldn’t see even when she felt his hands grip the tops of her arms. 

“Don’t…” she meant to tell him not to leave her. Don’t leave me. The world tilted sideways, illuminated in bright, burning sunlight. She heard a commotion–Lucien snarling, the sound of scuffing feet. His fingers wrenched from her.

Blackness overtook Elain before the silence did.

LUCIEN: 

Lucien’s head pounded. 

Don’t jostle him.

Put the rag back over his face. 

We should just cut his throat and be done with it. 

Don’t wake him up.

Lucien didn’t know how many times he resurfaced from that dreamless sleep only to inhale the metallic stench of what he now knew was faebane. Fucking humans. Over and over he’d thrash, only to be shoved back beneath the surface. He needed to wake up. Lucien was careful when he felt his consciousness rise. He made no noise, peeking open his metal eye first to survey his surroundings. He was outdoors beneath a starless night sky. Cool air blew through his hair, soothing some of the sweat that had accumulated against his brow. 

Another look told Lucien he was in the back of a cart. His back was propped against the wood side, his wrists bound in iron attached to both his neck and ankles. That was fair. Vaguely, Lucien recalled ripping someone’s arm from their body before he’d been taken down. Ruefully, Lucien could admit he’d lost himself a little when Elain collapsed in a pool of her own blood. Instinct had taken over rationality.

Elain.

He didn’t have to look far to find her. Her wrists were tied behind her back with simple twine, her head pressed against his thigh. Lucien scooted closer, ignoring the ache in his body until her head rested in his lap. He set his irons over her carefully, guarding her sleeping body as best he could.

Lucien knew three things with absolute certainty.

He was drowning in faebane.

Wherever he was being taken to would be far more secure than the cart holding him.

He could break himself free of the irons with little difficulty. The humans knew enough to use faebane, but not so much that they knew iron was useless. Elain would be even easier, given she was only tied with fraying twine. They hadn’t counted on her.

That made him uneasy. What would they do with her? That human female’s regretful words lingered, worming their way through his pounding head. He didn’t trust the humans to offer compassion. If Elain was alive, Lucien would assume that meant they hadn’t known what to do with her.

They’d figure it out eventually. He needed to wake her up, secure her compliance, and get them both far, far away from wherever it was they were. Preferably back to fae territory. Lucien could tell by the way the air smelled, by the dullness to the world around him, that he was somewhere deep in human territory. 

It would have been easier had he been alone. Feyre would never forgive him if anything happened to her sister.

And Lucien now knew that he himself was not capable of letting harm come to her, regardless of his complicated, mostly resentful feelings. He sighed, looking towards the front of the cart. Two human males were easily dispatched of, even without magic. He still had his other senses. He counted three beating hearts—excluding his own—and nothing else. No others were around, no guards, no contingent of soldiers. Did they truly believe two was enough? 

Careful not to rattle his chains, Lucien shook Elain. She moaned just loud enough that one of the humans twisted in their chair.

Fuck.

The two made eye contact before Lucien could slam his eyes shut. 

“Nice try,” that foul male chuckled, halting the team of horses dragging them through what Lucien realized was a rather dense forest. There were no stars because the swaying treetops had blocked his view. 

Elain stirred a second time, blinking open her wide, innocent eyes. 

“Don’t move,” Lucien whispered, soft enough only she would hear it. Bless her, but Elain went wholly still. Finally, one thing was going right. Lucien, too, didn’t move until the back of the wagon was pulled open and that stinking male climbed up the back.

“They say you’re a lord,” he breathed, fishing out a filthy rag from his pocket. “Awfully ugly to be nobility, in my opinion.”

“I can see why you’d draw that conclusion,” Lucien replied evenly. He swallowed, wishing he had even a kernel of magic left to him. It would have been so satisfying to melt the smug look from that bastard's face. 

“That was my brother you tore apart back there,” the male hissed, spraying droplets of his spit against Lucien’s face. The humiliations wouldn’t cease, it seemed. Lucien heaved a heavy sigh.

“I owe you for his death.”

Lucien tore apart his restraints faster than the human’s eyes could track. Faster than he could react with that pathetic rag Lucien hated. He felt like an animal subjected to the whims of a particularly stupid master. He didn’t bother with the ring around his neck or even his ankles as he lunged, utilizing his faster, stronger body to pin the human beneath him.

“I apologize for separating you and your brother,” Lucien snarled, teeth at the male's neck. “Allow me to rectify my mistake.”

Lucien tasted blood before he heard the screaming. That would be Elain, he realized with no regret. What did she expect? It was them or the human and Lucien very much enjoyed being alive. He’d been beaten and restrained and drugged for days. He felt no remorse, ripping that male's throat out. 

Nor did Lucien feel any compunction removing the restraints around his ankles and divesting the cowardly second of his head. No witnesses, no one to raise the alarm. By the time anyone realized they were missing, he and Elain would be long gone. 

Elain.

Lucien turned, wiping his bloodied mouth with the sleeve of his jacket. She was huddled at the far end of the wagon, trembling like a lost little lamb. Trapped in the middle of nowhere, likely deep in the human lands…with her. Lucien made his way towards her, his bloodlust rapidly cooling in his gut. Lucien had the vague memory of a swaying crate and the smell of salt—he didn’t think they were in Prythian. Looking around at the trees, and the sky, he thought it all reminded him a little too much of the continent. Lucien’s stomach sank. 

“Come here,” he ordered, well aware he must look insane to her. She didn’t move. 

It wouldn’t matter. She’s afraid of you regardless.

“Come here, Elain,” he snarled softly. It was enough to convince her to crab crawl towards him, quietly crying. 

“You killed them,” she whispered, her already bloodied dress dragging through the mess of the first human. Lucien ripped apart her restraints, freeing her so she could hop to the grass. 

“Better them than us,” he dismissed, working to divest himself of the rings circling his wrists and neck. 

“You could have let them run–”

“So they could raise the alarm?” Lucien demanded, rounding on her so quickly Elain fell to the dirt trail at their feet. Lucien wasn’t done. So what if she was scared of him? That was nothing new. They were on their own, magicless and muted. Lucien had no idea if anyone was looking for them or if they’d even know where to look. He needed her to do as she was told, if nothing else. 

“So they could bring back a hundred more who might muzzle us entirely? Who might kill you because you were not supposed to be there and they don’t need you? Or maybe they’ll do experiments. I’ve heard—”

Her palm sang against his cheek, hitting him hard enough to fill his mouth with blood. Lucien laughed. What else could he do? That was the biggest show of spirit he’d ever gotten from her. He’d take her anger over that quiet smiling and frightened cringing she was always offering up. 

“Better,” he informed her, wrenching the iron ring from his neck. 

“You were excessive,” she accused him, still trembling. Lucien flexed his neck, looking at the forest surrounding them. He knew just enough to know they needed to be moving north, and quickly. The minute humans realized two fae—one of whom had killed humans—were roaming the lands, they would be out for blood. 

“You passed out before you got to witness their own cruelty,” Lucien snapped, not bothering to mention all the said cruelty he’d seen had been their treatment of her. Forgive and forget, he supposed. She was over being stabbed and stitched back together by their clumsy hands but Lucien wasn’t. They could have waited until she was in bed to attack. 

Why? 

Some of his anger blew out. Jurian and Vassa would have returned at nightfall. Would have aided him. Would either of the humans realize something was amiss? Night Court, surely, would realize Elain was missing. Would they think he kidnapped her, a male gone mad with need? Or were they combing Prythian?

Lucien remembered his six days with Feyre through Prythian. No one had come then and that was the High Lord's mate. He very much doubted they’d put together a massive search party. They’d wait, looking for some hint, without risking their position. Lucien couldn’t begrudge them that.

“We’re on our own,” he told her, running a hand through his half-tangled hair. What did he have on him? In his pocket, enough coins to get them a few nights in an inn and a meal. A knife in his boot, cleverly concealed, was the only weapon they had. Everything else they’d have to steal, barter, or manipulate people out of it. Tricky, given they needed to lay low. Lucien didn’t trust Elain enough to not immediately run her mouth. 

Elain nodded, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. “We need clean clothes, Lucien.”

Of course she thought so. “I’ll take distance over clean—”

“You’re covered in blood,” she interrupted impatiently. “No one will help us if they see you. They’ll know who you are. What you’ve done.”

Fine. 

“We’ll steal some in the morning,” he grumbled, annoyed with her already. “But if we’re caught–”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to make their deaths terrible,” Elain replied, crossing her arms over her chest. Lucien gestured for her to follow him off the path. They’d walk through the night and into the morning for as long as they could. He needed to put miles of distance between them and the cart, to get to Rask before anyone even realized they were missing. He could plead with the monarch once they arrived and sort this whole shit show out there.

Three days tops, he told himself. 

Crouching before a tree, Lucien ran his fingers over the mossy overgrowth.

“This way,” he murmured, beckoning her to follow him.

“How do you know that?” she asked, some of her anger slipping to genuine curiosity. 

“All Autumn males learn,” he dismissed, focusing on his steps through the leafy underbrush. Elain stumbled just behind, hardly precise. Lucien’s temper flared. Couldn’t she manage one thing? Walk in a straight line—how hard was that?”

“Elain?”

“Sorry,” she panted, her hand clutching her side. In his haste and his irritation, Lucien had forgotten Elain had been stabbed, likely for the first time. He halted, still able to see that team of horses in the distance pawing at the ground nervously. For a brief moment, he considered just hauling her up over his shoulders and continuing on. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, well aware he hardly sounded friendly. Lucien couldn’t let her see how panicked he was. How much worse he might get if she collapsed at his feet. 

“I—”

Fuck it. 

Lucien hauled her upwards, draping her over his shoulder as best he could. She shrieked unforgivably loud, hitting his back with her fists. “Put me down, Lucien!”

“We’re faster this way,” he replied, moving quickly through the underbrush. “And you’re hurt.”

“This doesn’t feel any better,” Elain panted. He was sure it didn’t. What were the options? Let her pause to rest every six steps or let him carry her like a baby? 

“If you’re too hard on that wound, it’ll scar. Wreck your pretty—” Her pretty what. Elain went limp, as if it had just occurred to her that she might have a lasting mark. A reminder of his failure. Lucien hoped to never see it. Hoped they’d get their magic back in time to spare her that. 

She’d been through enough.

ELAIN:

Elain woke to warm sunlight practically burning her face. Her body was stiff from sitting against a tree, her neck doubly so. All she wanted was a soft bed and a cold glass of water. Instead, Elain had leaves tangled in her hair and Lucien’s stiff, blood-soaked jacket for a blanket. He was gone, though the string that connected them told her he wasn’t far. She didn’t care if he’d slept at all. Not when he’d spend endless silent hours all but running with her over his shoulder. 

Sidelined, what else was new? Though, Elain could begrudgingly admit that there was some rationale to Lucien doing what he had. They needed to put distance between themselves and their abductors and she had been just barely steady on her feet. 

Still, she would have liked it if he'd at least asked her. 

You would have said no. 

Elain buried that voice, annoyed that her consciousness was siding with Lucien. 

“He should have asked,” she whispered to the hazy morning light. Elain rose to her feet. Brushing dirt and leaves from her backside, Elain took stock of her surroundings. She could hear rushing water somewhere in the distance, mingled with the rustling wind and cheerful birds. It didn’t take Elain long for her mind to slide into survival. Half a lifetime subsisting on almost nothing had taught Elain how to forage for something edible. 

Her side still throbbed, though Elain was determined to ignore it. She refused to be carried by Lucien, couldn’t stand to have the masculine scent of him—wood-burned apples and something distinctly warm, something spicy—burned into her nose again. She might do something stupid like touching him, and who knew what might come of that.

He’d get the wrong idea if nothing else. 

Elain made her way to a goose plum tree, picking the small fruit right from the branches. She wanted to gather as many as she could, but for the moment, eating the tart, sweet fruit was almost healing. Like she could fix all the wrongs committed against her simply by taking a bite.

Using the front of her blood-soaked dress as an apron, Elain picked as many as would fit before awkwardly making her way toward the sound of water. 

She should have known she’d find Lucien there. He’d been up for hours if the pile of clothing and other items gathered along the rocky riverbank were any indication. Elain hoped he hadn’t killed anyone else to get them, though didn’t think she was brave enough to ask if he had. Watching him rip out that man's throat had been…it had been confusing. It had terrified her, certainly, but it had also settled something in her chest. Had soothed her enough to go to him so he could unbind her. Elain didn’t dare unpack that thought and instead dumped her plums atop one of the clothing items Lucien had gathered. 

He was in utterly clear, waist-deep water, back facing her. Elain opened her mouth to announce her presence when he scooped up his long, auburn hair so he could use a cake of soap to wash his back.

She clapped her hand over her mouth at the sight. Was any part of him unblemished? Criss-crossed lashings];. marred his lovely golden brown skin, permanently etched in white. He spun when he heard her gasp, his face twisted with irritation.

“If you wanted to see me naked, you only have to ask.”

Elain turned away, crossing her arms over her chest. “I didn’t mean…” she mumbled, embarrassed to have been caught looking at him at all. It hadn’t occurred to her to examine him beneath his chest. How often did she see a shirtless man—male—besides? That was scandalous enough. She’d never seen a chest like his, with all that solid, defined, rippling muscle. 

“Some of the things there are for you. I found a village not too far and took what I could. We’ll want to avoid it.”

“Are they still alive?” she asked, her voice trembling.

Lucien snorted. “Yes, Elain. Still alive. I thought you and I would try to pass as humans.”

It was her turn to snort. As if anyone would ever believe someone like him was anything but fae. Lucien just was fae. His mannerisms, the way he was built, how he spoke…no human in their right mind would ever believe someone with a face like his, even with the scars, had come from a mortal mother.

Elain heard the sloshing of the water and then his feet padding on the rocks. Water dripped over her shoulder as Lucien shoved the soap into her hands. “Humans have scars too, Elain.”

Startled, Elain looked over her shoulder, snapping her eyes shut when she remembered he was still naked. She didn’t see anything. Lucien was bent, reaching for a brown pair of well-made trousers.

“I didn’t mean–”

“I know what you meant,” he snapped. Clearly he didn’t. “Go bathe. I want to see your wound when you’re finished.”

And that was that. He gathered the rest of his things, dressed from the waist down, and stalked off with soaking red hair. Elain almost called after him but chose not to. What was the point? He was so determined to see the worst in her, to assume that she thought no one would ever believe him anything but a monster because of his face. That was his problem, not hers. 

Elain stripped off that ruined dress, mourning the loss for only a moment. She had so few lovely, pastel gowns. The lavender one bunched on the riverbed had been one of her favorites, if not her absolute favorite. It was a shame to see it go. 

The water was freezing. Elain had no idea how Lucien had tolerated it. She worked quickly with that scentless bar of yellow soap, scrubbing her skin until nothing but the bruises remained. Elain rinsed her hair, scrubbing out the dirt like she had once done in the cottage her family occupied as a human. Back then the water had been far dirtier though just as cold, and Elain had always been in a rush to clean herself as quickly as possible.

In some ways, her life back then seemed as if it had been preparing her for this moment. Elain all but ran from the water, trying to warm herself in the shady forest air and failing miserably. Lucien had left the things he’d gathered for her beside all her plums, which only hurt her feelings a little. She pulled on her underthings and considered that her wound looked good enough. Someone had done a clumsy job stitching it, the gaps too large, too rushed. She’d be lucky if there wasn’t a scar left behind, though she found the thought didn’t bother her as much as she’d originally thought. 

Before Elain made her way back, Elain gathered willoweed–a pink flower that, when chewed, sped up healing. She could use some and had the feeling they might both before they were fully powered again. It didn’t hurt to be prepared, at any rate. 

Elain did as Lucien asked, if only to avoid another fight, and returned in only her under things.  Lucien was back where they’d originally started. He’d built a fire to cook fish and if she’d guessed right, boil water. Beside him, he’d laid out everything he’d managed to nab from the humans. He’d tied his hair off his face, foregoing the braids he’d carefully woven in before. He didn’t look ordinary, though his ears were hidden from view and the long tail had been tucked under the leather strap, making his hair seem shorter. She supposed he was trying to hide centuries of growth—she might have offered to cut it for him had it not seemed like such a terrible prospect. 

Lucien glanced up when he saw her arrive in the thin linen shorts she’d once worn every day as a human, along with the white shift that fell to her ankles. Lucien gestured for her to lift, his metal eye narrowing as Elain did just as he asked. She felt strangely embarrassed pulling that inch of her shorts down, barring a slice of skin to him.

He sucked a breath through his teeth. “Why bother at all?” he murmured, anger flashing over his features. His fingers twitched in his lap, as if he wanted to touch and had to restrain himself.

Elain appreciated that. She dropped the shift, drinking in the white shirt he wore, half laced over his chest to expose the curve of his collarbone and the muscular length of his neck. Faint red stubble graced the cut of his jaw, making him seem rougher than Elain had ever seen him. The veneer of his nobility was slowly stripping away until whoever lurked beneath was exposed.

“What is this?” Lucien asked when Elain carefully dropped her plums on his leather satchel. 

“Goose plums. And willoweed. One is for eating, the other is medicine.”

“Did you take any?” he questioned, not watching as she shimmied into the green and white dress he’d gotten for her. She’d forgotten how humans dressed—so restrictive if the laced-up corset around her middle was any indication. This, at least, tied in the front, though it was still tighter than she preferred.

She supposed she ought to be grateful there were no petticoats. That was for ladies, and Elain, at least in that moment, was not a lady. Certainly with her breasts pushed up towards the white neckline, creating more volume than she’d ever had in her life. Lucien didn’t pay her any attention when she sat on the overturned log beside him, pulling stockings up to her knees. 

“I’ll take some after I eat,” she murmured, not wanting to vomit in his lap. She laced up her boots while Lucien finished cooking his fish. She wondered how he’d managed to catch them–she hadn’t seen any fishing equipment. Had he stolen them…or had he used his hands? 

Elain took what Lucien offered, privately delighted when he took one of her plums and at that, too. She wanted to scream at him.

See! I’m not useless like everyone thinks! 

She didn’t. She merely ate, well aware it would likely be nightfall before they ate again. It brought up a few questions for her.

“Why did those people want you dead?” 

Lucien sighed, rubbing his hands on his knees. “I don’t know. Charitably, perhaps they were concerned about fae influence over their Queen.”

“And uncharitably?”

“Someone really hates me.”

Elain wanted to ask him who, and had the sense even if Lucien knew, he wouldn’t tell her. That was fine. Elain could figure it out as they traveled.

Which brought her to her next question.

“How long until the faebane wears off?”

Lucien ran a hand over his jaw. “I have no idea.”

Elain squashed her rising panic. “How far are we from a fae territory?”

Lucien only shrugged his shoulders, his own concern plain. “I’m not sure. I…I don’t have answers for this.”

“Are we going to die?”

His concern gave way to frustration. “No.”

And that was that. Lucien handed Elain the stem of the willoweed for her to chew while he packed up their bag. He’d nabbed some supplies—some bread, some jerky, some nuts. Things that would keep relatively well over the next day or so. He slung it over his broad chest and stood over a solid six feet tall. What human was ever going to believe Lucien was one of them? Elain was more inclined to believe he was some long-forgotten god of the wilderness before she believed he was a simple peasant farmer. 

Lucien fished through his pocket and, with a wry smile, snapped a black eyepatch over that metal eye.

She burst out laughing. “Stop it,” she gasped as Lucien scowled down at her.

“My eye is obviously magical.”

“You look like a pirate,” Elain managed, doubled over with shaking laughter. “Just accept no human in their right mind would ever accept you as human.”

He ripped off that eye patch, a mixture of hurt and anger glowing beneath his skin. “Because I am so terribly ugly? So scarred, so—”

“The opposite, Lucien,” she interrupted, guilt spearing through her. His surprise was evident and Elain regretted she’d made him feel bad about himself.  “There is no mistaking what you are.”

And then, just for good measure, Elain added, “I don’t think you’re ugly, Lucien.”

There. She’d said it. The scars on his face couldn’t diminish his beauty, and perhaps they were proof he’d survived something. His were merely an outward expression of his trauma, a warning to tread carefully. Hers were all internal, invisible to everyone who looked which made them think she was nothing but fine. She wasn’t sure if she found him handsome, but she supposed objectively, she could understand why everyone else did.

Could see some path in which she might, too. 

Color warmed his cheeks. She’d embarrassed him. Lucien nodded his head jerkily. “We should get moving.”

And that was that. 

LUCIEN:

I don’t think you’re ugly, Lucien. 

He didn’t know what to make of her words. Didn’t know what to make of her, if he was being honest. She walked beside him, doing a decent job keeping pace. Elain could identify everything around them, and his satchel was proof of it. Goose plums and wild carrots, pawpaws, and elderberries all weighed down his sack. Each new thing she found elicited a gasp of delight from her lips. She’d give him a small lesson on what she had and Lucien would open the bag for her to dump them right in.

Where had she been when he’d been trekking Prythian with Feyre? He and Elain wouldn’t starve, which was a relief. Lucien had been worried about what he’d do if he couldn’t find humans to steal from or if they had to veer from the river. 

And Elain wasn’t the worst company. Freed of whatever bothered her about him, at least in the short term, she offered polite conversation when the silence between them became too oppressive. She was making all the first moves. Lucien, who had long given up having a future with her, was suddenly forced to reevaluate. They were together. She was talking to him, her fear merely a whispered shadow in her eyes. Elain still kept a very polite distance between them, and she hadn’t asked him anything that might make him think she’d want to see him again.

And if he was honest, Lucien didn’t know if he wanted to see her. It was a chance to find out. He waited when Elain dug up red baneberry, another medicinal plant. She was muted, just as he was, and yet some part of him was uneasy. What were her senses telling her? Lucien merely held open the bag, rather taken with her easy smile.

She really was beautiful. That had never been in question. 

“Is this how you spend your time?” he asked her, more curious than anything. Those warm brown eyes slid to his face, wide with some emotion he didn’t recognize. 

“Mostly.”

“And…” fuck, he didn’t want to offend her. “You like it?”

Her sunny smile slipped into a frown. “Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?”

Pretty little liar. 

He shrugged. “What did you do when you were human?”

Elain’s head snapped towards him. “No one has ever asked me that before.”

Lucien waited patiently for her to answer. Surely she had dreams outside of planting? Even if her dreams had been mundane and small, they were still something. Better than tending Feyre’s garden for the rest of her life. Did Feyre even notice? Even care? She’d never noticed the garden in Spring, which made Lucien think the only reason Feyre had one in Night was because Elain willed it. 

Elain took a careful step over a log. “I wanted to come to the continent,” she finally told him with a small laugh. “I wanted to travel.”

“Not like this, I assume?” Lucien tried to joke. He was too raw and it was coming through. She glanced up.

“Not exactly.” “Why don’t you?” That seemed safe enough.

Clearly not. Elain’s laugh turned bitter. “I can’t even use my magic without asking permission.”

“And yet, you were allowed to bring Vassa a message?” Lucien questioned. 

“Nesta and Azriel were away, so when I volunteered…who was going to tell me no.”

Lucien’s hackles raised, his jealousy burning bright and hot.  “Why does Azriel get a say?”

Elain looked at him helplessly. “I don’t know,” she admitted. He believed her, though Lucien could guess why Azriel might want to sideline Elain. “I don’t know if it's even him doing it. Maybe it’s Nesta. It’s one of them, though.”

Lucien frowned. “Cassian trained Nesta. She does things, she–”

“I know.”

He felt bad for her. Day one of walking, and Lucien already felt sympathy for the female who had been torturing him since that bond snapped between them. 

“Well, when we return you can tell them how instrumental you were in keeping us both alive.”

That made her brighten. “I can!”

“Silver linings,” he agreed. Elain hummed her ascent, slipping back into a silence that wasn’t as terrible as before. It was almost agreeable. She didn’t laugh when he put the eye patch back on during a walking lunch, and Lucien tried to bury the resentment he felt towards her. She was trying, at least. Keeping pace, picking fruit and nuts where she found it while occasionally stripping bark to show him the sap beneath. 

And fuck if Elain didn’t know every goddamn bug smacking him in the face. If anyone had been born to be a woodland princess, it was her. He hated knowing that she would have thrived in Autumn were it not for the cruelty of the High Lord. Lucien could imagine her in the woods, burnished leaves woven through her golden brown hair. Showing him every edible mushroom, her feet bare—

Jesminda’s laugh slipped through his memory, filling Lucien with guilt. That was what she’d been like. All but dancing as she showed him some flower or other. He’d been too young, too stupid to appreciate her efforts back then. All Lucien had ever thought about was bedding her against the forest floor. He’d never once taken her to actual bed. He’d meant to. Had planned to.

But never had actually done so. 

The likelihood of proper, prim Elain ever letting his cock within an inch of her face was practically zero. What did it hurt to pay attention? 

“I know these,” Lucien told her, watching Elain crouch at the base of a particularly gnarled tree. “Morel, yes?”

Elain clapped her hands with delight. “Yes, that’s right! They’ll be nice, especially if we run out of fish.”

Lucien had been loosely following the river all day. He knew from the multitude of maps he’d seen that they’d eventually hit a human city before they reached the mountains. It would be an easier climb than when he’d escaped into Winter with Feyre, given both the climate and elevation. He could track down capes and other things before then, too. 

After that, the two would be in Rask and Lucien could beg for help from the fae. Get a message to someone–Rhysand, perhaps, who would come for Elain, if nothing else. Lucien wished he knew how close they were to that city. Already, his legs ached and he was very much looking forward to building a small fire in the middle of that endless forest, eating something, and passing out amid the rocks and sticks. 

“You know,” he began, maneuvering his way closer to the riverbank. It was too much to hope for a cave, given the landscape, and still Lucien marched up a steep hillside just in case. “This is the nicest you’ve ever been to me.”

Elain’s mouth fell open. He still remembered her palm stinging across his cheek. Her anger. Lucien suspected Elain was merely making the best of her circumstances, but if he was going to try, he wanted her to, too. 

And that meant Elain had to be a little angry. He knew she was. He felt it pulsating down their shared bond more than he felt anything else. She would be utterly blank for days—weeks, even—and then he’d feel an explosion of anger. It was as if she’d found a way to swallow it all, storing it in a little jar until the lid no longer fit. It came pouring out and what she did with it, Lucien didn’t know. Did she vent it on the people around her? Or did she merely give it all to him, knowing he understood that kind of rage? 

“I’m always nice,” Elain replied, gritting her teeth to force a smile. Lucien recognized that expression, though Elain wore so much nicer than Eris ever had. He could needle her, just as he’d done his eldest brother back when he’d been young. Push her buttons, lodge himself under her skin. Provoke a reaction to get some honesty out of her. 

“Oh? I don’t think you’ve ever once told me thank you for the Solstice gifts I’ve brought you.”

Elain’s face paled. Lucien had always been curious about those gifts. He’d never seen her wear them and she’d never said thank you, either in person or afterward in a card. The first year could have been an oversight.

Afterward, Lucien knew it was intentional. It didn’t stop him—not sending a gift was too rude to contemplate, though she’d never once returned the favor. His mother had taught him better, and Lucien understood, having met her father and knowing Feyre as intimately as he did, that their parents lacked half the manners, grace, and culture of his own family. Did she know she was supposed to? That it was rude? Lucien had never known, though some part of him suspected she did, and she was making a very pointed statement.

Say it out loud. 

“Thank you,” Elain said primly, her face coated in a sheen of sweat. 

“Did you throw them away?” he asked. 

“Why do you care what I did with them?” Elain asked him, a tinge of irritation cutting through her voice.

Yes. It disappointed him. Even after all those years, and his promise that he didn’t care about her any more than she cared about him, it disappointed him to learn he’d spent all that time trying to find her a nice gift and she’d immediately put them in the trash. 

“You could have regifted them, you know. The pearls would have looked nice in Feyre’s ears.” 

Feyre, at least, sent a thank you card. Feyre, though she often forgot the day of, would send over a lovely gift to accompany her apology. Lucien didn’t hold it against her. He knew his presence in her court was the result of her goodwill and her goodwill alone. 

Elain said nothing, eyes on the grassy ground beneath them. 

“You could just—”

“That’s enough, Lucien,” Elain snapped, not looking up at him. “You’re going to say something you regret.”

“What would you know about my regrets?” he sneered, reaching the top of the hill. No caves the whole way up, only mud and years of fallen branches and leaves. A sea of tree trunks stretched in every direction, filling him with a sense of hopelessness he hadn’t felt in a while. Lucien could hear the rushing sound of water falling over a ledge. There might still be a cave, somewhere to hide from lurking predators as the sun set.

“I see your dreams,” Elain informed him. Cold washed over him. “Your nightmares. Her. Jesm–”

“Don’t you dare say her name,” he ordered, rounding on her so quickly Elain fell to the ground. “Ever.”

“Then keep your own mouth shut about how I should approach a bond that even you don’t want. I’ll do whatever I want with your gifts and in exchange, I won’t bring up that you wish I was someone else.”

Guilt speared Lucien’s chest. He wasn’t brave enough to have this conversation with her, to add any nuance to the topic of Jesminda. Was Elain wrong? Staring her down as she rose back to her feet, Lucien couldn’t entirely say that she was. Every time he thought of meek Elain, he drew a comparison to wild, bubbly Jesminda. She’d been right for him. A true match. Everything.

It was a cruel, cosmic joke that somehow his entire life had been leading him to Elain Archeron. The happiest he’d ever seen her was gathering mushrooms at the base of a tree. When Feyre gave him updates, Elain’s always centered on her work in the kitchen, or the garden. Domestic work like she was some kind of household servant. Lucien had tried to imagine life with Elain and he couldn’t. He supposed she’d take joy in raising children and managing a household, but she had an immortal life. Children weren’t forever. Even his mother had friends and hobbies and dreams.

Lucien turned. Human Elain had wanted to see the continent. To travel. Did fae Elain want that, too? 

Lucien didn’t ask. He merely marched them towards another jagged hillside, creeping closer and closer to the water until he found what he was looking for. It wasn’t much, but it was three dark, cool walls. Lucien gestured for Elain to go inside, the resentment between them nearly unbearable. Elain looked miserable, and Lucien knew that was his doing. 

With a heavy sigh, he sat on the hard ground, a rather hard stone lodged right against the base of his spine. He deserved that.

With one knee against his chest, his other leg stretched before him, Lucien began unpacking his satchel of things. As he pulled out a neatly rolled blanket and offered it to her, Lucien asked,

“What did you want to see on the continent?”

Elain cleared her throat and with some horror, Lucien realized she’d been silently crying. “I uh,” she began, very quickly wiping at her eyes as if she merely had something in them. 

Bastard. 

“I wanted to see the tulip fields.”

A human thing. Lucien knew where they were, though. In the valley between the human city and the mountains lay thousands of them, stretched over miles. He’d have to go a little further into the interior than he might have liked, but it seemed a small thing. A secret, he decided. Even if the faebane wore off by then, he’d still take her.

“Ah.”

There was another beat of silence. Lucien stood, intending to fish when Elain’s voice whispered through the dark. “I didn’t throw your gifts away. I still have them.”

Bastard.

There was nothing Lucien was willing to say to that. A better male would have apologized. Would have explained Jesminda to, at least, demythologize her. To create some kind of understanding between them. He’d met Graysen, though he didn’t think she knew. Surely Elain understood what it was like to miss someone you could never have. 

Lucien only nodded his head, turning for the entrance of the cave.

He said nothing at all.

Bastard.

[ehlihr]

brotherhood; victor & cassian