#elucien own black and gold

[dimalry]

Ahem... Another one?

[eudaimonia83]

Chapter 6 is posted! For anyone who felt adrift last week bc of the new character, the Elucien goodness will hopefully make up for it this week. 🥰

Content warning: Solstice, but make it just a bit sinister. Muhahaha. No triggers that I can think of in this chapter.

Trivia moment: this chapter was the original basis for the entire fic. (It has obviously spiraled significantly into larger themes since then, lol.) I’ve long been annoyed that Lucien keeps being forced to hang out w the IC and then they act like he isn’t there, or treat him like he’s an enemy. *cough az and cass cough* So i wanted Elain to make him feel included…and to finally give him a thoughtful present. I also wanted Elain to be a bit more in her element, at a party.

There will probably be a couple weeks before this is updated again bc I will be working on a different piece for a bit, but there’s more coming!

Chapter 6: ELAIN

SOLSTICE NIGHT

The party was a bright affair, lamps all ablaze, faelights swirling like tiny acrobats in the rafters, and fires crackling merrily. Elain wore her lavender silk dress, against the advice of Nuala, who had suggested a darker color to match the rest of the guests. And it was true; Mor was resplendent in red and gold, Nesta icy in silver edged with white and jewelry of sparkling black, Feyre in deep royal blue. The three Illyrian brothers were in their customary matching black, though Azriel’s leathers somehow seemed the most formal attire of the lot. Rhysand had indulged in a violet-trimmed waistcoat and Cassian’s crimson siphons seemed to set everything he touched ablaze.

But after Elain had spent two hours trying to decide between a dark blue high-necked velvet gown and a long black dress festooned with big pink roses — hating how pale she looked, how thin and wan — she had finally thrown open her wardrobe doors and pulled out the soft, swishing dress with its fluttering skirt. It was not truly fancy enough for the occasion, she knew. It was a dress for a day in the gardens in the height of summer, for running in and out of the shade of her tall hedges, for trailing her hand in the fountain and dabbing the cool water on her neck to soften the heat of the sun’s kiss, for spending hours lying in the grass trying to identify the scent of each particular flower. But her heart had eased the moment she’d held it up and looked at herself in the mirror. It felt right. And in it, she felt beautiful. She knew people called her the pretty sister. She had used that as currency herself, drawing the attention of men and boys alike. But standing next to Nesta, regal and austere; or Feyre, slender and magnetic and alluring; or Morrigan, glowing and brash and curvaceous…she just felt ordinary. In this dress she could at least compare. To keep warm, she picked out a plum-colored velvet high-cut jacket edged in brown fur. The gentle color of it warmed against the bronze of her curls, which she left down; and her cheeks, still hollow from the weight she’d lost as a new Fae, looked like they picked up some color. She stared at her reflection for a while, feeling as though it all looked unfinished, when the bell tinkled merrily to announce that dinner was ready. On her way down the stairs, she passed a dripping bouquet of winter roses and pine garlands; one of the arrangements the decorators had brought earlier. The roses were cream-white with a pink edge to their petals. In sudden inspiration, Elain twisted two buds from the bouquet and prepared to tuck one into her hair, before thinking, be daring. Be brave. With the slightest of tremors, she instead tucked both of the flowers into the sweetheart collar of the dress, right above her décolletage. They warmed against her skin. Somehow, she didn’t need a mirror to know she had chosen well; she lifted her chin and walked down the steps. She passed a massive gilt-edged mirror as she went down the hallway to the dining room, and noticed that the buds had opened slightly against her skin, blushing and pale in equal measure. She stopped to straighten them only to find their stems firmly tangled in the fabric of the lining of her dress, so they pressed lightly against her breasts. Like they were hugging her. And when she’d entered the dining room, ever so slightly late — she remembered one of her human friends insisting they be late to a party, saying “no, Lainey, you must make an entrance” — she’d been pleased to find all eyes drawn to her. Even Amren’s steely gaze had narrowed.

Dinner had been loud, especially when Nyx had made an appearance after his nap. His eyes were ringed with tiredness, but lit up merrily when he saw Cassian, the undisputed favorite, who immediately waved at him and stuck his tongue out. Feyre now relinquished her son to his uncle and sat back on the lounge chair, tucking her feet up under the blue silk of her gown. Elain hadn’t spoken to her all day; when they’d arrived back from the Hewn City, later than people had expected, she had looked unsettled, and shuttered herself in with Rhysand for a good hour, the shields around the room thick and humming. She looked happier now, her pale blue eyes alight as she watched her family.

Elain couldn’t think of how to begin the conversation, but felt obliged to ask, “Are you enjoying your birthday?”

Feyre glanced at her briefly before directing her eyes back to her son. Rhysand had pulled him up from Cassian’s shoulders and his little wings beat frantically, though they weren’t yet strong enough to bear his weight. Feyre smiled, lines fanning out from her tired eyes. “I am now,” she said. “It wasn’t an auspicious start to the day, though.”

“What happened?” Elain wondered if she just meant being at the Hewn City or if something worse had happened.

But Feyre shook her head and said, “Oh, it was a tense day at the tithe. The Lesser Fae have had a bad harvest this year so the totals were unimpressive. And they want more than ever from Rhys,” her eyes darkened, brows creasing, “as though he doesn’t protect them enough. As his mate it’s hard to sit by and hear them blame him, like he can control the weather or eliminate bandits.”

She shifted in her seat to keep Rhys and Nyx in her view, and Elain caught a glimpse of a bright gold medallion around her neck, hung on a knobbly homespun cord. The gold was yellow and white hammered together, in painstaking handmade relief, to make a shimmering, undulating surface; Elain saw as the light played on its surface that it was worked into an image. An image of a toothy maw spread wide…claws on disturbingly human hands extended…

Feyre smiled brightly at her sister, noting the direction of her gaze, and picked up the medallion to show her. “Isn’t it lovely? I know the image is grotesque, but the workmanship is stunning, especially to be handmade.” She tilted it so Elain could see better. “One of the tithe attendees gave it to me as a gift. For my birthday.”

Elain leaned forward in appreciation. “What is it?” she asked. She’d never seen such a creature before, even with all the horrors of the past two years.

“I don’t know,” Feyre said, shrugging. “A creature holy to that specific tribe, I shouldn’t wonder.” She lowered her voice as if about to divulge a secret. “I think he thought appealing to me would make Rhys grant his request, but it was all the way in the south, and we haven’t any time to go so far. And it’d be close to impossible to travel there with Nyx so young too.” She admired the gleaming surface. “It is lovely though. One of the prettiest things I’ve ever seen at the tithe. Usually their work is so simple compared to the jewels of Velaris.”

Elain leaned forward and touched the medallion with her fingertip, and as she did, she heard a low roaring in her ears that swelled to obliterate the laughs of the party: a humming growl, low and undulating. The light of the party faded, until it was nothing more than the sparkle of a candle…and before her, a darkness, near total, but for the occasional glimmer. The light wavered oddly, like the cast from a flame — a larger flame, the writhing of its light against the shadows nearly twice Elain’s height, bent violently by gusts of wind. It reached no more than a few inches beyond where Elain stood, then slipped back into blackness. But there was movement there; movement that materialized into fur, mangy and stinking, and teeth, dripping with saliva, light glinting on the points of fangs as long as her fingers, vicious, hungry for blood. And then a rushing voice, filling her ears with a thousand whispers. A pact. An agreement. An old magic, invoked by charm and wrought by hand. It must be honored.

A vision. She knew it even as it spiraled into darkness, the whispers coiling into chaos and then clarifying into something more familiar. Into words. BACK. HOWEVER YOU FIGHT, IT WILL BE OF NO USE. WE WILL HAVE IT ALL BACK. It melted into a hoarse scream, a cry of attack…

But then she was sucked backwards into light, so bright that her eyes watered a bit in protest, trails of blackness still lingering across her vision; and she was at the party, thrown into its chatter and charm, and Feyre was laughing, throwing her head back, exclaiming, “Lucien! As I live and breathe! Rhys told me you were back, and I would’ve been so upset if you hadn’t come to see me.”

Elain blinked, and the last of the darkness slid away. Before her was the erstwhile prince of Autumn, his hair braided and smoothly caught back at the nape of his neck, a bright blue coat with subtle gold threading outlining his broad shoulders. Even dressed relatively modestly, he gleamed, all color and light, all mischief and elegant trickery. So Fae. Even now it sent ripples up her spine, sliding along the knife edge between fear of him and trust in him. His golden eye glinted as he returned Feyre’s smile. “I wouldn’t miss your birthday for all the stars in Velaris,” he said, his voice light and teasing. “Not that even you could give those away.”

“Don’t put it past me,” Feyre winked at him.

Lucien turned to Elain, whose voice was as firmly caught in her throat as a burr stuck in a glove. “Good evening, Lady,” he said, with a slight bow. She swallowed, and nodded.

His good eye narrowed, ever so slightly, taking her in at a quick glance. “Can I get you a drink?” he asked, swinging his eyes back to Feyre, and smiling disarmingly. “The pair of you aren’t doing the party any favors sitting here without partaking.”

Feyre protested, laughing, but Lucien cocked his head and stared at her in mock accusation until she relented with a roll of her eyes. “Very well then. A half glass of the gold wine.”

He moved off toward the bar cart with a smooth stride. Feyre’s gaze shifted to Elain, whose hands were clenched tightly in her lap. What had he noticed?

Feyre leaned in and said, her eyes dancing, “That’s a magnificent color on him, don’t you agree?”

Elain blushed from her ears to her chest, hating her sister for being so open, so obvious, so damn gleeful. It was confusing enough to be around him without everyone watching and whispering. She was trying to figure out what to say when he returned, a glass in each hand. He handed the wine cup to Feyre, who thanked him and then slyly slid away; he pushed a highball glass into her hand as they found themselves alone.

“Drink it,” he murmured, almost inaudible over the chatter of the party. “You look like you’re about to faint.”

She clutched the glass hard and stared at him.

“It’s only water,” he said, a trifle defensive. “You should drink it. It’s too warm in here and you’re flushed.” He leaned forward against the chaise, body language utterly relaxed — no one watching from a distance would think he was talking about anything but pleasantries — but a strain in his voice belied all that as he asked, “Did you just have…a vision?”

She put the glass to her lips and drank, the cold of the water a welcome rush on her tongue. The shock of it loosened her voice. She tried to stay as calm as possible, to imitate his nonchalance. “How did you know?”

His smile was tight. Pained. “Even if I hadn’t felt it here…” he touched his chest lightly, over his heart — “your face would’ve given it away.”

“How?”

“You…” He flexed his fingers as if they hurt. “You looked the same as…as back then. When you were first Fae.” He threw a glance at the fireplace with its evergreen bower and gestured at it, maintaining the small talk facade with ease. “Are you well?”

Surprised, she couldn’t help but turn and look him full in the face. “I’m…”

He turned his head, quizzical, as she trailed off. “You’re…not well?”

“No, I’m all right,” she said, hurriedly. “But — you don’t want to know what I saw?”

Everyone always pounced when they heard she’d had a vision, starving for details, most of which she could never recall. But his eyebrows twitched together and back apart as he wiped the concern from his face, turning it bland and calm. “Not if you don’t want to tell me.”

Elain drew in a deep breath and let it out in a trembling sigh that turned into a laugh, tremulous and true and even a little sad, if she was honest. He cast his eyes down and smiled at his hands, folded on the back of the couch. “Don’t laugh at me, Lady.”

“But you’re ridiculous, my lord,” she said, her humor finally cresting over the prickle behind her eyes.

“Eternally,” he agreed.

She was about to give him a pert answer when she noticed Feyre, standing on the other side of the parlor and grinning like the Mad Cat in their childhood storybook. As their eyes locked, Feyre seized Mor’s arm, and the two of them turned away at the same moment, leaning their heads together. Elain fought against a stab of annoyance at their interference and slid her gaze across the room, only to briefly lock with Amren, who returned it with narrow, flinty eyes that were somehow both flat and depthless. Elain felt her hackles rise like she was staring down a predator…like the gaping hungry mouth in her vision. But she forced a smile, and raised her glass slightly. Amren inclined her head in the barest of nods and raised her own goblet, and the corners of her mouth twitched upward in a knowing, feral smirk.

Lucien followed her gaze and then looked immediately away, back down at his hands, shifting as though he too had caught the expression on Amren’s icy features. “Being watched all the time must get tedious,” he said. “No wonder you guard your secrets.”

“I have none of consequence,” she murmured.

“And now you’re even bringing in lies. How enchanting.” His foxlike grin split his face. She couldn’t control the lurch in her chest. “I like you deceitful, Blossom. It’s intriguing.”

“Well, everyone else has their secrets,” she fired at him. “Can’t I have any of my own?”

“Certainly,” he said. He seemed utterly earnest. “I only ask that you promise to share with me the ones you ask me to keep.”

She paled. Was he going to give her away? An outright lie to Cassian and Nesta, a lie of omission to Rhysand and Feyre…they’d have her under the daemati claws in no time…there would be no secrets then, no mind left, they’d have it all and she’d be a shell of herself…

He extended his hand in a calming motion, seeming to sense her unease. “Not just yet,” he murmured. “When you’re ready. Til you instruct it, I’ll keep my silence.”

She couldn’t think of what to say, but he straightened up and nodded as Rhysand approached. She froze, feeling the sly rake of her brother-in-law’s claws across her thoughts, and focused hard on the half-full drink in her hand.

“Lucien,” Rhys greeted him, smooth and effortless as always. “Thank you for coming.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Lucien replied, and Elain was strongly reminded of the dukes and earls at the dances back in the human lands; that charm, the utter facility of sliding from one interaction to another. “Happiest of birthdays to the High Lady.”

Rhys nodded, immense satisfaction on his face as his violet eyes scanned the merry gathering. Cassian had Nyx on his shoulders; Nesta’s hand rested protectively on Nyx’s leg to keep him from falling backwards. Azriel sat by the window, shadows romping with the fluttering faelights, while Mor and Feyre argued playfully over a chessboard. And Amren stood slightly apart from the rest, her pale eyes surveying keenly. Rhys asked, a trifle absently, “How do the human lands fare?”

Lucien sighed. “The lands are buried under snow, as the seasons dictate. The humans themselves are…suffering.”

Rhys raised his eyebrows. “The fall harvest was sufficient. Once the crops come in in spring…”

“…they will still be suffering,” Lucien interrupted. “They cannot eat their seed crops if they hope to lay in the fields for next season. And yet they cannot starve. Everything there is restless. People who are hungry and sick and neglected will not tolerate it for long.”

Elain felt her insides squeeze in shock. No one interrupted the High Lord. Not even Feyre, who always gazed at him with pride. But even more critically, his words burrowed through her surprise: the humans were hungry and sick. That was her village. Her friends. Mayfer, the bustling harbor city where she’d visited to wait for her father’s ships. Her former home.

Lucien continued, “Jurian has purchased extra grain stores from the continent. And Vassa took in several hundred of the country folk who would have starved otherwise, onto Lord Nolan’s estate.”

“Generous of her,” Rhys remarked. He sounded ever so slightly bored, as his eyes followed Feyre’s every move.

“Just keeping body and soul together,” Lucien replied, and his tone dropped. His expression remained mild as Elain glanced between the two males. But without even knowing how she knew it, she thought he is angry, before remembering to keep her thoughts focused on her glass of water. Angry at Rhysand. For what?

It could be any number of things, a small voice inside her head hissed, and she felt a tiny stab of shame, then covered it with thinking of how cold the glass was in her hand, beading with condensation.

“Clearly. Come see me in the morning and give a full report,” Rhys said, calm and unconcerned. But his eyes flashed as they settled briefly upon Elain. “And get Elain another glass of water. She’s parched, aren’t you, little sister?” His smile was thin and cold, and he moved away, sleek as a shadow, to stand behind Feyre, one arm draped lazily over her shoulder, fiddling idly with the knobbly handwoven string that supported the gold medallion around her neck. She reached up to stroke his wrist; the very picture of domesticity. Elain was pleased to discover that she could in fact distract him with obvious surface thoughts, to misdirect from her deeper misgivings — since she had no expertise in mental shields, that could be a useful tactic, even if it was flimsy. But warring with her satisfaction came a deep unease. A pact. An agreement. An old magic…

“Presents!” Mor called out from close to the fireplace, dragging a sack of brightly wrapped gifts out of a pocket realm, and everyone clustered around the couch for the exchange. Elain knew this would dissolve into spoiling the baby, and she was right; everyone competed for the best present for Nyx, who was getting a bit tired and cranky, and wanted only to play with the bright ribbons on the packages. Everyone had gotten one another gifts, and everyone exclaimed over the silk scarves, the sharp knives, the antique astrolabe that Feyre had sourced from the Day Court for Rhys…but, Elain noticed again and again, no one had gotten any gifts for Lucien.

She stole another glance at him. He seemed unperturbed, smiling at the chaos of wrapping paper and mirth as Cassian opened a leather satchel from Mor with a suggestive shape. He howled with laughter as she winked and told him with supreme innocence that it was for use in the annual snowball fight. Nesta rolled her eyes, and Cassian stuffed the satchel into her hands with a hooded glance. Elain felt curiously voyeuristic, as though she’d witnessed something she wasn’t supposed to see; a tiny window into a private moment between her sister and the powerful male she was mated to. She thought of the little blue box, sitting on the table in the next room, and longed for the right moment to give it to Lucien. But it didn’t seem appropriate, not here; not with everyone watching. She didn’t dare to give everyone else a tiny window into what was — or perhaps wasn’t — between her and Lucien. Not when it would be giggled over and teased and demeaned.

She broke away a few minutes later to gather all her presents together — jasmine soap from Nesta, tulip bulbs from Feyre, a box of expensive spices from Rhys — and found him in the hallway pulling his cloak off the hook.

“You’re leaving?” she blurted out, before she could think of anything better to say.

He turned, masking his surprise with a wry grin. “Overstaying a welcome is poor etiquette, I’ve found.”

“You’re welcome here,” she insisted. Was it her imagination that his eyebrows twitched in denial?

“Thank you,” he said, “but I think this party is for family now. And I’m not that. Whatever else I may be.”

“But…” — was she really going to say it? Her stomach clenched. Brave. Be brave. “But…I haven’t given you your present yet.”

He froze, comically halfway through securing the cloak buttons. “My what?”

“Your — your present,” she stammered. Gods above, untie her tongue from these hopeless knots. “I’m sorry no one else got you anything. But I did.”

As soon as she said it, it sounded false. Petulant. Like she was seeking a compliment.

“What for?” he asked, and he sounded bemused enough that she laughed, short and quiet.

“For Solstice, silly,” she said. She beckoned him into the darkened sitting area, turning on the lamp as she did. He followed, wary, keeping his distance.

She pushed the box at him, unsure of how to proceed, but now committed to seeing it through. He stared at it as though it was a trick, or a bomb that would explode in his face if he touched it.

“But you didn’t need to get me anything,” he said.

“I — I know,” she said, and her courage flagged. The box sank an inch or two from where she’d held it out to him. “But I wanted to. You did save my life, remember, so it’s only fair that I thank you properly.” She squared her shoulders, and in an attempt at being merry, said with a faint smile, “And I have a few Solstices to catch up on with you.”

He still didn’t move.

“Take it.” She moved two steps closer, til the box was within reach of his hand.

And with a brief hesitation, he reached up and took the box from her, pulled the ribbon off it, and opened it.

Elain was consumed with the strangest twirling in her gut, a spiral of anxiety and excitement. Gods. Dear gods. It was stupid. So stupid. Unutterably stupid, in fact. How could she have thought that it would be enough, when she had never accepted his gifts with anything but awkwardness, that this tiny thing would say everything she wanted it to?

Her cheeks flamed. She wondered if this was what it was to slowly choke…to asphyxiate under the weight of her own mistakes.

And still it was quiet. Finally, desperately, she dragged her eyes up from where her fingers twisted with anxiety and —

— and he was looking at her, his face a mix of gratitude and grief. Their eyes locked so tightly she almost heard the click of a key.

“A hyraeth,” he murmured, pulling the little pin from the box. The jeweler had fashioned it from a single piece of bright yellow amber that caught the light like honey, but also gleamed like sunshine on water. Elain had selected it herself. The etchings on the edges were done in black lacquer, faceting the surface of the amber just like the patterns on butterflies’ wings. The jeweler had done a lovely job, but her stomach corkscrewed into her legs nonetheless. Did he not like it?

“Well, not a real one,” she said hurriedly. “Just their likeness in a pin for your hair, or your lapel. But I thought you might like it…they’re from the Autumn Court,” she blurted, realizing she was babbling and cursing herself roundly for it, trying to lower her voice, which - drown her in the damned cauldron - was so much louder than was necessary.

“I know,” he said. “From the Vilderavian Groves, at the borders of Summer.” His voice fractured ever so slightly at the edges.

Her eyes widened. “Have you seen it?”

“Yes,” he replied, and there was a reverence in his voice that rippled through her like wind through grass. “Long ago. Just once. They alight on the great trunks of the hemlock trees in a shimmering mass. An ocean of tiny wings, all amber and gold and black, whispering among the green foliage. It’s a special place; the only evergreen spot in Autumn. And the sight — the whole forest alive with trembling light — is magnificent. There’s nothing like it.”

She nodded. “It made me think…” She spread her hands in defeat. That home is a journey, rather than a place. That it might not obey borders or rules, but seek its own way across barriers. That to find it, to keep it, one can endure unimaginable toil and turmoil. That there is magic in the smallest things. “…that you might someday find a place for your heart to rest. Unfathomable as that may be now.”

She could have sworn there was a gleam in his eyes, just for a moment. He closed his hand over the little pin. “It’s beautiful,” he said, softly. And then, so gently that had she not been straining toward him with every cell of her treacherous body, she would not have heard him: “I think you’ve fathomed me quite well, Blossom. Thank you.”

His eyes slid down to her lips, so close…the moment brief and shimmering, a bubble on the wind…

…and it shattered, burst by the arrival of Nyx, screaming in uninhibited toddler glee as Cassian mock-chased him through the hallway and past the open doors. Lucien started and stepped back. Elain very nearly followed him, so strong was the pull of the bond’s tidal undertow in her ribs, but she knew it was too late. Misery blooming in her heart, she turned to go.

“Happy Solstice, Elain,” he murmured.

She looked back over her shoulder, and saw him standing in the pool of light from the lamp. In that moment, he seemed aglow himself somehow. A living sun.

“Happy Solstice, Lucien,” she replied; and, unbidden, unsought, a smile rose to her lips. He returned it, shyly — and low in her gut, an ember, dormant under the ash of everything that had happened, flickered into a tiny flame.

It was nothing, she told herself sternly as she climbed the stairs to her room. So small. But even a tiny light could bring a traveler safe home.

Elain could feel the heat blooming on her cheeks…a light tingling in her fingertips…but somehow, she couldn’t help but feel excited. She knew the dreams would come. But perhaps, even before the dreams arrived, there could be a decision first.

She collapsed against her door, fist pressed trembling to her mouth, as though to stuff the helpless giggle back down her throat, all unguarded from the fizzing happiness inside her. Gods, it was intoxicating. Had she truly forgotten what it was to feel joy? It was a light in her veins. Liquid, effervescent sun on the longest night of the year. She pulled the two winter roses from her bodice, tearing the lining slightly as they relinquished their hold. She tenderly set them down on her nightstand into a glass of water and busied herself undressing…not noticing, as she shucked off the little jacket and unfastened the silk of the bodice, draping the dress over the door of the wardrobe, that the flowers were uncurling, roots extending from the stems faster than any normal plant; leaves stretching out to fill the rim of the glass.

The rustle of the branches in the hedges outside grew louder. It could have been the wind; or a bird sleeping, stirring in its nest; or perhaps a thousand whispers. The moon was the only witness; and she was as silent as she had been since the birth of the planet beneath skies roiling with sulphur and fire, waiting, watching as everything beneath unfolded in miniature.

Back…

We will have it all back.

[sunshinebingo]

Her Burning Light

@elucienweekofficial Day 7 - AU

Inspired by the story of Icarus, the boy who flew too close to the sun and died. And a quote by Oscar Wilde

Never regret thy fall, O Icarus of the fearless flight

For the greatest tragedy of them all

Is never to feel the burning light

- Oscar Wilde

...

The red and orange flames have caught onto the tips of her pristine white wings, dancing with the soft feathers, and spreading until Elain has lost control and has started falling. But there is no pain, no burning. There is nothing but the sky above and the sea below.

Elain closes her eyes, and braces herself for the moment her body will hit the water and she will eventually drown. But before she accepts her fate, she smiles at the golden clouds, knowing that she has seen her burning light with her own eyes.

He has looked at her behind the bright flames of the sun. Golden-brown skin, russet and gold eyes, hair as red as the fire that is consuming her wings. Just like she imagined. He has even extended his hand towards her with the brightest of smile.

It has been worth it. He is worth it. How she has longed for him since the day she saw him ascending into the sky. She has waited for him every night, praying for the day to come fast so that she could feel the rays of her burning light.

Her smile turns into a laugh, and Elain laughs and laughs, before everything turns black. Everything, except for her burning light who still burns bright behind her closed eyes.

I'm pretty sad that I missed elucien week. But I did my best to post at least one little thing from my drafts. This was supposed to be much longer but time and responsibilities and bla bla bla 🙄 anyway, I hope you get the idea.

[howlingcaptaincommando]

Hello! I absolutely love your work! You are so incredible!! I was wondering if you have time for a snippet on your current WIP? Possibly Elucien? If not, no worries! Thank you for your hard work!

As a matter of fact, you're in luck!

The bell chimes merrily behind her - nothing quite so strange about that, but what is different is the deep voice that says, with the gust of incoming cold air, "Finally. There you are."

Her grin threatens to break her face, and she whirls around on her stool, ponytail flipping. "Hey, stranger."

Lucien Vanserra/Dayton (depending on who asks) grins at her, his smile splitting his face and pulling at the scars over his left cheek, both eyes bright at the sight of her. "Long time, no see."

"Too true." She holds up her arms. "Come on, then."

He steps forward to wrap his arms around her, and she inhales the spicy scent of his cologne and the cold air clinging to his coat, humming in satisfaction. Nobody gives hugs as good as Lucien does; his arms are tight and firm around her waist, hers locked around his neck, and he's warm even through the chill of his outer layers. He doesn't pull away, either, stays for a good long minute before pulling away and pressing his lips to her cheek.

He's done so a thousand times before, and yet she's almost...discomfited by the flip of her stomach in response. Probably just because she hasn't seen him in so long...although, a little voice in the back of her head wonders, as he withdraws to smile down at her, his expression melting into something softer and irreparably fond, surely he hasn't always been so handsome...no, she'd remember if he had been. He's handsome, of course - he's Lucien, he's always been handsome, she's convinced he magically circumvented puberty and just came out of the womb looking stunning - but it's a familiar kind of handsome. It's just taken her aback because she hasn't seen him in an entire year, and Instagram posts can't do him justice.

Standing comfortably at six-foot-three, long and lean like the lifelong athlete he is, broad-shouldered and slim-hipped, with his skin a skin-kissed deep gold colour like raw honey, his broad hands, and the long fall of pure red hair down his back, he's always had the raw material to be handsome. He stands tall, boots planted hip-width apart, shoulder back and neck long, comfortable and confident in his own skin; his hands are elegant, long-fingered and strong, lightly sprinkled with gold hair on the backs of his knuckles, and decorated with a smattering of gold rings and hard-earned callouses; and he's impeccably dressed as always, in black jeans and a deep green sweater under his grey peacoat, the somber colours turning his gold skin, his red hair, his bright eyes to flame. It's as if a living flame suddenly took human form and came strolling down Main Street in search of coffee. Small wonder every single girl and quite a few boys in high school had a deep, long-abiding crush on Lucien.

She takes a deep breath of cold air and spiced cologne and Lucien and smiles. There, she's accustomed to him again. "I've missed you."

"Aww." He kisses her again, on the forehead this time, and drops into the seat beside her, smiling. "I missed you more."

She rolls her eyes and turns back to her plate. "So competitive."

"You love it." He leans closer. "Is that cherry?"

"Yes."

"Are you sharing?"

"No."

"You're so mean."

"Hey, this is mine." she protests, even as his long fingers snag the corner of the plate and start sidling it towards him. "I'm paying good money for it - "

"You and I both know your welcome-home lunch is on the house."

" - it's my present, Maisie gave it to me, and if you steal it I will not be held responsible for my actions."

"I'll take my chances." He swipes a piece of buttery, flaky crust and pops it into his mouth a second before she whacks his knuckles with the back of her spoon. "Ow, devil woman."

"Keep your hands to yourself." she orders, tugging the plate back towards her. "I'm sure that's something you've heard before."

He snorts inelegantly. "I usually hear the opposite."

"In your dreams, maybe." She pops a bite into her mouth and shrieks, garbled around the spoon, as his fingers dig into her ribs. "No, no, no tickling, that's not fair, that's not - "

She dissolves into giggles as his fingers scrunch, squirming away from his prodding hands and not getting very far as he grips her around the waist with his other arm and tickles harder, immune to her choked laughter and frantic squirming. "Maisie!" she shrieks, kicking at his shins. "Save me!"

Thank you so much for the ask, and the compliments!!

[velidewrites]

hello! 🥰 for an elucien prompt, can I give you: elain seeing lucien in full day court regalia for the first time?

I can’t wait to see what you come up with! 🥰

Toga | Elucien Drabble

"I thought you were a lady."

"Not tonight."

Word Count: 1.6k (of filth!!!!!)

Notes: No plot, just smut. Enjoy!

Warnings: 18+, smut, some dirty talk, Elain can't get enough (neither could I), Lucien glows and it's sexy as hell. Proceed at your own discretion

Lucien had no right to look this good in Day Court regalia.

His father had insisted on hosting an ornate ceremony, eager to introduce the Court to their future High Lord—something Elain was still trying to wrap her head around.

Her mate, a High Lord. Powerful and regal.

And too damn sexy for his own good.

Elain had never realised torture could reach entirely new levels until she sat in the front row, watching Lucien on a throne with Helion placing a sun-shaped crown atop his head. His red hair had gleamed, reflecting the golden light radiating from the crown, and he’d looked every last bit the son of Day that he was.

And then, he’d stood up.

He had draped his body with an ivory toga, loosely falling down his strong form, doing nothing to conceal the muscles on his arms, legs, back…

Elain was going to lose her mind.

The toga gathered on his left arm, leaving the right one completely bare apart from a golden cuff wrapped around his bicep, a traditional Day Court ornament worn by citizens of its lands.

He’d looked like sunlight. There was no better way to describe it, Elain had decided.

And so, as soon as the ceremony had ended, Elain’s feelings towards her mate’s new ensemble had been made perfectly clear as she’d sent nothing but unrestrained lust down their bond.

They’d reached their private quarters within minutes, and Elain now stood in front of him, taking in every inch of the sight, feeling desire descend from her thoughts down to her very core.

“It is rude to leave the party early, my love,” Lucien teased. “What could possibly get you so agitated, I wonder?”

Her eyes slid back to his, flashing with unexposed need. “You,” she only said.

Lucien’s throat bobbed at how low her tone was, how wanton. “And what do you want with me, Elain?”

Her hands travelled to her hair, pulling out the golden pins that held the updo in place, letting soft, golden-brown waves fall down her back. “I want you to make a mess out of me.”

He sucked in a breath, and Elain reached for the sleeves of her gown, draped softly over her arms, Lucien’s eyes not leaving her for one second. She smiled, watching his chest fall into uneven rhythm, as she made her motions slow and torturous, wanting nothing more than to make him tremble under the sight.

His reply came out raspy as his gaze finally landed on hers. “I thought you were a lady.”

She slid the garment down, barely registering a small thud of its gold ornaments hitting the floor.

“Not tonight.”

He growled his approval, the sound low and guttural, and her breasts pebbled in response. His eyes dipped to the sight, his russet eye burning dark, the black of its pupil drowning out the colour.

Elain hummed in approval, satisfaction settling into her bones as she beheld his barely restrained form, the hard clench of his jaw, the silent plea in his trembling hands.

Her smile turned feral as she stepped out of the gown pooled around her feet. “Go on, then.”

Lucien lunged for her, his mouth crashing into hers, and she stumbled back a few steps, hips hitting the soft frame of their bed. Elain gripped his face, fingers plunging into his silken hair, fisting the long strands just hard enough to draw out a deep rumble from his chest. Their tongues clashed, claiming each other in a feral dance, and she devoured his taste hotly.

There was no time for her to savour their kiss, as his hands found her hips at last, lifting her up on the bed. She reached for him, one hand digging her nails into the bare skin of his strong arm, the other hastily clawing off his toga as anticipation burned between her thighs, ready to combust at any moment. A low sound of need vibrated from Lucien’s chest as he undoubtedly recognised the scent of heat pooling at her core, and her head emptied out.

His fingers clamped on her nipples, and Elain whimpered into his mouth, arching into the touch. His smile turned wicked as he pulled away an inch, just enough for his thumb to swipe over her swollen lip, his other hand still caressing the small, sensitive bud. “You want me to touch you, Elain?” he asked, pinching it lightly, her eyes rolling back in her head at the sensation. “You want me to make an utter mess of my mate?”

Her body ached, desperate for him to do exactly what he taunted her with, for him to fill her with his tongue, his fingers, his cock. Her gaze fell to the hardness pressed around the mattress, and she choked on a moan.

“Please,” Elain rasped.

Lucien gripped her hips, moving her further onto the bed. Strong, calloused fingers dug into her backside as he propped himself over her, his knee parting her thighs to display her sex for him. His smile turned savage at the wetness pooled there, already soaking into the mattress. Grasping her hands in his, he lifted them over her head, his palm pinning them to the mattress, as his other hand reached down her centre.

A gasp tore from Elain’s lips as his fingers grazed the bundle of nerves, swollen with need as he began tracing slow, lazy circles. Flutter began stirring in her belly, sending shivers down her spine, and she let out a low, rolling purr, bringing his name from her heating core to her lips. “Lucien.”

He chuckled, the deep sound making her arch closer against his hand. “Patience, my love,” he said, running a finger up the folds of her sex, a small cry escaping her once again.

Elain could barely breathe, writhing against his teasing touch, desperate to reach down to that spot at the apex of her thighs and chase her release, but his palm was still wrapped around her hands, denying her the motion.

“Lucien,” she urged again, her voice angry and pleading at the same time.

His hand slid down, fingers finally moving deep inside her, slow and hard, and an obscene sound left her throat at the sensation. She rocked against them, groaning in satisfaction, yet still wanting more, more, more.

Her hips arched off the bed as his thumb finally brushed that spot, circling it relentlessly as his fingers plunged in and out, words leaving her one by one until she became a gasping chant of Lucien, Lucien, Lucien.

His mouth found hers again, swallowing her pants, devouring her until she was nothing but a shuddering mess. “That’s it,” he breathed, and the sound was her undoing.

Her hips collapsed into the bed, her mind swirling as release shook through her, and Elain could only try to breathe as her eyes locked on his, a picture of pure, male satisfaction. The gleam, the hunger in his gaze was all she needed to burn up again. She propped herself up on her elbows, leaving his grasp to meet the hardness of him pressed against her thigh, so close to her centre, still swollen from his touch. She brought her palm to the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in his red hair, as she guided him closer to her. “I need you,” she only said.

A low, feral noise rumbled from deep within his chest. “Whatever my lady wishes.”

Their lips joined the moment he sunk his length into her, and Elain groaned over his mouth, welcoming the thickness of him at last. Pleasure washed over her like a crashing wave as he began filling her in and out in strokes that were too slow, too torturously slow, and she cursed herself for teasing him earlier. “More,” she whined breathlessly.

Lucien let out a low laugh, continuing to stroke her with no haste. “Come now, Elain, that’s not very ladylike.”

She snarled, feeling heat swirl inside her, aching to be satisfied. “Please.”

His russet eye glittered, a mix of amusement and feral need. “That’s more like it.”

He thrust into her, the scent of his desire intoxicating to her senses, and Elain felt her walls pulse as his pace picked up, every rough stroke coaxing a louder moan from her. His hand stroked her neck, sliding down her body until it drifted between her legs once again. She sucked in a shaky breath, the combination of his touches too much on her senses, and he plunged in harder, a cacophony of curses falling from his lips, praising her for how good she felt against him.

She brought Lucien’s mouth back to hers, needing every inch of him to be joined with her, their kiss open and deep as she sent her pleasure down the bond that bridged their souls with golden light. He groaned at the sensation, letting it fill him, drive him, until it lit up his skin with unrestrained, golden light.

Climax slammed into her without warning, her sex fluttering wildly around the length of him, and he thrust into the tightness, finding his own release in a deep, rumbling moan.

Words failed her, sharp, uneven breaths heaving her chest as she marvelled at the power Lucien had just manifested through their joining.

Still buried inside her, Lucien angled his head, confused by her quiet awe. “Elain?”

“You’re glowing,” she breathed.

His eyes landed on his skin, gleaming with what she could only call soft, pure sunlight. “That’s…new.”

Elain’s brows rose in amusement. “Heir to the Day Court, huh?” she teased.

Lucien grinned at her, the sight more beautiful than any sun she’d ever seen. “I suppose so.”

Read Part 2 here

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!): @headcanonheadcase @houseofhurricane @goddess-aelin @hlizr50 @ladyelain @how-to--disappear @reveriestarsstuff @zoya-nikolai @foxwithagoldeye @nspwriteups @rabbitlover1027 @rbhatesmangos

[helion-ism]

let’s talk about elucien

there are so many reasons why I love elain x lucien and why I think these two would not only be amazing together, but also why they belong together. one of those reasons is lucien’s sassy personality, which we already got a glimpse of in acotar (and that I miss terribly btw), and which is, in my opinion, exactly what elain needs in her life. we’re talking about lucien “your eyes are like stars, and your hair like burnished gold” vanserra. we know he’s got quite a big mouth, that’s how we got to know him, but we also know that mouth is exactly what’s gotten him into trouble before. case in point: the eye incident. lucien doesn’t mince his words and yes, that is one of the reasons why elain really needs to spend some more time with him. 

she has been coddled by not only her father, nesta, feyre, but also the entire inner circle, which has allowed her to live her life passively. yes, she killed the king of hybern, and good for her, but she did it because nobody else could have done it at that point in time. ever since the war ended, elain has not actively contributed to any plot matters, whether by choice or because someone else took the choice from her. azriel said in acosf, “there is an innate darkness to the dread trove that elain should not be exposed to.” even amren pointed out that elain is capable of defending herself, but for some reason, nobody let her even though elain said she would try to find it: “then I will find it. I might require some time to … reacquaint myself with my powers, but I could start today.” and yet,  by the end of the book, elain’s been barely in it and has not contributed at all. (I know some people claim there’s certain things already happening in the background, but honestly, I’m not satisfied with that development happening off page, so I can’t wait to finally go on her journey and actually see her do stuff)

this moment is crucial:

does it look like she is happy with the way the others treat her? not really. when nesta snapped at her, elain started laughing. that signals relief to me because nesta, the one who has always tried to protect elain the most (nesta baby Ilysm), is the one who suddenly lost her patience. elain needs somebody like lucien, somebody with a big mouth and sassy attitude, who can coax her out of that paralysis she’s been stuck in, a bit like nesta in this scene. additionally, the banter would be top tier. I want another “if I offer you the moon on a string, will you give me a kiss, too?” moment, please. god please. (elain blinks. “and where would you like that kiss?” — and lucien just loses his mind.)

another thing that lives in my head rent free is the fact that lucien has travelled almost everywhere and could introduce elain, who wishes to see more of the world (see: “elain had always wanted to visit the continent to study the tulips and other famed flowers”), to the different courts and the continent. I refuse to accept that we will not get to learn more about the other courts, for my sake, but also for elain’s sake. I want her to see the spring court at least once. I want her to go and see those tulips she’s dreamt of. I want her and lucien to discover the day court as a new home, which brings me to the next point. 

elain has been craving sunshine for some time now. there’s several quotes that emphasise her connection to sunshine/light, here are a few of my favourites: 

I marveled at it, actually — that those years of poverty hadn‘t stripped away that light from elain.

the suite was filled with sunlight. every curtain shoved back as far as it could go, to let in as much sun as possible. as if any bit of darkness was abhorrent.

she had been always so full of light. perhaps that was why she now kept all the curtains open. to fill the void that existed where all of that light had once been. and now nothing remained.

what can I get you, elain? — sunshine.

elain doesn’t belong into the night court. feyre has found her family there, with rhys and the inner circle. nesta has found (or should I say accepted) cassian and found gwyn and emerie, her chosen sisters. but elain?

elain is somewhere in the background hiding with the twins and tending to gardens of the citizens of velaris. you can’t tell me that is satisfactory to you. she is currently ignoring her seer abilities, and the members of the inner circle are basically encouraging her to do so. the only time she’s been confronted lately was during that conversation with nesta and her reaction was not exactly what any of us readers would have expected, was it? that tells me there’s much more about her we don’t know yet, and I’m convinced we won’t know until she finally leaves and finds her own people, finds herself again and start dealing with everything that happened to her. elain must leave the night court, i.e. the darkness, behind in order to grow.

the same goes to lucien: he’s not at a place where he can just jump into a relationship or mating bond. he’s got so much stuff going on. lucien was forced to abandon his home and his abusive family, his “father” killed the fae he loved in front of his eyes, his best friend is an abusive pos who never appreciated him anyway, and neither has anyone in the night court. lucien is used because of his connections and because of the mating bond that ties him to elain, whether he wanted it or not. feyre knows he would never turn away from elain unless she explicitly wishes him to, and so she and rhys and the others use that to their advantage. it is smart, of course, but at the same time, they also keep important information about his own life from him that could change many, many things. so he’s spending his time with mortals in the human lands — a place where he as a fae really does not belong. 

lucien being the heir to the day court, well, to me, it feels like sjm is practically screaming it into our face: how could he find a home in the night court, the literal opposite to the day? darkness vs. light. and what about elain “he’d never once in the two years he’d known her found elain to be plain, but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court … it sucked the life from her” archeron? just looking at the symbolism, not only do the quotes from above indicate that the night court cannot possibly be her home, but also very recent quotes from the latest book. elain is a side character in the night court. and so is lucien. they both need to leave in order to become main characters — and it doesn’t even matter that both are already crucial to the further plot of the series because how can they possibly contribute to it in a place where they are both kept down? 

mor said in acofas: “stay out of it. she’s not ready, and neither is he, no matter how many presents he brings.” and “let him figure out where he wants to be. who he wants to be. the same goes with her.” mor’s power is “truth”, whatever that means. but there you have it. they’re not ready to be with each other yet, and that’s okay. 

[elain and lucien are also connected not only because of the mating bond, but also because of the plot. lucien must know quite a lot about her and her sisters simply because of all the time he spent with their father. the father who made a bargain with koschei. koschei who put a spell on vassa. lucien is therefore tied to both papa archeron as well as koschei and vassa. elain, we know, is a seer, despite her not using her abilities (or is she, and we simply don’t know?). elain is (obviously) connected to her father, but also to koschei and vassa (remember those visions she had).]

now let’s get to the mating bond stuff, and I need to say this loud and clear: elain has always had and will always have one (1) true mate. there’s no such thing as “false mate” or even multiple mates. there has been no indication whatsoever. lucien is the mate the cauldron had given her when she was born. and elain is the mate the cauldron had given him when he was born. even when she was still human, they already belonged together — tied together by strings of fate. absolutely nothing will change this fact. should elain reject the bond, lucien will remain a part of her life/her soul forever. should lucien reject the bond, elain will remain a part of his life/his soul forever.

when she was still human, lucien had already felt a pull between them and tried to save and protect her from hybern. when elain was already fae, when it came to protecting her, azriel clapped cassian’s shoulder and left (is this the true mate they’re all talking about?). it’s unfair to lucien, elain, AND azriel and this comparison alone is enough to disprove this theory.

the thing is, lucien has been nothing but respectful, kind and caring towards elain. when he arrived in velaris in acowar, he could immediately sense what she needed and said, “she needs fresh air” (vs. the response “we’ll judge what she needs”) and “take her to the sea. take her to some garden. but get her out of this house for an hour or two.” (I’m gonna make another post about this because I have a few thoughts on this)

of course, she doesn’t owe him anything, but elain herself doesn’t wish to be treated like a child, she maybe she should start acting like an adult because although she doesn’t owe lucien an apology or explanation, she has to have a conversation with him, like two responsible adults. there is no way feyre or anyone in the inner circle hasn’t told her that she can reject the bond and move on with her life. but just like her powers, this is another thing she chooses to ignore. I’m not blaming her because I know she has to work through her trauma first and heal, but by the end of the series, she has to acknowledge that at least.

in acosf, elain says “I am not a child to be fought over” when they discuss the dread trove. I wonder what she would say about the fact azriel threatens to challenge lucien to the blood duel because of her? based on literally everything we know about lucien, I can say with certainty that he would not physically fight over elain. if she only had a conversation with him and told him to move on and leave her alone, lucien would do just that. he would leave her alone and try to move on as best as he could (which we know is difficult for males). but he would never act as entitled to her as to demand a blood duel and fight to death. it goes against his principles. 

to finish this off, sjm summing up everything I just said:

[exquisitley-obsessed]

Fiancés, Firebirds, Foxes and Fawns: 4

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed​

Summary: A few weeks after Briallyn's attempt at uniting with Koschei, Lucien opens the door of Lockhart Manor to find Elain, cold from the rain and holding a note from the High Lady of the Night Court demanding her to assist Lucien in building alliances with the human councils. Forced to work together by their exhausted High Lord and Lady, Elain is able to convince anyone to do anything, while Lucien has the acquaintances to go anywhere he likes. Together, they attempt to unite the fae and mortal lands and unravel the deal made between Koschei and Vassa, while Lucien remains haunted by his own promise to Elain's father. ELUCIEN, POST-ACOSF

Pairings: Elain x Lucien, Elucien

Warnings: None.

A/N: This is going to be a long, slow burn fic (hopefully)

MY MASTERLIST

THIS FIC’S MASTERLIST

AO3

Chapter Four: A Little Lost, A Little Found

Elain was in Lockhart Manor. Elain was currently sleeping a few doors down the hallway. Elain, his mate, was here. Elain-

“Oh, shut up,” Lucien groaned to his own mind, as he rolled over with more vigour than necessary. But there was little hope of sleep finding him tonight, not when he felt so energised and awake. Not only did Lucien feel the bond, taut and invigorated in-between his ribs, but he could still smell Elain, that Spring morning clear in his mind.

What was she doing here? What had changed?

Had she come for him?

Of course not. Right?

Lucien rolled over again, allowing a small snarl of frustration to rip from his lips. If Lucien knew Elain a little better then maybe he’d actually be able to talk to her and ask her these questions. But he didn’t know her, and he wasn’t her friend.

Maybe she’d come to break the bond. That had to be it. Given his luck his entire life it was outrageous to believe that his mate who he hadn’t spoken to for two years had travelled the country to be under the same roof as him, to work alongside him, to go to meetings by his side as his…colleague?

He just wanted to talk to her. One clear conversation where he wasn’t holding back, when he didn’t care about every word both spoken and unspoken. One conversation where he could be the silver-tongued fox he’d been before any Archeron had entered his life. But around Elain he was a fool. A hopeless, romantic fool.

Oh, how Tamlin would’ve goaded him over this. Lucien, who had taken lovers to his bed as though he was being paid, unable to even conjure more than a sentence in front of a female. Well, old Tamlin would’ve laughed at him – with him. Old Tamlin would’ve laughed, period. Now…Now he was another thing in Lucien’s life that had turned to poison.

It was only last week, after Nyx’s arrival, that Lucien received a letter from Rhysand detailing his new assignment in the Spring Court. He’d been able to delay such work thus far, but by the end of the week he was expected in Spring. Following that, the plan was to manipulate his way into alternating weeks between the Spring and Lockhart Manor.

Would he leave Elain here? Could he convince her to somehow come with him to Spring?

She’d love it there, not just the proper and neat gardens of the Spring Manor (or what was left of their civilisation) but also the rugged fields and forests. Spring Court was violent with life. It was a pandemonium of flora, every single plant one could possibly find in Prythian could be found somewhere in the battlefield of the Spring lands. The overwhelming, erratic terrain was exactly where Lucien saw Elain thriving.

If he took her maybe she’d love it. She’d most likely take clippings or, or maybe not. Maybe she would just stay for a moment, and enjoy existing in such a place, her gentle hands refusing to intervene with the beautiful, wild course of nature. Maybe she’d lie down in the fields, maybe she’d go swimming with him in the pools of starlight. One day, far, far, far into the future.

Maybe she’d smile – a real, genuine smile. Lucien believed he still had yet to experience the privilege of seeing such a phenomenon.

The voice of the bond had quietened in his mind, along with the voice which seemed to come from deeper down, the one that told Lucien exactly how much shit he was in given the size of the schoolboy crush he’d somehow developed. But still, there was little chance of Lucien finding more than a few hours of sleep.

And so, with his body alive and electric, Lucien did what he had been doing for the past two years. Lucien wrote a letter - one that was never, ever, intended to be read.

***

Breakfast was awkward. Surely it wasn’t always this awkward, not with the glint in Jurian’s smile and the steel in Vassa’s glare. Lucien seemed…bemused, he appeared to be glaring at his toast and eggs as though they contained some secret prophecy that he needed to decipher.

She was curious about the particulars of Vassa’s curse, about how she knew when the change was coming. Did it happen always at sunrise? How much time did she have to prepare? Was it the workings of the death lord’s magic, or his deal? She was especially curious given that one of her tasks being down here was to help undo Vassa’s ties to the death lord, not that she was sure the Band of Exiles were aware of that given her sister’s ruined letter.

It was Vassa’s stoic silence that kept Elain from opening her mouth. That and a million other worthless reasons.

It was Vassa’s stoic silence that kept Elain from opening her mouth. That and a million other worthless reasons.

“Is there something you wish to ask me, Ms Archeron?” Vassa eventually spoke into the unbearable silence, perhaps aware of the frequency of Elain’s not so inconspicuous side-glances. Elain fought the blush as glared at her plate.

“Elain, please…” maybe she was being paranoid, but the way everyone here kept stressing her title felt like an awful lot like a reminder of the title she was supposed to have in these lands. The life she was supposed to have, the husband, the house, now it all felt so foreign.

“Really, we should be calling her Lady,” Jurian smiled, his own breakfast consisting of a single orange and a small goblet of black coffee, a delicacy of the Night Court he’d bought in bulk.

“Perhaps…if we were in Prythian,” Vassa said non-committedly.

“Titles do not interchange between borders, even human borders,” Lucien spoke up suddenly, his voice sounded causal and polite, but his figure had gone rigid, and his eyes were burning as they rested on Vassa who seemed to shiver slightly under his gaze. Elain adverted her gaze, an ugly feeling flashing through her like lightening. She’d been avoiding looking at him for most of the meal, desperate to ignore how she’d noticed that he’d changed.

“Lady Elain…” Vassa began, her eyes still locked with Lucien’s and Elain felt a furious blush warm her cheeks. God she was so…angry. Stupid mating bond. “Last night you asked me to discuss with you how you maybe be of some use whilst working with us,” Vassa’s eyes found hers from where she was seated at the head of the table, Jurian and Lucien either side of her, Elain next to Jurian. “Well tonight we’re having dinner and talks at the Nolan’s residence-”

“Which of course you won’t be forced to attend,” Lucien ground out, glaring at the queen who just shrugged and reached for the syrup.

“We’ll be discussing all manner of important things; it would be a brilliant opportunity for Elain to familiarise herself with those who she’ll be working in close quarters with for the foreseeable future.”

“These dinners are of little consequence,” Lucien’s eyes flickered to Elain’s for a moment before his gaze returned to the queen and Elain felt something inside her crack. It was as though he couldn’t look at her for more than a second, that or he couldn’t bear to look away from the queen. “I don’t even bother with attending.” Lucien directed at the queen.

“There’s ample opportunity for Elain to make acquaintances elsewhere,” Jurian said through a yawn, leaning back with a stretch. But Elain didn’t miss how his eyes appeared to rove over his two fiery-haired companions. Mother, how she wished they would stop talking about her rather than with her. If she wanted to be discussed at the table as though she were a child she might as well have stayed in the Night Court.

“I’m grateful for the offer but today I was hoping to have a look over the current contracts and ensure they’re meeting the timeline Feyre had drawn for you. Once I can ensure the work you’ve done thus far meets the standards of my High Lady then I’ll know what to both expect and push for with the human councils.” The words flowed out of Elain in an orderly manner, in the exact way she’d practiced as she fell asleep the night prior.

Unlike the Night Court, it was clear Elain was going to have to fight and demand for her own voice and seat at the table. Here, with the Band of Exiles, no one would coddle her. So, she’d either have to stay in the shadows, or step into the light.

Besides, there wasn’t enough gold in the world that would make Elain step a single foot in the Manor that would’ve been her home, once upon a time.

Vassa opened her mouth to say something before shutting it and turning back to her plate, a firm line carved in between her brows. Jurian was glancing around the table with a shit-eating grin and Lucien, the tension in his body had seemed to ease and after a small moment, he took a large mouthful of food.

“Are there, um, any other gatherings I may be able to attend, later in the week?” Elain tried to shake the nervousness from her voice. She couldn’t let these three see her as someone able to be pushed to the side. She needed this.

“There has been weekly meetings with all the human lords,” Lucien said after swallowing, his eyes meeting hers in a way that drew the breath from her body, “Huckleberry Hall is where we’ve been hosting the crowds-”

“The house by the old creek?” Elain couldn’t stop herself from interrupting, her mother would’ve pinched her thigh under the table for such poor manners. But it was just so alarming, to hear the residencies of her childhood come out of Lucien’s mouth. He’d always felt so far and distant, and yet, he was familiar with the lands she’d grown up in. Though she wouldn’t admit it, it made her wish she knew about him. His upbringing.

“That’s the one,” Lucien’s smile was soft and warm and…genuine. “We’re having a meeting there the day after tomorrow. If you wish, you’re most welcome to attend, it’s where the most current information is, and the meeting will give you’re a formal opportunity to meet with our human colleagues. I was heading there today anyways to meet with their cartographer, if you…well, if you’d like to…accompany me?”

“Yes I, uh, I don’t know the way to Huckleberry from here,” Elain was far to aware of two sets of human eyes boring into her at that moment.

“Yes,” Lucien blinked. Not quite a statement. Not quite a question, either. “Yes…good, yes. We’ll set off at first light then...”

Elain just nodded. Not trusting her voice to speak.

***

They were walking in silence.

As Lucien at promised, at first light he’d met Elain at the Lockhart’s front door, his hands behind his back as he waited at the bottom of the stairs. Elain had taken a moment to assess his clothes before she had to look away. He was wearing a loose brown shirt, dark trousers and brown boots. It was a perfect outfit for the summer morning, with the thick air and dewy sunlight. But it was the sight of his crimson hair, tied in a loose bun at the nape of his neck, a few whisps framing the sharp angles of his face, that had Elain looking away.

Lucien seemed to still as she came into view, quickly saying goodbye to Nuala who turned and made her way back up the stairs, and Elain turned to watch her go, giving Lucien a chance to look her over. Her dress was a plain cream, and was of a simple cut that could pass in both human and fae realms – a cunning choice of clothing he thought. The neckline was perhaps a little daring for the human communities which was hilarious given that all one could see of Elain was her collarbones, but the full skirts were the same of the women he’d seen in these lands.

It was her hair he lingered on. Even when bouncing with curls it came down to her waist. Intricate braids pulled most of it away from her face and Lucien could spot pale flowers in a variety of sizes perched at the crown of her head. Real flowers, nothing like the faux pieces the humans tended to favour. She was…divine. Impossible. Beyond him, in every conceivable way.

“You ready?” He tried smiling at her, but it felt as though it came across more of a grimace.

“Hm mm,” Elain bowed her head, a faint blush colouring her cheeks as her curls bounced. Gods, he was fucked.

Silence had fallen quickly over the duo, besides the odd ‘watch out for that root’ or ‘duck’ as they made their way into the forestry of the mortal lands. The path was clear until a certain junction, and then it became little more than a dirt path, only wide enough for them to walk single file. Lucien had wanted Elain to go first so that he’d be able to keep an eye on her, to keep her safe, until he remembered that she quite literally didn’t know where she was going.

Lucien had thought Elain would’ve been disgruntled by the shrubbery pulling at her fine dress, but Elain meandered through the forest in an expert fashion. She gathered her skirts in her hands and would hop with a doe-like grace over the greenery and roots. In fact, the only time he heard her disgruntled was when she’d accidentally stepped on some plant or flower – forever a lady of the forest.

It was only when Lucien was finding himself relax in their silence that disaster struck. Lucien’s foot snagged on something under a large fern that had grown over the path, and then there was an audible snap of leather. The noise was enough to set Lucien into action, with one arm, he unsheathed his Autumn sword and with the other he turned and pulled Elain into him, all sense and thought evaporating from his mind and being replaced with the single, overwhelming urge to ‘protect, protect, protect’.

But where Lucien had been prepared for an enemy of mortal body, their attack came from above. Lucien saw a glint of something dropping down on them at a furious pace and pulled Elain tighter to his chest, bending slightly at the waist so he covered her entirely, so that not one inch of Elain was visible to the attack from above.

But the attack never came, not quite. When Lucien span, turning to tuck Elain behind him as he faced the enemy, he came face to face with…a cage…of wood. Ashwood.

The cage arched over Lucien and Elain, and the wood was interwoven in a way that was reminiscent of the dog cages Eris had used for his Dobermans. It was hilarious really. Lucien and Elain, two fae, and highly powerful fae at that, caged in like a common pup.

Lucien was just scoffing at the cage when he felt Elain shift behind him. Turning around, Lucien just caught Elain as she reached out for the cage, perhaps in an attempt to shift the weak structure out of her way.

“Elain, don’t-” But it was too late, Elain had ran her hand along the edge of the meshed cage before pulling her arm back with a pained gasp. “Shit!” Lucien was by her side in a flash, one hand on her arm, tucking her away from the cage as though it were an enemy, and he were blocking her from view. His other hand went to her crumpled hand which was now throbbing as a furious burn puckered across the surface.

Looking down, Elan watched as Lucien turned and, without touching the damaged skin, assessed her injured palm.

“Fae trap,” Lucien growled, “many councils are encouraging their use now that the wall’s gone.”

“How horrible…” Elain whispered before surprise rattled through her. Three years ago she would’ve thought these traps necessary protection against the evil fae. But now, they just seemed cruel.

“Horrible for us and other civilised fae, but there are other creatures, particularly the southern woods of Spring, who one might argue deserve every bit of this treatment.” Lucien turned back to glaring at the cage, and if looks could burn Elain didn’t doubt that the wood – perhaps the whole forest – would be furiously ablaze.

“I…I don’t know if I’d call you civilised…” Elain finally murmured, allowing herself to momentarily give into the urge to soothe him, to let him know that she was okay. Lucien’s head whipped back around to her and, after a moment of assessing her soft expression, a coy smile that showed his perfect teeth pulled at his lips. Not a laugh, but a genuine smile.

“Was that a joke, Lady?”

“An attempt,” Elain couldn’t help but shyly duck away from his warm eyes and dimpled smile. “You know,” she changed the topic, “I can’t image these kinds of things would work.” She nodded up to the cage.

“When there’s Ashwood involved, anything’s possible.”

“I’ve seen fae on a battlefield,” she shuddered involuntarily, “Something like this,” she went to touch the cage before remembering and flinching her hand back, “seems hardly daunting.”

“Ashwood doesn’t work like an Illyrian, they’re all cock and walk, Ashwood is cunning and clever,” Lucien was glaring at the cage, his metal eye clicking and whirring as it roved over the trap.

“How can wood be cunning?”

“It’s a weapon, all weapons have personality.”

“Does your sword have personality?” Elain murmured, nodding at the silver blade she’d never seen him without.

“Well…since it comes from the Autumn Court, it would be safe to assume it’s the metal equivalent of a ruthless git.” Lucien shook his head, his crimson hair shifting in a stream of sunlight. “A human trapping a fae or two in some Ashwood is easy,” Lucien continued, “But then begs the question of what one would do from there.”

“Well, they’d have to lift the cage,”

“They’d be dead in seconds,” Lucien quipped, his head cocking to the side, whisps of his fiery hair following his movement. “Go on, don’t stop, think like a fae hunter.”

“I’d rather not,” Elain shivered slightly, very aware of how close Lucien was standing. Elain also didn’t fail in missing the dark shadow that passed through Lucien’s eye at the nod towards her ex-fiancé.

“Okay, then think like a fae.” Lucien swung his arms across his chest with a catlike grace, “You’re hunting, let’s see...an Attor, clearly feeling a little dangerous today. It’s walked right into your lovey cage of Ashwood, which let me say Lady Archeron, I must compliment you on your excellent lattice work.” Elain giggled and Lucien faltered in his speech, his eyes widening as he looked as though he’d struck gold. “So…” he cleared his throat, “You’ve trapped the Attor in your wonderful cage, then what?”

“Well, it depends on what I want an…At-tor, for?”

“Hm, interesting. Let’s say you need to cut out it’s tongue for a healing tonic.” Elain made a face, “Okay, okay, no tonics.”

“No tongues please.”

“Oh really?” Lucien couldn’t stop his shit-eating grin, especially when Elain began to blush furiously and avoid his eye. Something inside Lucien was racing, entirely giddy at the fact he was bantering with Elain, Elain, Archeron.

“The Attor?” Elain stressed, turning around and perching herself on a fallen trunk.

“Interrogation – you need vital information pronto, or the High Lord will have your head.”

“Rhysand?”

“Well if in this world you, Elain Archeron, are hunting an Attor, I think it’s perfectly reasonable to believe that I might be High Lord.”

“Of which court?”

“None of them. No, all of them. No wait, my own court – the ‘Lucien is incredibly handsome’ court.” Lucien was pushing his luck, that he knew. He was towing that line as always, the one between banter and a step too far. Saying something that would cause the other to retract from him, or carve out his eye. But Elain just tilted her head, her honey hair spilling across her pale dress.

“You have many devout followers in this court?”

“Maybe, but only one of them matters.” He grinned at her knowingly, testing the waters, seeing how far he could go with her before they remembered they were bonded by destiny. Something shy flickered across Elain’s face as she took in his meaning. And then.

“Are you peacocking right now?” Elain smiled, a real smile.

“I’m always peacocking,” Lucien grinned, a real grin. Then his eye caught on the hand Elain was still cradling to her chest, and something akin to agony tore through his chest.

“Mother, I’m sorry,” He muttered, his amusement having evaporated as he hurried to sit next to Elain, taking her ruined palm into his lap with a featherlight touch. “I can’t ever shut up. I just talk and talk and forget about the important things.”

“What are you doing?” Elain was sure he voice sounded somewhat strangled as Lucien zoned in on her mutilated palm, his metal eye whirring as he ran a single finger along it’s creases.

“I have the ability to heal,” Lucien’s voice also sounded a bit strained as he hunched himself over her hand.

“Oh…” Elain murmured, as a warm sensation prickled across her skin, and she watched as the red splotches clamed back into ivory. “You know,” Elain was practically whispering as Lucien moved to her fingers, “My skin never used to be this colour.”

“Oh?” Lucien seemed to be breathing through his mouth, and with is gaze occupied, Elain allowed herself to rove over his appearance. The knot of crimson hair, the strong yet angled brows, the white webs of his scar, prominent cheekbones, sharp jaw, full and wide lips, and a strong curved nose.

“No…” Elain breathed, “I always used to be so much tanner than my sisters, I was always in the gardens as we were growing up you see. My mother would ring me out for it. She’d love the colour I’m now.” The colour she’d been since the Cauldron. She didn’t know why she was telling him all this, or why it felt so natural to talk to him about these things. But here in the human lands, a world away from the sneers of Nesta or the gossiping of Feyre, Elain found that she didn’t mind the idea of conversing with Lucien.

“I was always the darkest out of my brothers,” Lucien moved to her second finger.

“How many do you have?”

“Seven,” Lucien met her eyes momentarily with a cheeky grin.

“Seven!” Elain smiled back, and then Lucien’s eyes seemed to darken and something in him seemed to rescind as he turned back to her hand.

“Well, I used to have seven…a few of them died.”

“Oh…I’m so sorry,” Lucien seemed to go to say something, his mouth turning into a frown, before he shook his head and moved to the next finger.

“I…my mother told it was because I’d been kissed by the Sun when I was born…that’s why I was so tan. I was born on the Autumn Equinox, it’s the longest day of autumn in the Autumn Court, the sun turns crimson and blesses the lands for the upcoming year.”

“That sounds very beautiful…”

“It is. It’s believed the trees come to life in the night and talk to each other, lovers of the earth able to speak for a few hours of the year. There’s feasts and fires, and we read stories of the sacrifice of the Wyvern.”

“Wyvern?” Elain’s yes turned bright and wide, “As in the animal from adventure novels?”

“Animal is an awfully polite term to describe harbinger’s of fire and death,” a grin flickered across Lucien’s face, “It’s believed that centuries and centuries ago, when the Old Gods still ruled the Earth, the Autumn Court was a nest of Wyverns. When the world changed into what it is today the mother Wyvern, Hermenegilda, scattered her cubs throughout time so that they may survive. Every year those of the Autumn Court gather in the caves to see if a cub will appear, and to praise the mother for her sacrifice.”

“Do they? The cubs, do they appear?”

“They used to, though a cub has not been found since before I was born. Courtiers tend to believe the cubs have run out, that there are no more children of the mother Wyvern, but devout believers still hope for a cub to appear each year.” With that, Lucien finished healing her pinkie finger and turned to peer at her. Their bodies still close, Elain’s palm still resting in his hand in his lap.

“You…what do you believe?” Elain breathed, her voice just a whisper.

“I think…well I…” Lucien’s voice was breathy and low, intimate in a way Elain hadn’t heard before, “...I’d like to believe that anything’s possible.”

Before Elain could have a moment to respond, or even think about what possible double meaning could come from his words, a furious flapping of wings caused her to startle and whip her head around, ripping her hand from Lucien’s lap in the process. There, on the other side of the cage, perched on a tree branch, was a beautiful bird. It was huge, with iridescent feathers and woody eyes, and the air surrounding the bird seemed to thrum with energy and magic.

“Don’t worry, it’s only Vassa.” Lucien nodded at the firebird, “…she’ll get Jurian for us.”

Elain just nodded, aware that her cheeks were still most likely flushed. Unable to meet Lucien’s eye, Elain watched as the firebird took off into the golden, mid-morning sky, a disapproving screech tearing from its throat.

[feysandfeels]

Which TS songs remind you of the different couples in SJM’s books???

Boy do I ??

You are a blessed soul for asking me this, and know that I adore you. 

There is now a part II to this.

Feysand:

Begin Again: “I've been spending the last eight months Thinking all love ever does Is break and burn, and end But on a Wednesday in a cafe I watched it begin again” Baby Feyre finding that love is not toxic, that love is supportive, that love can be wonderful. “You said you never met one girl who had As many James Taylor records as you But I do” but think of is as “he said he never met a girl who wasn’t afraid of his power, but i do”. Also also “Walked in expecting you'd be late But you got here early and you stand and wave I walk to you” because Feyre’s used to T*mlin’s mediocre ass but Rhys surprised her by being a decent human and treating her with respect, which makes her realize that she was starved for respect and that T*mlin was not giving her what every decent human being should get from the get go from their partner.

Ivy: Feyre slowly falling in love with Rhys, thinking about Rhys in the Spring Court between Night Court visits Also throughout ACOMAF how she battles with her ever growing feelings for the Lord of the Night, while feeling guilty about T*mlin, because they *just broke up*: “Oh, goddamn My pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand Taking mine, but it's been promised to another Oh, I can't Stop you putting roots in my dreamland My house of stone, your ivy grows And now I'm covered in you” and “I wish to know The fatal flaw that makes you long to be Magnificently cursed He's in the room Your opal eyes are all I wish to see He wants what's only yours”.

End game: I can practically see Rhys singing this in the shower thinking about Feyre, when she decided to work with him and him thinking like “YES THIS HAS TO BE A SIGN”. His reputation precedes him and in rumours he’s knee deep, him and Feyre would be a big conversation, he has enemies, he has heard about her and she has heard about him. He thinks “she’s so dope that he might overdose”. She’s been calling his bluff on all his usual tricks so here’s the truth from his red lips!!!!!

Dress: “Even in my worst times, you could see the best in me Flashback to my mistakes My rebounds, my earthquakes Even in my worst lies, you saw the truth in me And I woke up just in time Now I wake up by your side My one and only, my lifeline”. Need I say more? I think not your honor. 

Call it what you want: “I said you don’t need to save me, but would you run away with me?” That’s Feyre’s whole arc, I rest my case.

Nessian: the happiness I feel about the fact that these two are together is just enough to make me smile on a Monday

False God - The song literally opens up saying “We were crazy to think Crazy to think that this could work Remember how I said I'd die for you” HELLOOOO?? NESTA THINKING ABOUT THAT SCENE IN ACOWAR?? but also feeling that she’s unworthy of Cassian and that there is no way in hell that he will love her with all that she is.

Don’t Blame Me - The power of this song lies in the I unapologetic- powerful-full on I give myself to you and I will do it over and over again energy it has. And this is the energy that Nesta has for Cassian (even when homegirl really tries to pretend otherwise lol boo you tried). The “through your love I found salvation” religious aspect of Don’t blame me is Nesta, because through Cassian’s love and presence she found the perspective she needed on herself. Also this book was a religious experience for me. Jesus fuck.

Sparks Fly: From Cassian to Nesta, with love. First of all Cassian would be a diehard swiftie (all of the bat boys for that matter, merch a the concert, what will we do if we get invited to the rep room?? fans. Az woud be like the quiet yet “no, speak one ill word of Taylor and that’s your end, she did nothing wrong she was framed and I have evidence”). Second of all “The way you move is like a full on rainstorm And I'm a house of cards You're the kind of reckless that should send me running But I kinda know that I won't get far” That’s him alright, that’s him knowing that Nesta is a force to be reckoned with and he wants nothing nothing but to be in that storm and live within the force of nature that she is. Thirdly “My mind forgets to remind me, your a bad idea You touch me once and it's really something You find I'm even better than you, imagined I would be I'm on my guard for the rest of the world But with you I know its no good And I could wait patiently But I really wish you would” 

Elucien: This is an Elucien blog. 

Lover - In all honesty wanted to give this song to Feysand, because they are my main otp and this song is the highest of the high from Taylor, but I can’t deny the fact that this song screams Elucien. “With every guitar string scar on my hand” I think is a beautiful parallel for Elain and gardening, “My heart’s been borrowed, and yours has been blue” this speaks of Gr*yson and Jesminda, “I loved you three summers now but I want them all” that’s Lucien speaking ma’am. “Have I known you 20 seconds or 20 years?”, both of them about the bond. “And you'll save all your dirtiest jokes for me and at every table, I'll save you a seat, lover” we all know Lucien has a mind for dirty jokes and sass and Elain would always save him the sit next to her because he is the one who truly saw her and, in his distance, was the presence she needed while she figured it all out. Finally, The fact that the song has very clear wedding tones I think fits the headcanon, that more than a mating ceremony, Elucien would have a wedding, because it feels like something Elain would feel more comfortable with. 

Treacherous -“I can't decide if it's a choice Getting swept away I hear the sound of my own voice Asking you to stay”..... mmmmmm is this or isn’t it Elain getting closer to Lucien, but still wondering if it’s the bond or her, yet nonetheless surrendering to the fact that she wants him to stay. “This slope is treacherous This path is reckless This slope is treacherous And I, I, I like it” Elain doesn’t want an easy love, to simple do as the bond suggests she wants something that has twigs and branches and where she needs to question herself and truly ask what she wants out of life and this relationship. Also the softness of the melody juxtaposed with the vulnerability, brings a soft rawness that is Elain. 

King of my heart: Neither of them expected to feel like they could love with all the hope and unapologetic free falling feel characteristic of first loves, yet here we are. They rule their kingdom inside the room because they are discovering their feelings for each other away from prying eyes and people that have expectations on how they should work with the mating bond and all that. “Late in the night, the city's asleep Your love is a secret I'm hoping, dreaming, dying to keep Change my priorities The taste of your lips is my idea of luxury” Again, with the love away from everyone, feeling their world shift around what they are starting to feel for one another. “Is the end of all the endings? My broken bones are mending With all these nights we're spending” did we say healing arc through love and support an “not expecting anything to come off this, but I just want to see you well” à la sjm?? I THINK WE DID.

Emorie: I’m working with crumbs here, delicious crumbs that will make a delicious emorie cake, but crumbs nonetheless.. I need more and I need it now.

I think he knows - My girl Emerie crushing hard hard haaaaaaaaard on Mor.

Cruel Summer - “I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you And I snuck in through the garden gate Every night that summer just to seal my fate (oh) And I screamed for whatever it's worth "I love you, " ain't that the worst thing you ever heard” this is prime PRIME PRIME ANGST, we will get from these two.  

Gwynriel: this is an edit because I'm not a hoe for these two (yet...trust me once I see Az heal this is the tag where you will find me) and I did not know which songs might fit them and then when I posted it I was like WAIT WAIT I KNOW.

Gold rush - Gwyn talking herself out of her crush on Az after finding out about the whole necklace and being like “I don’t want a gold rush”.

Daylight - Az is a Taylor hoe first, spymaster second. She just makes him feel things. But in all seriousness “Like daylight It's golden like daylight You gotta step into the daylight and let it go Just let it go, let it goI wanna be defined by the things that I love Not the things I hate Not the things that I'm afraid of, I'm afraid of Not the things that haunt me in the middle of the night I, I just think that You are what you love” this is Az healing and being in better place where he can reflect on how he used to relate to love and romantic relationships, he now understands that love is not black and white but golden. He stepped into this notion of love and through it he found a beautiful relationship with Gwyn, he wants to be defined by the love he feels for her and the love he feels for his family, not by the things that haunted him, not by his mistakes, not by his trauma. He is golden, he is daylight, shadows and all he is daylight. 

Az + Elain: As a romantic end game they are not my ship, but I do stand by my pre-acosf position that these two would be really good friends

Out of the woods -  Where we stand after acosf I say that it is not far fetched that they might hook up and then realize that it’s not for them and that experience helps them access a new part of their healing: “They lost each other, but they found themselves”. The anxiety that this song mirrors is the anxiety of them knowing something doesn’t quite *fit* right, that they are both in turbulent times emotionally and this relationship is not giving them the peace they thought it would. They are paper airplanes, because they know that it’s not the right call for where they are in their own journeys if they want to heal properly and that neither will get what they truly want from the other one. The monsters who turned out to be trees, they are in the woods in this relationship, they were built to fall apart.. are all images that speak of the dynamic we could see of them, they try it doesn’t work and then after, when they are in better places mentally they will look back and be like “we dodge a bullet there didn’t we”.

Bonus: His necklace hanging around her neck, the image is clear there and so is the commentary. 

Az + Mor: formerly known as Moriel, the ship that used to reign my heart

Breath - This song is entirely from Az’s perspective once he and Mor talk about, well, everything. This is not how he had planned it, this is not how he wanted this to go, but “people are people and sometimes it doesn’t work out, but it’s killing me to see you go after all this time” referencing letting go of the romantic feelings he had for her. They were a crutch for him and now he has to face life and the things that torment him about it, without the protection and comfort his crush on her offered him. “And we know it's never simple, Never easy Never a clean break, no one here to save me You're the only thing I know like the back of my hand,” regardless of what you all want to think, they do love and know each other but shift in their dynamic will mean an adjustment for both of them... it’s not a clean break. “Never wanted this, never wanna see you hurt Every little bump in the road I tried to swerve”, also Idc about what you all think, Az never never never wanted to hurt Mor, if he knew his behavior was in someway affecting her he would have done something, and I think from the aftermath of him going after Eris on ACOWAR we can see that... also this might allude to him actually knowing that Mor is a lesbian and he has tried to make sure she feels safe around him and knows that he has her back agains the whole world if need be, regardless of her lack of romantic feelings for him. 

Feyl*n: honestly who knew there would be so many songs that would fit these two. Such bops for a crappy dude like T*mlin.

Exile - “I never learned to read your mind (never learned to read my mind) I couldn't turn things around (you never turned things around) 'Cause you never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs)” He never even tried to learn to read her mind, he never turned things around and she gave so so many signs. The way he looks at Rhys like he’s his understudy, but no sugar he’s the principal actor and you got fired.

Getaway car - and I oop. Because that is essentially what they were both to each other. Feyre needed someone to give her security and financial stability, T*mlin needed someone to break the curse: “It was the best of times the worst of crimes”.

Bad blood - LOOOOOL. They used to be mad love and now they have bad blood.

Tell me why -  Imma just leave a collection of quotes here that well allude to them through the first act of ACOMAF: “I took a chance, I took a shot And you might think I'm bulletproof but I'm not You took a swing, I took it hard And down here from the ground, I see who you are” Feyre seeing T*mlin for the abusive person that he is, from the ground.. where his behavior put her. Also “I'm sick and tired of your reasons I got no one to believe in You tell me that you want me, then push me around And I need you like a heartbeat But you know you got a mean streak Makes me run for cover when you're around Here's to you and your temper Yes, I remember what you said last night And I know that you see what you're doing to me Tell me why” The if he loved me, why did he do it and the “it’s not a question of if he loved you but how” conversation she has with Rhys.

I could go on and on forever placing all T-Swift songs around acotar characters, but I think this is getting longer than we all anticipated.. or did we? we all know I am not ✨concise✨. Anywho, thanks for sticking around.

Besos!!

BOOOONUUUUUUUUUSSSSSSS:

Obviously, Invisible String is for all my mated/soon to be mated boos, and I think Peace is a song that can apply to both Feysand and Nessian from Rhys’ and Nesta’s perspectives respectively. 

[theladyofdeath]

10 Things I Hate About You {1}

An ACOTAR fanfiction. 

Nessian. Feysand. Elriel. Elucien.

Story inspired by the 1999 classic, 10 Things I Hate About You, and a prompt from anon.

Summary: Cassian gets dared to convince the university’s notorious bitch to attend the Greek winter formal with him. Elain is conflicted between her lifelong crush or the boy with the hazel eyes who makes her feel like more than just a pretty face. Feyre finds herself captivated by her school’s new janitor, but little does she knew that he’s not employed there by choice.

Warning: Rated M for mature.

Author’s Note: WELCOME. Get ready for a hell of a ride. I love to know your thoughts! + comment or send an ask if you want to be tagged.

Nesta loved music.

There was something soothing about a song that could completely enthrall an average person within the first few notes. Nesta would close her eyes, lie on her bed, and listen for hours.

In her studio apartment, she had built floating shelves along one wall, that ranged from the floor to the ceiling. Vinyl records and cds were organized in alphabetical order, by genre.

No one else was allowed to touch them.

Not that she had that many visitors.

But, it was why she had left her last roommate and begun to live alone.

An old, beat up piano and an acoustic guitar sat in the corner, between what served as her kitchen and her bedroom.

There were many days when Nesta wouldn’t even step out of her apartment, or days when the only time she would leave would be to go to the old record store on the corner.

At least, that’s how it was during the Summer months.

Now, it was September and the first day of her senior year at VU had approached. One more year. All she had to do was get through one more year, and she never had to step foot in an educational facility ever again.

It was about damn time.

Nesta had always hated school. Unfortunately, many believed it was necessary for future success.

Nothing like getting into debt that is forever impossible to pay off, just so you can one day make enough to, hopefully, survive.

It was a fucked up system, but Nesta endured it, nonetheless.

One day, she was going to open up her own music store. She was going to be a business owner - a successful one, unlike her father.

Her father stupidly ran his own business into the ground and was so devastated that he neglected to take care of his three children.

She would never be like her old man.

Nesta dropped her towel in front of her mirror and looked at her body. She was much too thin for her liking. She practically had the ass of a twelve-year-old boy. Tilting her head, she took a deep breath in through her nose and let it out through her lips.

Maybe she should start eating more.

Too bad food was so damn expensive and she had just spent five hundred dollars on books for the semester.

Fucked. Up. System.

Nesta pulled on a pair of jeans and decided on a long-sleeved black tee. She hated how college boys neglected to hide their wandering eyes, so Nesta dressed to avoid such altercations at all costs.

After grabbing her book bag off her couch, she was walking through the warm Velaris streets, her hair still damp from her shower.

She glanced at her phone screen. She had ten minutes to make it to her 9 a.m. class.

After a short curse, she picked up her pace.

She had lived on campus for the first two years but wasn’t a fan of it. Campus life typically revolved around idiot boys pretending to be men and girls who snuck out after hours. Her roommate, the one who touched her records, had a squeaky bed with heavy movement.

It squeaked often.

Although it was more expensive, Nesta decided to live alone just outside of campus. Her apartment was convenient - next to campus, next to the diner in which she worked, and walking distance to the music store. Although she had a car, she rarely used it.

But as her legs began to grow tired, she wondered why.

Her 9 a.m. class was on the far end of campus, so she hurried through a series of courtyards before finally reaching the old, looming brick building.

She pulled out her phone and pulled up her schedule as she entered. British Literature 1. Room 303.

There was a line at the elevator, so she took to the staircase.

She had two minutes to get to the third floor.

And she would have made it if it weren’t for him.

“Hey,” he said, stepping in front of her when she made it to the third floor. “Greek night is tonight. Come?”

Nesta tried to step past him but he followed her lead, handing her a flyer.

“Move,” she snapped.

He grinned, and she met his eyes for the first time. Hazel, bright. His shoulder length hair was a deep, dark brown.

His smile was beautifully dangerous, beautifully horrid.

“I’m going to be late, asshole,” she scowled. “Move.”

He folded up a flyer and stuck it in the side pocket of her backpack. “Fine. See you later.”

“No, you won’t,” she mumbled, knocking into his shoulder as she hurried past him.

She could hear his laughter follow her until she walked into room 303.

~~~~

Rhysand entered Amarantha’s office, already wanting to puke.

She was sitting behind her desk, her red-gold hair in a tight braid. Her eyes met his and she grinned.

“Ah, Rhysand,” she crooned. “You’re late for your first day on the job.”

Rhys shut the door but stayed near it as he replied, “Considering school has been in session for an hour, I assumed it would be okay.”

She raised a brow. “I’ll allow it, just this once.”

He gave her a curt nod.

“Here are your keys,” she said, tossing a ring across the room, which he easily caught. “There is a closet by the gym with all of your supplies. I expect you here from eight to five every day, Monday through Friday. Any step out of line, Rhysand, and you will be sorry. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” he replied, through gritted teeth.

She smiled, charmingly. “So uptight. I like you better relaxed.”

“Is small talk a part of my job description?” he asked, irritated.

“No,” she said, smile unwavering. “You may leave.”

“Fine,” he said, opening her door.

“And Rhysand?”

He stopped, but didn’t turn.

“Say goodbye before you leave this afternoon,” she said.

Rhysand shut the door quietly behind him.

He attempted to reel in his emotions as he strode through the silent hallways. Three years ago, he had been a senior at North Velaris High. Three years ago, he thought he’d be nearing the end of his college career at twenty-one. But, now, he was a janitor.

It’s not that he had anything against janitors.

He actually respected them greatly. They had to clean up some pretty horrible shit, after some pretty disrespectful teenagers.

But, he had never imagined himself as one.

Until now, he was going to VU for psychology. He had worked his ass off year round, even taking Summer classes.

But then, Summer came, once more, and Amarantha…

Knew.

She knew, and she held it over him. She hadn’t been his principle, she was only a few years older than he was. Rumor was, her father got her the job. It was her first year, and she had taken Rhysand with her.

She was keeping him close, keeping him near so she could watch his every move.

And he wouldn’t have done it unless he had to, wouldn’t have taken the job and abandoned everything else if he didn’t believe her threats.

He was caught up in a dangerous game.

A game he hadn’t even wanted to play in the first place.

Rhysand found his way to the janitor’s closet by the gym. After attempting half the keys on his key ring, he finally managed to get it open.

It was filled with supplies, ancient supplies, all that had been used by his father. He stepped inside and flipped on the light switch, brushing his fingertips along the broomsticks and the rags that lined the shelves.

There was a schedule posted on the wall in familiar handwriting.

Handwriting that Rhysand had grown up seeing.

Handwriting that belonged to a man he’d never see again.

Without giving it too much thought, he slipped the coveralls over his sweatpants and teeshirt before tending to his duties.

~~~~

The day passed quickly for Elain Archeron.

She was so busy prepping for Greek night that she’d barely made it to her afternoon class, and when it was over, she ran to Greek Row and into the house of Alpha Delta Pi, greeting her sisters before grabbing a clipboard and beginning her checklist.

It was nearly half an hour after four when two familiar faces showed up on the lawn.

Elain grinned, running to the curb. “So? I just hung the banner. What do you think?”

Feyre nodded in approval as Nesta glared at girls in passing.

“It’s beautiful, Elain,” Feyre smiled. “You did a great job. Sorry we couldn’t make it here earlier, tryouts went longer than I thought.”

Elain had almost forgotten that Feyre was trying out for the varsity soccer team. In her will to get everything set up, it had slipped her mind.

“How’d it go?”

“Good,” Feyre beamed. “They’re posting spots tomorrow. They also let me into two art classes this semester, since I finished all my math credits last year. And we got a hot, new janitor. So, overall, not a bad first day.”

Elain huffed a laugh. “That’s great, Feyre. Only one more year until you’re here with me.”

Nesta hadn’t said a word.

She hated the Greeks and everything they stood for, hated that Elain had spent three years in ADPi, even if their mom had been a part of the same sorority during her time at VU.

“I’m going to go see if anyone needs help,” Feyre smiled, hurrying across the yard.

“She’s brainwashed,” Nesta mumbled.

“Don’t be so hard on her,” Elain scolded. “Just because this isn’t your thing doesn’t mean it can’t be hers.”

“She only wants to join because of you and mom,” Nesta said, crossing her arms. “I mean, look at all of this. You’re all working your asses off to have a bunch of wannabe's ask you a million questions in five minutes, then leave.”

“If you don’t want to be here, why’d you come?” Elain asked, refusing to get angry, but growing frustrated.

“Feyre wanted to come,” she shrugged. “I’m not letting her walk around a college campus alone.”

“She wouldn’t be alone. She’d be with me.”

“You’re busy,” Nesta said. “Aren’t you going out with Vanserra tonight?”

Nesta couldn’t help the way she was. Or, maybe she could and just didn’t want to.

The way she said Vanserra made his name sound like filth.

“Yes, and I’m very excited about it, so it’d be nice if you were excited for me, too.”

“Excited about what?” Nesta scoffed. “Going out with a guy who only wants to take you to dinner so he can leave before breakfast?”

Elain’s brows furrowed. “He’s not like that. He’s not like the rest of them.”

“They’re all like that,” Nesta snapped, before pulling out her phone and sitting on the curb.

Elain sighed, catching the glimpse of a visitor.

He was wearing his typical, black jeans, which had rips in the knees. His boots were old, dingy, falling apart. He wore a plain black tee with a plaid button-down tossed over his shoulder.

Nesta looked up from her screen, fury igniting. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I see you came,” he winked. “It was because of my flyer, wasn’t it?”

Nesta chuckled. “You’re in a fraternity? Seriously?”

He didn’t answer her question. Instead, he looked up. “Hey, Elain. Lovely to see you, as always.”

Elain smiled, even though she felt the need to roll her eyes. “Hi, Cassian. All set up for the night?”

“Nothing fancy,” he shrugged. “Although, there is a party afterward. You should come.”

“I have plans,” she said, politely declining.

Cassian smiled down at Nesta. “How about you?”

“I’d rather bathe in gasoline and jump into a fire,” Nesta spat.

He chuckled and walked away, hands in his pockets.

“He doesn’t look like he’d be a frat boy,” Nesta said after he left.

“Kappa Sigma,” Elain said. “Party frat. We don’t take them too seriously.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, probably wondering why someone would take any fraternity or sorority seriously.

“You know, you probably would have liked it if you finished rush week freshman year,” Elain noted, before crossing her arms and walking toward the house. “At least I made it.”

~~~~

Nesta sat on the curb for a long while, watching as hopeful freshman went from house to house on Greek row.

She had been in their shoes once. Four years ago, she had walked the same walk on Greek row, excited to follow in her late mother’s footsteps.

She hadn’t made it through Rush, though.

She had left.

Had secluded herself.

Had begun to push everything and everyone away.

That week had changed her.

Feyre plopped down next to her on the grass just as the sun began to set. “I think I’m going to stay for a little while. I can get a ride home from one of the girls. You don’t have to wait for me.”

“It’s a school night.”

“Have I ever proven that I’m not responsible?”

Nesta glared at her youngest sister.

Feyre glared back.

She wasn’t wrong. Feyre was probably the most reliable out of all of them.

“Fine,” Nesta said, standing to her feet and brushing off her jeans. “Make good choices.”

Feyre lifted a brow. “Fine. You too.”

Nesta walked back to her apartment, alone, as the Velaris starlight made its appearance.

~~~~

Chapter two coming soon.

@throne-of-ashes-and-beauty @photofeesh @mariamuses @queen-archeron @agel-yan  @julesherondalex @rhysismydaddy @poisonous00 @katshrev         @girl-who-reads-the-books @a-trifling-matter @kickassunicorn  @illyrian-highfae @light-in-the-shadows72 @abimomeopectore @cjcraiggchiefofstaff        @empress-ofbloodshed  @outofstyles13  @overgrown-bat @thebitchupstairs @breccia-domain    @ladyblackstairs  @nish247  @my-fan-side  @panda3506 @awesomethreedragons  @hawkingeloise @feysand-dot-acotar  @darknessinthediamond @welcometothespeaknowworldtour @illyrianbae99      @i-look-like-a-mess  @my-parabatai-is-a-herondale @justacatastrophe @sofyyyd  @sannelovesreading  @kylizzles @kiss-my-maas @inrealliampain     @alien-from-pluto-writer @corpdemarvel @lorcanswife @aelinsaesthetic @illyriangarbage 

[rhysand-vs-fenrys]

The Cabin By the Lake: NSFW Bonus Chapter 3b

This is an extended Morridwen scene from my fic “The Cabin by the Lake”, where Mor and Cerridwen’s reunion is extended into an NSFW scene.

Chapter 1 (Feysand) || Chapter 2 (Azuala) || Chapter 3: (Morridwen) || Chapter 4: (Elucien) || Chapter 5: (Amrian)

For my fanfiction library visit @rhysand-vs-fenrys-vs-writing​

The Cabin by the Lake (Exclusive): NSFW Morridwen

That night meant nothing.

Mor could still taste the female’s kiss.

She meant nothing.

The sound of her breathless gasps still filled Mor’s fantasies.

None of it meant anything.

A kiss so fiercely passionate it set their blood boiling and drew and undignified moan from her lips.

I love you, Morrigan.

And then she simply vanished.

For three hundred years Mor took up a vigil on the anniversary of their meeting. Centuries of searching for a female no one knew in a city no one could enter or leave. She should have been found in a day- but she’d remained elusive. Mor still took lovers, but a part of her would inevitably compare them to that perfect, dark-skinned female and suddenly they were the ones who meant nothing.

Both of them had been masked and far from sober. The sex wasn’t what stood out in her memory- it was how right everything felt. Her body fit against Mor’s perfectly, her dark skin was a perfect complement to Mor’s golden tone, and the sound of her voice-

-it was the most perfect sound she could imagine.

That perfect match was what her greedy heart craved.

But… nothing. Three hundred years, and not so much as a whisper of her.

Perhaps it wasn’t the mysterious female who meant nothing. Perhaps it was Mor herself.

Would she be disgusted to discover that the third in command of Night was utterly in thrall? Did it make her laugh when she pictured Mor pining away decade after decade? A single night- that was all they’d had. Why did it have to be more than that?

Well, it didn’t have to be, but that was what Mor wanted above all else.

Rhysand was taken Under the Mountain, and Mor forced herself to set aside the ghost of that cruel, divine female. She had to at least try to be stronger for the people of Velaris.

Fifty years passed, and now with Elain, Lucien, and Nesta in tow their expanded family descended on Rita’s for the Feast of Souls. Rhysand and Feyre were… otherwise engaged at home, but Mor was determined to have fun. It didn’t matter that she had felt that anxiety and pain again the moment Rhys returned from Under the Mountain- as if the female were somewhere close. It didn’t matter that the dark eyes of her lover were haunting her once again.  She would have fun, and she would find a way to move on.

Tension hung over Mor, thick and nearly tangible. She felt a twisting guilt in her chest, as if she’d forgotten something. It was a feeling she’d had every Feast of Souls since that blessed and damnable encounter. She always thought ‘Maybe this time she’ll be there,’ and yet she never was.

Still… what if?

As Mor wrestled with the decision to stay on the dance floor or go home, Rita caught her eye, glanced at the door to the upstairs party, and nodded.

It was Rita’s mate who’d introduced her to the stranger. They both knew of Mor’s centuries-long quest for her identity. 

Could that mean-

Mor didn’t care who saw her. She ran to the door and took the steps two at a time. Anyone who got in her way was moved with a hurried ‘sorry’ and a not-so-gentle shove. She almost knocked the doors off their hinges in her rush to enter and-

-and sitting at the table Mor had conducted her vigil from was a dark-skinned female in a black dress, her identity hidden behind a black veil and a gold-and-diamond mask that obscured everything beneath her obsidian eyes.

She gave no thought to who may see her unmasked face. Mor went straight to the female she’d loved and lost. Delicate, slender hands slid to her hips as Mor lifted the veil just far enough to seize the female’s mouth- a boundary she’d set on their only meeting. Her shattering kiss was as devastatingly perfect as the last they’d shared.

Mor didn’t even bother to excuse herself from her friends downstairs. Rita would tell them she’d left with someone. She winnowed the female across Velaris, straight into her apartment.

“Where have-“

The female put a finger on Mor’s lips to stop her as they both struggled for breath. They were trembling with need, but the female took a step back.

“I was scared for so long. I thought you would hate me if you knew. Every year I watched you look for me, and every year it killed me to stay away. After Under the Mountain, I refuse to be afraid.”

“Under the Mountain?” Mor paused- then it hit her in a wave of terror and ice. Only two females from Velaris went Under the Mountain- two females far, far too close to the Inner Circle, “Which one?”

There was no hesitation as the half-wraith removed her veil- the shield that gave her the courage to love Mor openly for just one night so many years ago. Her almond-shaped eyes and the crook in her left eyebrow- Mor knew instantly.

“Cerridwen.”

She stared at her for a long time- at Azriel’s spy who she’d loved with quiet ferocity for three long centuries. The female who’d wrecked all others for her, who’d vanished after a kiss that Mor could still feel on her lips even now.

A female who was something far greater than nothing… the one Mor had long since realized… was her mate.

“You didn’t give me a chance last time,” she whispered. “You didn’t wait for me to reply, so let me say it properly now.”

Mor stepped in close, erasing the gap between them. She cupped Cerridwen’s face in her hands and stroked her silken cheeks, just as she’d done after their first and only night together.

I love you Morrigan.

“I love you too.”

Cerridwen barely managed to stifle a sob as Mor grabbed her and drew her into a long, hard kiss. Her entire body was overwhelmed by lightning and fire- by the feeling of that golden female she’d loved so much for so long, it was hard to even breathe each time she was dismissed from her presence.

One of Mor’s hands slid around Cerridwen’s lower back while the other moved up her spline to gently hold the back of her neck. It took three hundred years to find Cerridwen again, she wasn’t about to let go.

Memory tended to distort with time, or so Mor believed. A pleasant memory becomes magical, the bad get worse. After her desperate search, a part of Mor had long since accepted that even if she did find the female, things couldn’t possibly be as perfect as she’d imagined.

She was wrong.

If anything, time had dulled the fantasy of Cerridwen’s lips against hers. Mor couldn’t taste enough of them. They were perfectly formed, and she could hardly stop herself as she sucked Cerridwen’s lower lip between hers, acutely aware of the other returning as much attention to her upper one.

The first brush of Cerridwen’s tongue between her lips elicited a soft, pleading moan. Both still had a barrier up- those same walls of uncertainty and fear that separated them for so long. With Mor’s arms tight around Cerridwen and the wraith’s stroking her hair, they were still two beings.

Separate. Individual. Apart.

So, Mor opened her mouth, and let Cerridwen’s tongue enter.

The taste of her lips had only been a shadow of the divine sweetness Mor found in her mouth. Her own tongue stroked and teased as Cerridwen returned her moans.

Slowly, almost on their own, Cerridwen’s hands moved from Mor’s hair to her back, her sides, her hips. A soft nudge- barely more than a shifting of the feet, adjusted their hips so that each female’s pelvis pressed against the other’s thigh. That pressure sent a shiver through Mor, but it was nowhere near enough.

She broke their kiss and opened her eyes to meet Cerridwen’s gaze. Their bodies were pressed against one another, with pesky clothing keeping them apart. A blush covered the wraith’s chest and cheeks. Her eyes were wide as she panted.

Cerridwen held still as Mor stepped back. Her dark eyes followed a golden hand as it rose to cup her cheek. She turned her gaze back to the shining female and nuzzled her palm, turning ever so slightly to lick at Mor’s thumb, then draw the tip in to lightly scrape with her teeth.

Mor’s eyes never left Cerridwen’s as she traced her thumb along those perfect lips. Once she’d circled back around, the wraith nipped at it once again. Mor slid the thumb in to her mouth to the first knuckle, then began to slowly pump it in and out as Cerridwen started sucking at the skin. She stroked the pad of Mor’s finger with her tongue slowly, showing her exactly what she planned to do between her legs later on.

Aching need was building in Mor and she whimpered at the heat of Cerridwen’s mouth. The apex of her thighs pulsed in time with her lover’s tongue.

Her thumb withdrew and she returned to Cerridwen’s embrace. She cupped her lover’s neck once more and trailed kisses along her jaw, earning a happy sigh. The shy desire in Cerridwen made Mor burn hotter, and she slid a hand down from neck to shoulder, drawing aside the strap of Cerridwen’s black dress. The wraith freed her arm from it entirely and with a kiss of cool air, her breast slipped free.

Red silk scraped across the too-sensitive flesh of her erect nipples as Mor pressed against her. The hand on Cerridwen’s shoulder slid down to the newly exposed flesh. Mor gently squeezed her breast, earning a sweet gasp.

Again, it was even more perfect than Mor remembered. A comfortable handful of warmth and impossibly soft skin that all pulled towards a mahogany nipple the perfect size for nibbling.

Mor swirled her thumb around the nipple before pinching it. Cerridwen’s next gasp was swallowed by Mor’s lips as she drew her once more into a deep, open kiss. Refusing to release Cerridwen’s breast, Mor stepped back and pulled her lover along.

Cerridwen smiled against her lips as Mor pulled her from the foyer to her bedroom. She broke the kiss only to draw some much-needed air. “I’ve had three hundred years to dream of how I would do this.”

“I’ve been dreaming of it far longer.” Cerridwen let or sit on the bed before lifting her skirts and moving to straddle Mor’s hips. She stroked her golden face and smiled at the way it seemed to glow against her darkness. Mor’s arms circled her waist, holding her secure. On a whim, she rested her cheek along the draped fabric of Cerridwen’s half-on dress, her nose gently pressing against the wraith’s breast.

“When Azriel brought Nuala and I to meet you all- the moment I saw you I was lost,” Cerridwen cradled Mor’s head, basking in the miracle that was at last in her arms. No fear, no shame, and no mask to conceal her identity, “I loved you quietly every second those years. Even Nuala noticed I’d lost myself to someone- not that she ever knew who. I went to Rita’s that night because she told me to find a female who could help me forget the other.”

“You always knew it was me beneath the mask, didn’t you? Before I even took it off?” There was pain in her voice, a deep, aching regret for every second they’d lost because of her fears.

“I did,” Cerridwen tipped Mor’s chin up until their eyes met, “and I don’t hold it against you. You looked for me, I was the one hiding. I saw how sad you were and I just- I was too scared of losing you to risk having you.”

“Feyre knows… what I am.” Mor’s arms tightened and she hid her face once more in Cerridwen’s chest, “If it is the only way to be with you, I’ll tell the others.” Her words were muffled, and Cerridwen’s heart cracked.

She returned to stroking Mor’s hair, comforting her, “Don’t you dare, not for me.”

“I would do anything for you,” Mor whispered, and she meant it. Three hundred years apart, and yet now, in Cerridwen’s arms, she knew she’d found home at last.

“Love me,” Cerridwen lifted her face and kissed Mor, “trust me, and hold me. But don’t reveal yourself for me. Do it for you, and only when you’re ready. My sexuality is the easiest part of me for people to understand, so I have never feared it or questioned how others would see me. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to reveal that precious side of yourself and I would never make it a condition of my love for you.”

Mor sobbed against her lips and salty tears mixed into their kiss. Cerridwen was a miracle she didn’t deserve. To the wraith, Mor was a blessing from the divine.

Cerridwen kissed away Mor’s tears, but the golden female needed her to know how much her words and actions meant. She seized Cerridwen’s mouth with hers and rolled to lay her on her back. She kept a hand on the wraith’s cheek as she shifted to straddle her leg and whipped blindly through the fabric of her skirts. Once she found a way in, her fingers reached for Cerridwen’s leg and followed it up towards something warm and swollen with need.

That was where the desperation eased somewhat. Cerridwen had foregone undergarments and Mor’s fingers traced the curve of her smooth entrance. Up and down her finger slid, never enough to part the folds, no matter how Cerridwen whimpered against her mouth or angled her knees out and away- opening herself.

When Mor’s finger parted her at last, it came away shining with moisture.

She continued her light tracing, only offering the tip of her finger- enough to tease the inside of her folds but not touch her entrance or touch her knot. Still, a drop of something slick and sweet soon rolled down her finger.

“Please,” Cerridwen gasped at last. Her hand grasped Mor’s elbow as if she could force her hand in deeper, but the other resisted.

She slid another finger through Cerridwen until it too was covered in her wetness. Despite her whispered pleas against Mor’s lips, she continued to tease her- all the while torturing herself.

“Take it off,” Mor said at long last, moving the skirts from beneath her knee. Cerridwen didn’t hesitate- she shifted her hips up- straight into Mor’s waiting knot. Mor gasped and ground against Cerridwen harder and harder, until she managed to pull her skirts out from under her and finally threw her dress off the bed.

Mor fell onto her aching breasts in an instant, and as she sucked one into her mouth she slowly pushed her fingers into Cerridwen. The wraith arched in an instant, pushing herself against Mor’s mouth with a wordless cry. Too long- it had been too long since she felt so whole and complete. She wanted to kiss Mor- to return as much of this incredible feeling as she’d been given.

While Mor focused her attentions on Cerridwen’s slit and breast, Cerridwen began to roll her hips up into the slow plunge of her fingers. Mor moaned and her own breath hitched as the leg beneath her shifted to rub against her knot through the fabric of her gown.

“Take it off,” Cerridwen threw Mor’s words back at her.

Mor was forced to withdraw from Cerridwen’s body, leaving her empty and hungrier than ever. She slipped a hand beneath Mor’s skirts as the golden female negotiated hidden ties- then those of the ruby corset beneath. Cerridwen had no love for undergarments, but Mor most certainly did. She felt silk lace and stroked the front of that- hard enough to encourage Mor to undress faster, but not hard enough to offer any reprieve.

The dress was, at last, flung aside, and with it her corset. Cerridwen slipped her hand down the front of those red silk panties and hooked two fingers into Mor. When the female bent down to kiss her, she dodged her lips with a smirk and immediately took one of Mor’s large breasts into her mouth.

Nothing existed beyond Cerridwen’s touch- nothing save the scent of her arousal. Mor pushed her cool fingers back into her lover and curled her thumb down to press- finally- against her knot. Cerridwen’s shout of pleasure was little more than a hum as she continued to bite and suck at Mor’s breasts. As sensitive as she was there- it was almost as good as rubbing her clit too.

Cerridwen had Mor’s breast to absorb her gasps and cries. Mor had nothing. She was shaking, whimpering with need and desire. A thick, wet sound came from both and only served to encourage the wave growing inside her. That lewd sound represented what she could do to Cerridwen- as much as the wraiths tortured cries. It also stood for what Cerridwen was capable of drawing from her.

Mor’s free hand pinched and squeezed Cerridwen’s breast as her fingers slowly began to pick up speed. Cerridwen’s hips began to rise as she released Mor’s breast and looked up at her- mouth frozen open. She exhaled low and slow, but the tension in her body gave it sound. Mor was almost lost, but she smiled at that sound.

Her other most treasured memory took on new significance- the way Cerridwen screamed her pleasure as it devastated her. For a quiet, secretive wraith she could make the most wonderful sounds.

At the same time, both females slid their fingers from one another. Cerridwen turned half onto her side and lifted her leg for Mor to grab. The other female ripped her panties in an effort to get them off faster, then shifted so that she was straddling Cerridwen’s open legs. She pressed her heat to her lover’s entrance, hugged the leg tight to her chest, and began to roll her hips in tight, focused circles. Within a few passes, her folds parted against Cerridwen, and the wraith’s against hers.

They cried in unison as their knots found one another and that glorious, wet noise filled the air once more. No female ever fit so completely against Mor, and Cerridwen never felt more powerful or powerless as she did beneath this one. Her pleasure slid back for a moment as she found their rhythm, but now it was rushing at her hard and fast.

It would be impossible to hold back the tidal wave.

As much as Mor loved Cerridwen’s screams, Cerridwen loved the flood unleashed by the other’s orgasm.

Mor’s gaze was drawn from Cerridwen’s at last and her circling focused exclusively on the swirling of their knots. She pressed down harder and harder as Cerridwen’s gasps turned to shuddering cries and her body tensed.

A squeak from Mor was the sign that the wave was upon her. That squeak sent Cerridwen over the edge.

Her back arched and two growing cries were torn from her lips before her jaw clenched and a scream ripped through her. Her entire body was hard and loose as Mor ground against her knot, made a far quieter shout, and was immobilized by blinding, glorious fire. The first splash of her against Cerridwen’s knot took the very breath from her lungs, and the wraith quickly reached down to pull her lips open wider.

She screamed again and took over for Mor, grinding their bodies together as another jet of Mor’s release hit hard against her quaking entrance. Mor fell to her side on the bed, but still she held Cerridwen’s leg, and the wraith didn’t stop moving until Mor’s body shuddered and she forced a hand between them, protecting her core.

Mor shivered and shook with the force of her climax. White spots danced before her eyes and she wasn’t entirely sure she could fight back the darkness that threatened to take her as she shielded herself from any more stimulation.

Only when that other tension left her did she let Cerridwen untangle their legs and crawl up the bed to kiss her.

“I love you,” Mor murmured, her body still shuddering with violent pulses of pleasure.

Cerridwen settled against Mor and held her- mound to mound and breast to breast. There was no denying they fit perfectly. She wanted to kiss her through the next ten minutes- until Mor had recovered enough for Cerridwen to wreck her again. But there was something she had to do-

“This time we can say it in the same century,” she whispered against Mor’s lips. “I love you too.”

[hellas-himself]

Where There Are Shadows pt 32

so. two things. 

I am absolute Elriel trash. But I am also here for Elucien, but since this is Feyrhycien, we’re going with Elriel. 

I’m on and off with Nessian. I eat it up when I read fics on here, but when I read the books I remember how she treats everyone and it irks my soul. But I love her in my own way. 

So with that being said, happy hump day. 

.

.

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-Feyre-

 Elain was a giggling mess as I buttoned up the back of her dress. It was perhaps as Night Court as I would ever see my sister. It was similar to the dress I’d worn the night Rhys and I had invited Lucien to dinner at the House all those months ago, except hers was not backless and wherever there was skin exposed, she’d had it altered to at least a sheer panel of fabric which somehow made it that more alluring.

“You might just give Azriel a heart attack,” I said when I finished and we stared at her reflection in the mirror.

“If he didn’t pass out yesterday, I think he’ll be fine,” she said as she began to fret over her hair. “You’d think they’d announce themselves when they arrive.”

I snorted. Elain and I had been up on the patio sunbathing yesterday morning and when I realized all three males had finally come back from the Steppes, we’d run inside in our towels. Rhys could not have been happier, but Az…

“I can’t believe you walked right up to him and said hello before disappearing into your room.”

“It’s not like he was going to!”

I helped her pin some of her hair back.

“Elain Archeron, where is your modesty!”

She laughed.

“I must have lost it outside in the garden.”

“Maybe Az found it and has it in his pocket.”

“I’ll have to ask him for it, then.”

Gods, this ease in which Elain and I could talk to one another… We had never had this. I hated that Nesta was missing out on it. On seeing Elain break free of her shell and doing things solely because they made her happy, not because they were expected of her. And my goal was to give Elain a night she would never forget.  

All eyes were on Elain when we made it downstairs, Cassian whistling as she walked by. Amren was quick to come admire the gold bracelet inlaid with pink stones while Rhys showered us both with compliments. Varian raised his glass at her from where he sat.

When we sat down, Cassian was kind enough to bring us some wine.

“Shame Az isn’t here for dinner,” Cas said with a sigh, making Rhys roll his eyes.

“Feyre and I are going out today,” Elain declared. I noticed that she searched the room but did not find who she was looking for. If she was disappointed she didn’t say anything.

“You’re all dressed up like that and you’re not even having dinner with us?” Cassian asked, genuinely surprised. Elain blushed.

“No,” I said. Cassian looked disappointed.

“But you and Rhys could walk us to where we’re going,” Elain kindly offered to which Cassian happily accepted. 

.

“Have you ever been here before?” Rhys asked, looking at Elain as she shook her head.

Cas had his arm around my shoulder and pulled me closer to him.

“I’ve never been here before either,” he whispered.

“Mor suggested it,” I replied and he sighed.

“That explains it.”

I poked his side as we approached the two fae standing before a set of double doors. Arm in arm, Rhys led Elain inside, Cas and I following. The owner of the venue greeted us personally before guiding us upstairs to the private area I had requested.

“Feyre!” Elain exclaimed, letting go of Rhys to pull me away from Cas. She led me to a painting that hung on the wall.

“So that’s where Mor put it,” I muttered, feeling my face get warm. It was a painting of Velaris from my point of view up at the House of Wind.  

“It is an honor to have your work here, my Lady,” the owner said.

“Thank you,” was all I could manage to say. Elain laughed at me for it.

Rhysand went to speak with the owner and soon, we were left to our own devices. We walked its gilded halls hand in hand, admiring the paintings and the chandeliers that hung from the ceiling. We’d had this once, even if I did not remember much of it. But what little good I’d had as a child, Elain was there.

“What are you smiling about?” she asked as I held out my hand to continue on.

“I like seeing you happy.”

The sound of music grew louder the closer we got to the doors at the end of the hall.

“It sounds like a ball,” Elain mused, her eyes sparkling with delight.

Cassian and Rhys did us the honors of opening the doors for us.

And it was better than I had imagined.

Standing beneath a canopy of flowers and fae light was Azriel, who looked as if he had just finished decorating the room. My sister gasped, eyes wide. There were two long tables covered in trays of food, and a table solely for drinks. The quartet played from the dais on the far end of the room which was as large as a ball room. It was just as grand as the rest of the building, boasting a large chandelier and floor to ceiling windows that gave us a beautiful view of Velaris.

“Feyre… What did you do?”

“I may have let slip that tonight was very important.”

Her eyes widened.

“Just go to him,” I whispered, giving her a gentle nudge. As she made her way over, a smile blossomed on Azriel’s face that was so devastatingly beautiful I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to capture it perfectly.

“What is all this?” she asked Azriel, bringing her hands to his chest as she admired the detail on his waist coat. He took her hands in his and kissed them.  

“Happy birthday,” he said softly.

Her laughter was melodious.  

“Azriel… It’s beautiful.”

Whatever he said to her was lost on me as everyone walked in, complimenting the room and how both Elain and Azriel were dressed.

“Am I the only one who didn’t know about this?”

Cassian wrapped an arm around me.

“Elain didn’t know.”

“I resent that.”

I leaned into him.

“You’ll forgive me.”

“Really?”

I nodded, watching Elain admire the flowers with Az. Mor looked in awe of the room and was chatting away with Amren while Varian approached them with drinks. Guests from all over arrived, those who had come to know Elain and wanted to share this night with us.

“I’ll be right back,” I said to Cas. “Rhys is looking a little lonely.”

Cassian laughed as I walked off to where Rhysand was standing, taking everything in.

“You pulled it off,” he said with a smile.

“With a lot of help.”

“You look exquisite, Feyre.”

I blushed. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

His laughter warmed my heart. The way he looked at me never ceased to give me butterflies, to make me feel altogether vulnerable and safe. 

Elain danced with nearly everyone, even Rhysand. Those two did nothing but laugh the entire time, especially when they saw me watching. When Azriel swept her off her feet, quite literally, we all tried to pretend we weren’t watching them dance. But I had the feeling they saw no one else but each other.

As the party began to wind down, we found Cassian handing Elain a small glass. She eyed him with a determination that reminded me of Nesta, of me. And she drank the whole thing and held the glass out for more.

And so began their game.

They tried racing one another back to the townhouse, but that ended with Cassian slipping and Elain stopping to laugh at him. Cassian goaded the rest of us into his little game, until we were all drunk. When Elain beat Cas in finishing her drink, we all applauded. Az was watching her with a little smile on his face, not as drunk as the rest of us, but enough to not care that we saw him smiling as he looked at her.

When the time came for presents, she thanked us all individually as we passed them to her. A pair of earrings from Rhys, a set of gardening tools from Cas. Amren and Varian had given her flowers from the Summer Court to be sent to the greenhouse, which left her beaming.

The room went still as Elain opened Azriel’s gift.

“Azriel, this is too much.” She held up the little gold necklace by the blue stone that hung from it. Her eyes met his and then she was smiling as she rose to her feet. “Put it on for me.”

Azriel went to stand behind her, and the way his fingers brushed across her skin reminded me of how Rhys used to be with me, in the beginning. I wasn’t sure why I remembered the first time he’d helped me into fighting leathers but when I looked at Rhys, he was grinning like the insufferable prick that he was. I rolled my eyes, before looking away to find the Elain hugging Az, leaving him blushing.

And then came my gift.

“Just once, Elain. If you hate it, I’ll give you the back up present.”

“A back up present?” she asked, lifting the little top I’d had made for her. It was like every other Night Court outfit Rhys had ever given me, but hers was a deep blue, almost black. Little silver beads hung from the hem of the top. The pants had a silver chain that hung loose on the hips, both pant legs made of the sheer fabric I’d come to cherish in this summer heat. With a giggle, she took Cassian’s drink from his hand and finished it, excusing herself from the room.

When she walked back, I think we all held our breath. These clothes, they were made for a figure like hers. She was blushing as she went to sit between Cassian and Mor again. She’d never shown this much skin before, but I suppose after our little incident yesterday, this was nothing.

And then, Mor passed her a little pink bag, a bag I knew far too well thanks to Rhysand and Lucien. My sister peeked inside and turned red in the face.  

“I think I sent Az the matching set when we got here, but honestly, any of these three might have it on their dresser,” Mor said with a hiccup, pointing to Cassian and Rhys. “Whoever has it, make sure it makes its way to Azriel.”

But Az didn’t even seem bothered, even as we all laughed. If anything, there was a light in his eyes that I had never seen before.

“Az,” Elain said as she held up the scraps of lace long enough that I knew he was able to discern what they were, before she returned them to their bag. “I think I dropped my modesty outside in the garden. Feyre said you may have found it.”

The room went quiet as their eyes met and if this was how Rhys and I made everyone else feel, I almost felt bad.

“You left it on the desk in my office. I’d been waiting for you to come back so that I might return it,” he said so seriously that we all stared at him until he and Elain burst into laughter.

By the end of the night, Az was passed out on the sofa, Elain curled up beside him. Mor was snoring and Rhys was stuck beneath his cousin who had rested her head on his lap.

“I have to do one more thing, then I’ll come save you,” I whispered to him. He smiled, waving me off. He alone had helped me with this last part of the night. But he had felt his brother would not have accepted it from anyone else.

I had expected to find Cassian passed out on the bed, but he was wide awake, eyeing me from where he stood, tying up his hair.

“You finally get the room to yourself,” I said softly. He chuckled.

“He’ll wake up and come push me off.”

I walked in the room and made my way towards him. I knew I looked suspicious, especially with my hands behind my back.

“I doubt it.”

He raised a brow. “What are you up to?”

“Well, I discovered something I felt that the Lord Commander needed to know.”

His sudden seriousness nearly made me laugh.

“I need you to know, Cassian, that you are by far one of the greatest friends I’ve ever had. And I need you to know that I love you.”

I held out the little box to him. He looked too stunned for words.

“I can’t go back in time and grace your life with my presence every year,” I said, which finally made him laugh. “But I’m here now. And no one gets away with hiding their birthday from me. Ever.”

“Feyre…”

“I know it was a few days ago, but I hadn’t found anything that screamed your name at me.”

“It’s usually a female doing that,” he said as he took the box from my hand.

“Now you know why I never visit your house.”

We both laughed. He undid the ribbon and set the lid aside.

“What’s this?”

“I’m not sure if it fits, but we can fix that if it doesn’t.”

He held up the gold band, the obsidian stone glimmering in the fae light. It was simple, but there was something about it that told me he needed to have it.

“No one’s ever given me anything like this.” His voice was nearly a whisper. Was he going to cry?

“Try it on.”

He let me slide the ring on his finger. It fit perfectly.

“Thank you, Feyre. I don’t really know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I just want you to know that it matters. That you matter. That every year that we get to have you in our lives, is something worth celebrating.”

I wasn’t expecting to see tears in his eyes. But there they were. I pulled him into a hug which made him laugh.

“I love you, Feyre.”

“I know,” I said with a laugh. “I love you, too.”

“I forgive you, by the way.”

I giggled. “Told you.”

By the time I went downstairs to get Rhys, he was already asleep. He didn’t stir until I’d managed to move Mor to the other side.

His eyes fell on me, red and glassy.

“There you are,” he said. “My salvation.”

Rhys got to his feet and chuckled when he almost lost his footing. Once he was ready to walk, I led him up the stairs, but he missed a step and pulled me down with him. We tried not to laugh, but then when I tried to stand up, Rhys pulled me to his lap. His kiss was greedy, and his wandering hands were going to get us in trouble.

“Rhys,” I whispered. “We can’t have sex on the stairs.”

“Why?” he asked as he kissed my neck.

“Everyone is here.” He stopped, and I felt this sudden panic down the bond.

“Not everyone,” he said quietly, looking at me with such sadness, I would have winnowed us right to the Day Court if I knew we’d make it there in one piece. “Lucien isn’t here.”

I kissed Rhysand with as much fervor as he’d kissed me.

“Lucien wouldn’t fuck you on the stairs in front of everyone. He’d wait till everyone was in their room.”

“He would,” Rhys said with a big smile as I pulled him to his feet.

“When he comes back home, we’ll have plenty of new stairwells you two can make use of. For now, we have the bed. Now walk.”

.

Being hungover was never enjoyable. It was even less so, walking into a small bar in the early hours of morning, wishing that I hadn’t made this arrangement. But I’d already walked out here and I had to get it over with.

Nesta was sitting in the back, as she always did. She looked as bad as I felt. And yet, her eyes still held nothing but resentment when she saw me approach. I knew I probably still had Rhys’ scent all over me, but Lucien’s too, as I was wearing his shirt that I’d found at the bottom of the drawer. And when she sniffed at me when I neared the table, I almost saw red. I would never judge her for the males I knew left her apartment, the one I could scent on her now. It was none of my business, as long as no one hurt her, just like who I slept with was none of her business. Even if her gaze told me exactly what she thought of that.

“I was beginning to think you’d make me walk to your house.”

I sat down, reaching into my pocket to hand her the folded note for the rent. There might have been surprise in her eyes as she took it.

“For this, you could have sent it with the courier.”

“For what? So you could send it back without even bothering to read it?”

I saw the anger in her eyes but I was too tired to let it unsettle me. I was hungry. And I wanted to go back home to be there when Elain woke up to find herself in Azriel’s arms on the sofa beneath the blanket Cassian had so kindly draped over them.

“I don’t see how that was any of your concern.”

“You missed her birthday.”

“I had no reason to be there.”

“You could have gone to the townhouse to see her.” I knew my voice was harsher than I had meant it to be. “You could have written a note. She misses you, Nesta.”

“Your little party was all anyone talked about last night, I’m sure that her evening was perfect without me.”

“You could not be more wrong.”

She glared at me for a time.

“Are we done?”

“No,” I said. “The house is almost finished. We’re inviting everyone over once we’re settled in. I want you to be there.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my sister. What other reason do I need to want you around?”

She rose to her feet. She was wearing someone else’s shirt and a pair of pants that might have been mine once but it was stained with wine and Mother knew what else.

“Forgive me for not wanting to be subject to the judgement of your family.”

“You are my family, Nesta.”

“Yes. The way mother was.”

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@readingismycopingmechanism @fuzdog @gently-say-aha @highladyofherondale @alxanxah @city-of-fae @myfeyrelady @nuggets-and-mouthwash @feysanddotacotar @daeniran @szatti1001 @rhysandshighlady

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[newlyfaenesta]

The Lady and the Unicorn

Title: The Lady and the Unicorn

Fandoms: ACOTAR, The Last Unicorn

Rating: General

Summary: A unicorn sets out on a journey to find the rest of her kind and is accompanied by Cassian the Illyrian Magician and the mysterious (and grumpy) Nesta Archeron. Following a narrow escape from the monster Bryaxis, Cassian accidentally changes the unicorn into a fellow Fae. While Bryaxis may be the one chasing down Prythian’s unicorns, following him leads to even more danger: the King of Hybern and his adopted son, Prince Lucien. The king does not trust Cassian and Nesta’s companion, the Lady Elain, while Prince Lucien is more than willing to get to know her.

Chapter 4 Summary: Lady Amarantha taunts the unicorn with the other magical creatures in her carnival. 

Main overall fic characters: Nesta, Cassian, (Nessian), Elain, Lucien, (Elucien), and Hybern.

Disclaimer and all posted chapters can be found on AO3 here. 

Chapter 4:

The unicorn passed a nervous afternoon alternately pacing and trying unsuccessfully to rest in her cage. The grove in which their caravan sat was unusually quiet. Amarantha had ordered Keir out with the puca again before disappearing into her own wagon, and Cassian was left carrying out the rest of the chores before evening set in. He glanced at her every time he passed her cage with a rag or bucket but did not say a word or venture near lest Amarantha suddenly appear and grow suspicious. The unicorn did not know what Cassian had planned if indeed he had a plan at all. His indication that he would help in facilitating her escape was a noble gesture, but the charms around her cage were no match for her own magic. How could Cassian, lacking power as he did, hope to best Amarantha in her stead?

Tossing her dandelion soft mane, the unicorn snorted and began another round of pacing in her small rectangular cage. Every so often, small noises would issue from the other wagons, strange hissings and scrapings as of claws on metal, but she could not discover their sources, as all but hers remained covered. Soon enough, the sun began to set, its long dust-moted beams giving way to lengthy shadows, which made a quick meal in swallowing the crooked trees and brittle dead grass across the glade. The sun’s retreat seemed to function as a signal, for as soon as it had disappeared, Amarantha stepped down from her covered wagon, ruby lips smiling, eyes glittering with a keen sharpness. She had curled her red-gold hair and pulled it back in a partial twist, letting the rest cascade down her bare shoulders, and her new plum-dark dress draped over her curves like morning dew down an orchid leaf.

Keir returned soon after, carrying nothing but a frown and furrowed brows, and stomped around the backside of the wagon train in a desperate bid to avoid his mistress’ frosty gaze. Claw marks left deep gouges in the dirt around the puca’s cage, some new, most weathered and worn down from multiple skirmishes. Despite its inclination to deceive and devour, the puca was not a creature one should keep in a cage. The unicorn, hanging her head, sympathized.

“Lady Amarantha will be checking on her. . . possessions this evening.” Cassian’s low whisper as he appeared at her cage startled her into a nicker. “Once she is satisfied that all are well, she will go back into her trailer for the night. She does not spend much time with her creatures unless we are open to crowds,” he said grimly. “When she is in for the night, I shall try my best to help you escape.”

“I do not understand the meaning behind this,” the unicorn said to him, pointing her horn at the cages across the way. Under Amarantha’s direction, Keir was taking down the black tarps, allowing the cages to breathe freely for the first time that day. “What does she hope to accomplish by showcasing creatures to other fae? She seemed surprised to have caught me. What else has she managed to ensnare with her traps?”

“Look at the different cages and tell me what you see.” Cassian stepped aside and gestured to the wagons and their occupants, whose growls and moans grew increasingly louder as their coverings were removed.

The unicorn narrowed her eyes, starring hard across the clearing. The first wagon contained something vaguely resembling a fae but one covered from head to toe in dark scales, its arms ending in long black talons. Wide amber eyes blinked slowly from the shadows. A naga then. The second wagon was no less surprising. She had never seen a cockatrice with her own two eyes before, but she had once spent an amusing afternoon with a butterfly who was convinced it had just narrowly escaped being eaten by the rooster head before regalling her with an equally heart-stopping race against death by trampling from its two giant dragon claws. Another cage held a pacing manticore, yet another a droopy-looking dryad, and still another a snorting grootslang. Each cage beheld something even more alarming than the next. And yet, through all her observations and startling discoveries, the unicorn beheld a shimmer to the air, as if all of Lady Amarantha’s creatures of the night lived behind some sort of gauzy film.

“What kind of magic is at work here?” she asked angrily, stomping a white hoof. “What has sshe done to them? Why do they quiver and shiver so in the air?”

Cassian folded his arms and nodded. “Look again. Use your magic to see hers.”

Concentrating, the unicorn narrowed her eyes once again, pointing her horn at each creature in their turn. Her magic tore down Amarantha’s glamors quickly, the ease at which she accomplished her task just as shocking as what lay behind them.

“Why, what she calls a naga is merely a large snake!” The unicorn cried. “And she has everyone believing that tree sapling is a real dryad! These are illusions! Mirages! Why does your Lady Amarantha deceive her folk so?” That unicorn shook her head and pawed at the metal floor of her cage with her hoof. “Am I the only true creature here?”

Cassian glanced nervously to the end of the wagon train, where Keir was noticeably avoiding the last cage. “Unfortunately, no,” he answered, “though I'll not remove that one’s covering for all the magic in the world.” He took a deep breath, looked the unicorn in the eye, and lowered his voice. “And if you are smart, which I know you are, you will not waste your time on that creature either. The Lady Amarantha has caught a bogge, a true one. The other things, the dryad-tree, they are replaceable, but she means to keep that monster. Just like she means to keep you.”

The unicorn gazed with wide eyes on the cage that housed the bogge. Though covered with a dark, thick blanket, the unicorn could feel the evil dripping down the sides of the cage, could sense rather than hear the bogge’s hateful and repulsive tirade.

I will grind your bones between my claws; I will drink your marrow; I will feast on your flesh. I am what you fear; I am what you dread. Bring down my covering and look at me. Look at me.

The unicorn shivered down to her core, and it took all her willpower to finally tear her attention away from that malicious creature. “Oh, oh,” she moaned.

Cassian reached for the unicorn to pet, to soothe her, but dropped his hand at the last minute, as if afraid. “Yes,” he said shakily, “yes. I have tried to warn her about the consequences of caging a bogge. She caught it unawares, as she did you, and means to keep it as her display’s finale.” Cassian pursed his lips and exhaled loudly through his nose. “She feeds off the crowd’s fear,” he said finally. “She scares them and takes their fear to feed what little power she has in hopes of enriching it and gaining more.” He glanced down at his red siphons, which sat dully on his wrists and elbows. “I tried to tell her it wouldn’t work, but. . .” he trailed off, his mind lost to darker times, and the unicorn politely did not question him.

“Are you done now with my pet, magician?” Amarantha had slithered silently up behind them. She now ran a long purple nail down the side of Cassian’s cheek, and he jumped, his face red with shame. “Is it my imagination or is dinner not ready yet?”

“Not yet, my lady,” Cassian mumbled, shuffling his feet.

Her lips curled upward, though the smile did not reach her eyes. “Then I suggest you get on with it.” As Cassian hurried away, he threw one last glance back at the unicorn, his cloak billowing out behind him. Amarantha grinned truly as she turned and surveyed all of her creatures, both real and reproduction. “How do you like my little menagerie?” she asked the unicorn with a grand gesture. “Won’t our crowds just gawk and stare in amazement at my ability to contain so much power and magic?”

The unicorn tried to avoid looking at the wagon of the bogge. “I would not boast if I were you,” she said, breaking her vow to never speak to one who captured her. “Your death sits in that cage, and she hears you.”

Amarantha chuckled, holding her hand to her chest. “Oh, I am sure it would love to kill me, but at least I will die knowing that I once caught both a bogge and the last unicorn in all of Prythian, while the bogge will have to die knowing it was caught. So how’s that for immortality, hmm? You, on the other hand. . .” To the unicorn’s complete shock and dismay, Amarantha touched the tip of the unicorn’s horn, pushing it back slightly. “You were on the road hunting for your own death, and I know where it awaits you. I know him, that one, for I have been trying to capture him too.” She sighed dramatically. “My carnival for a Cauldron-born. Alas.”

The unicorn reared her head back, choosing to ignore the Fae’s histrionics upon the unexpected mention of the very monster she sought out. “Do you speak of Bryaxis?” She spoke in a hurry, her blood pumping. “Tell me if you do, and where he is, if you know. Tell me.”

Amarantha lifted a perfectly arched eyebrow. “So you know his name? Then you must know Bryaxis hunts out of King Hybern’s lands. Well, you can rest easy, unicorn. He won’t get to you out here as long as you belong to me.”

The unicorn’s heart raced. She needed to discover what had happened to the rest of her kind, and the only way to do so was to find Bryaxis. Somehow, this monster of King Hybern’s was the key. “If I hunt my own death, then it is at my choosing. You know me; you have said I am the last. Keep your poor shadows and illusions if you will--I’ll not ruin your secrets--but let me go. And--” though the unicorn knew in her blood that any and every end to this story would lead to tragedy, she felt compelled to add, “let the bogge go. I cannot see it caged. It is real, like me. We are both creatures of true magic. Let us both go!”

Amarantha cackled, the shrill sound reaching in, clutching at the unicorn’s core until the hair on her back stood on end. “Being the last of your kind has rendered you delusional, my poor darling. You are too used to freedom, but freedom has a price, and its name is Bryaxis. You are safer here where he cannot get to you. You should thank me for protecting you.”

The unicorn took a deep breath and looked again at the wagon in which the bogge was hidden. She could hear it in her head, every word a raking claw across her mind.

I will kill you if you set me free. Set me free.

“I am safe here as much as you are safe from that creature, which is to say not at all.” The unicorn tossed her mane and pawed at the ground. “This minute your magic fades, so will you.”

Amarantha’s eyes hardened, and she pressed her lips firmly together. “Do you prophesy, too, unicorn? Then see this.”  She held out her hand, sweeping her long purple nails out across the horizon “You in my carnival, and I gaining ever more magic and power from my people. Forever.” She closed her hand into a fist and cocked her head to the side. “I don’t need to see that to know it will come true.” A glow of light brought the unicorn’s attention to the lock on the small side door. “Just a bit of added reinforcement.” She looked down at the unicorn, her ruby lips stretching across her face almost unnaturally so, in a twisted perversion of a smile. “Enjoy your evening.”

The unicorn hung her head, and shivered as Amarantha cackled once more, the echoes of her laughter sounding across the entire clearing. Not even the sight of the female casually avoiding the bogge’s cage could lift the unicorn’s spirits, for now her entire escape would depend on Cassian, and how was that ever going to happen without magic?

[imlisaok]

Elucien Meta: ‘Light’

PART 1

“The suite was filled with sunlight.

Every curtain shoved back as far as it could go, to let in as much sun as possible.

As if any darkness was abhorrent. As if to chase it away.” pg 154

Helion = High Lord of the Day Court = Lucien = light. That’s all I’m saying, haha.

To me, this is not-so-subtle foreshadowing, of the same likes as Cassian’s “he was made from fire and wind” that hinted Nessian were mates.

“And seated in a small chair before the sunniest of the windows, her back to us, was Elain.” pg 154

Again, this seems too good to be a coincidence.

“My breath caught as I edged around her chair. Beheld the city view she stared so blankly at.” pg 155

Note how many times she stares blankly, how many times her eyes are “vacant” and glazed as she speaks with others, aside from one particular individual, in this book.

“She didn’t so much as look at me as I said softly, “Elain?” pg 155

For a quarter of the book, Elain can’t hold people’s gaze. Except for Lucien (And Feyre, only once).

“Elain had always been gentle and sweet---and I had considered it a different sort of strength. A better strength. To look at the hardness of the world and choose, over and over, to love, to be kind. She had always been so full of light.” pg 156

*cough*

“Perhaps that was why she now kept all the curtains open. To fill the void that existed where all of that light had once been.

And now nothing remained.” pg 156

Ironically, both of their names mean the exact same thing:

“The name Elaine is a French baby name. In French, the meaning of the name Elaine is: Shining light.”

“Elaine as a girls' name is pronounced ee-LAYNE. It is of Greek origin, and the meaning of Elaine is "sun ray".”

The name Elaine is a girl baby name. In Greek, the meaning of the name Elaine is: the bright one.”

Elain is often viewed as the gentle and delicate sister---comparable to a flower. Flowers need light to sustain themselves. If they’re deprived of light (or anything necessary to their survival), they cripple and gradually die.

“My stiff, limping steps, at least, had eased into a smoother gait by the time I found Elain in the family library.

Still staring at the window, but she was out of her room.” pg 245

Stare count: 2

“Elain’s eyes at last slid to mine. The first time she’d done so.

Even wasted away by grief and despair, Elain’s beauty was remarkable. Hers was face that could bring kings to their knees. And yet there was no joy in it. No light. No life.” pg 246

In my opinion, these examples prove that Elain needs light. Sure, Elain and Az’s friendship definitely helped her recovery from some of the hardships she experienced, but ultimately, she needs some brightness.

As someone has stated before, it appears Lucien and Elain were also both attracted to the library!

“Elain only turned toward the sunny windows again, the light dancing in her hair.” pg 246

More light. Stare count: 3

“There’s a plate of biscuits. Would you like one?”

He didn't expect her to answer, and he gave himself all of one more minute before he’d rise from his chair and leave, hopefully avoiding Nesta’s return.

But sunlight on gold caught his eye---and Elain slowly turned from her vigil at the window.” pg 250

Lucien had seen the way she’d interacted with Feyre prior to the library scene, and thought Elain would react to him the same way.

(“But Lucien was standing in the doorway.

And from the devastation on his face, I knew he’d heard ever word. Seen and heard and felt the hollowness and despair radiating from her.” pg 156)

Can I also say radiate is an interesting word to use in this context, considering its definition:

RADIATE

emit (energy, especially light or heat) in the form of rays or waves

Anyway, Lucien saw the sunlight on her hair, and she turned to face him, folks. Something she likely didn’t even offer Nesta, and had only done to Feyre once. This man is technically a stranger to her, and this is their first actual conversation/interaction since Hybern, yet she did something she’d barely done for her sisters.

“Looking at her now. . .

She was pale, yes. The vacancy still glazing her features.

But he couldn’t breathe as she faced him fully.

(...)

Her eyes were the brown of a fawn’s coat. And he could have sworn something sparked in them as she met his gaze.” pg 250

First of all, the vacancy and glazed eyes thing I had mentioned before has finally decided to appear!

Second of all, Elain faced Lucien fully. Elain’s eyes had only slid to Feyre’s, meanwhile she turned towards Lucien completely.

Lucien is the only one who ignites this sparkle in her eyes. And the only one who ignites any emotion, for that matter.

“For a long moment, Elain’s face did not shift, but those eyes seemed to focus a bit more.”

No one has yet to evoke such a reaction out of Elain.

“You betrayed us.”

He wished she’d shoved him out of the window behind her. “It--it was a mistake.”

Her eyes went frank and cold. “I was to be married in a few days.” pg 251

An emotion!

“She looked away---toward the window. “I can hear your heart,” she said quietly.” pg 252

She never turns away. She looks away, yes, but she remains facing him. Interesting.

“When I sleep,” she murmured, “I can hear your heart beating through the stone.” She angled her head, as if the city view held some answer. “Can you hear mine?” pg 252

Not sure if this qualifies as staring, but here ya go: Stare Count: 4

“I flashed Nesta a glare, but Lucien rose. “I came for a book.”

“Well, find one and leave.”

Elain only stared out the window, unaware---or uncaring.” pg 252

When Lucien is ordered to leave by Nesta, Elain returns back to her shell. Uncaring, unaware.

“Thirty minutes later, Azriel carried Elain down, my sister silent and unresponsive in his arms.” pg 253

Not surprised Elain did not react to Azriel, but can we see the difference here? Lucien is undoubtedly a stranger, and she’s clearly more responsive to him than her own sisters, and those in the Inner Circle, who she had likely seen when Feyre was at the Spring Court.

Remember when Nesta said this:

“She (Elain) will not leave her room. She will not stop crying. She will not eat, or sleep, or drink.” pg 153

Isn’t interesting that ever since Lucien arrived, she has been able to both eat  (technically drank broth, but I consider it eating) and sleep?

“No. I managed to get her to drink some broth last night. She refused anything else. She’s been talking in those half-riddles all day.” pg 247

Now sleep:

“And I knew she (Nesta) heard as I listened at Elain’s door, knocked once, and poked my head in to find her asleep---breathing.” pg 289

:)

“After a long minute, Madja asked us to join her in fetching Elain a cup of tea---with a pointed glance to the door. We both took the invitation and left our sister in her sunlit room.” pg 296

Always sunny in Elain’s room.

“Pretending, while Lucien and Elain sat in stilted silence by the dim fireplace, an untouched tea service between them.” pg 299

Nothing too special about this phrase. Just that they were making their way to each other on the bridge that is their mating bond. Cuties.

“Elain had picked up the teacup, and now sipped from it without so much as looking at him.” pg 299

I don’t think it’s a big deal she did not glance at him here, considering she let him make his way towards her in their minds. I would assume it’s difficult to be vulnerable like that in front of someone you don’t know very well. Understandable!

“Amren hissed from the other room, “Focus.” The dining table rattled.

The sound seemed to startle Elain, who swiftly set down her teacup. She rose to her feet, and Lucien shot to his.”

″I’m sorry,” he blurted.

“What---what was that?”

(...)

“It---it was a tug. On the bond.”

(...)

Then Nesta was standing in the threshold. “What did you do.” The words were sharp as a blade.

Lucien looked to her, then over to me. A muscle feathered in his jaw. “Nothing,” he said, and again faced his mate. “I’m sorry---if that unsettled you.”

Elain sidled toward Nesta, who seemed to be at a near-simmer. “It felt. . . strange,” Elain breathed. “Like you pulled on a thread tied to my rib.”

Lucien exposed his palms to her. “I’m sorry.”

Elain only stared at him a long moment. And any lucidity faded away as she shook her head, blinking twice, and said to Nesta, “Twin ravens are coming, one white and one black.”pg 301

All I know is way more occurred than just ‘nothing’. A muscle in his jaw basically twitched when asked what he ‘did’ (and he even looked to both Nesta and Feyre beforehand... which is weird since only Nesta had asked him the question? Maybe I’m looking too far into this, haha) , as though he was scared they’d misunderstand what he’d seen/felt/heard.

And as for Elain losing all of her lucidity, it was due to an oncoming vision of the ravens. It appeared as though she tried to fight it by shaking her head. The two blinks seems to be a telltale sign of a vision. Example:

“Nesta’s nostrils flared, but Elain peered up at Cassian, blinking twice. “He snapped your wings, broke your bones.” pg 315

Just saying!

“What can I get you, Elain?”

Only with Elain did she use that voice.

But Elain only shook her head once more. “Sunshine.” pg 302

Hello sunshine, my old friend...

“Nesta cut me a furious stare before guiding our sister down the hall---to the sunny garden in the back.” pg 302

Everywhere Elain goes must be sunny, apparently. ;)

Okay, this was absolutely crazy long. I decided to shorten it into two parts. I’m tagging most meta peeps and those who still (hopefully?) believe in Elucien.

@propshophannah @sparkleywonderful @valamerys @my-name-is-fireheart @abookandacoffee @squaddreamcourt @illyrianazriel

If anyone has extra thoughts they’d like to add, or if I made any mistakes, feel free to speak out about it!

[moiraineswife]

Winter Stole Summer’s Thrill- An Elucien Fic

Prompt fill for anonymous from the angst thing I reblogged the other day. Longer than anticipated (*sobs into my hands because i’m HOPELESS*) so it’s getting Formatted. As per, unplanned, unedited..have at it. 

Title: Winter Stole Summer’s Thrill 

Summary: prompt: “Remember when you promised we’d always be together? Because I remember when I thought you meant it.” Pain to follow. Elain’s POV. 

Teaser: ‘She was going to hold him to that promise he had made to her, those words he had whispered the night before he had left. They had lain in bed together, naked, spent, their arms around one another, their chests heaving in time as they panted for breath, and he had whispered those words to her. “We will always be together, Elain. Always.” 

She had fallen asleep with those words warming her heart. She had let him walk onto that battlefield with them ringing in her ears. They were the last words he had ever spoken to her and by the Mother and the Cauldron and whatever other forgotten gods stalk the heavens and play with the lives of men and fae alike, she will hold him to them.’ 

Link: AO3 

His hand is cold in hers. The room is quiet, unusually so. Even when they had lain together here in the mornings there had always been the soft sounds of birds singing outside, the breeze wafting through the trees, the servants padding quietly up and down the halls. 

The silence now seems an omen. The windows have all been shut up tight, keeping the room as warm as possible. The birds and the breeze are exiled from this place of cold death and dark shadows. They belong to the world beyond, full of life and colour and hope, not here in this place. Elain has the urge to run to the windows, to throw them open, let the sun and the sounds of this place fill the room, lift her out of the dead feeling that’s sunk its claws into her heart. 

She doesn’t though, can’t bring herself to leave his side. The servants have all been sent away. There is only her and him, a few others who come and go. But this manor is big and they are far away, their footsteps and voices not managing to echo this far through the empty corridors to break up the quiet. 

When she speaks, her voice sounds too loud, intrusive and imposing, like a sudden rumble of thunder on a warm spring day. “Remember,” she whispers to him, “Remember when you promised me that we’d always be together?” A single tear slips down her cheek. The taste of salt is like an explosion on her tongue, ripping her from the bland, empty oasis she’s been stranded in since it happened. 

Another tear but she brushes this one away with her free hand. She shouldn’t cry in front of him, that would upset him. What would he think if he woke and found her cry at his side? She has to be strong for him. She will be strong for him. 

But she can’t help the words that fall from her lips, spilling out of her along with a fresh wave of tears she can’t hold back no matter how hard she tries. “Because I remember when I thought you meant it, when I was sure that nothing could ever take you from me; or me from you.” They’re the words of a child, that human girl she had been so long ago that’s been broken by the things that she’s seen, the things she’s endured, the things that she’s done. 

The next words are a plea, desperate and shattered, “My mate, my mate, my mate...”

They had sealed the bond two years ago. In the middle of a war but neither of them had cared about that. It was right. It was real. She had found him again on a battlefield, on two different sides of this war. She should never have been there, but they had needed everyone to fight they could and she had refused to sit safely at home alone while everyone else went out to do what they could. 

She had regretted it from the first charge. The blood. The chaos. The death. She had never been able to stand the sight of blood or gore. Even after years of living with it, the sight of Feyre cleaning and dressing a kill in their kitchen had made her feel sick. This had been a hundred times worse than that. People screaming and crying and dying and killing all around her, and she caught in the thick of it, like a doe with a shattered leg in the eye of a storm. 

Then he had been there. A blade in either hand. His red hair flying around him like fire. Fire itself bursting from him, for the first time in centuries, to protect her, his mate. They had looked at each other, standing a foot apart, both armed, both spattered in blood and filth and gore, wearing different colours. He in green and gold and she in black and red. 

They had both known what should follow. They had both know that honour, duty, loyalty, love to all those they followed, demanded their next actions. They were to take up arms against one another, fight, hurt, kill. This male...This male had helped drown her and Nesta in that Cauldron, had held Feyre under while Tamlin drowned her in his own selfish trauma after what they’d endured. He was on the other side. He had chosen. She had chosen. She owed him nothing. She didn’t know him, didn’t care about him, didn’t feel anything for him but...

But she had met those mismatched eyes, full of all the pain and terror and sadness she’s come to know so intimately, and she hadn��t been able to do it. Their swords had faltered at the same time, their power dulling, a hurricane turned to a quiet shower of rain in the face of this one they could not hurt. She had taken his arm, had begged him to do something, to rally his forces. They would listen to him, they would follow him, he could end this, end it all. 

He had. They had. 

At least that day, that one battle, they had managed to stop. She had brought him before Feyre and Rhys and he had spoken for Spring, had told them he wanted this pointless slaughter to end. The men they had saved that day had simply died the next but for that moment...She had seen something in his eyes. She had seen a hatred for this battle and bloodshed that everyone else seemed to accept as inevitable and right. She had seen a desire for peace, for true peace, what she longed for more than anything. She had seen hope. And she had never looked back. 

Still they fight. The first War had raged for seven year, she had been told. This one has lasted five already and everyone involved believes it might easily double that. More and more peoples from across the sea are getting pulled into this, taking sides, summoning armies, dragging this on and on and on, filling the world with death and pain and screams. 

Already she has worn so many faces in this game of chance they play with people’s lives, where the roll of dice sends them to fight, to kill, to die. She’s been a victim; fresh from the Cauldron, in shock, in pain, with nothing left but her skin and her sisters.

 A hope. Her powers could change this war, could give them an edge, but she doesn’t want to fight, doesn’t want to hurt, doesn’t want to kill, just wants to hide. 

A  soldier. Despite her feeble protests she had still been trained to fight - just so you can protect yourself- they had told her, but she knew, even then, that protecting herself would come at the cost of harming others and she had hated every second of it.

 A spy. She was his mate, ready made, she could get close, could make him trust her, he would never hurt her, never, never, never.

 A traitor. They knew he wouldn’t hurt her, knew he wouldn’t hurt them, not while they held her. They had never suspected she might turn on them, that her love for a stranger might be more than her lust for war and deceit. They had never suspected that might not be able to hurt him, either. 

A High Lady. The power came to her when Tamlin had fallen and Lucien had smiled and sworn his blade to Spring once more. To her. She had allied them again with Night, with her fierce sisters who found ways to thrive in this war while she felt sometimes she was barely surviving it. She and Lucien had fought and strived, turned former enemies to allies; turned former friends to dust and ash. 

But now...

A widow. 

No. No, she won’t lose him, she can’t lose him. Not now. Not after everything they’ve been through. She loves him. She needs him. She won’t let him die, she won’t. Not while she still draws breath will she let him leave her. 

She had thought this war had numbed her to pain, to death, to suffering. She had thought that she had seen it all, felt it all, that nothing would ever cause that childish panic to rise in her chest again as it had before at the sight of a few drops of blood. 

Then they had brought her mate to her that day, nearly a week back, covered in blood, pale as death, torn open and unconscious, halfway into the arms of the other world. She had screamed then. She had fallen to her knees and she had screamed until all the world knew of her pain, her grief, her rage. 

She had not been with him. She should have, she should have, she should have. She’s still cursing herself for that, if she had she could have helped him, could have protected him. Her mate had known how much she hated the battlefield, what it did to her to be on it, to use her powers there. He had softly kissed her forehead and told her no, no  more. He would lead their armies, their people, she was too important to risk, to lose. Too important to their court...Too important to him.

Selfish and cowardly, as a part of her had always been deep down, buried beneath the naivety and the softness, she had let him go. She had let her mate go alone into battle while she remained safe here. And now...And now... 

He should have died, they had told her. The wound he had taken should have been fatal, he should have died on that battlefield and been borne back to them on the oaken shields of his men. Somehow he had lived. Somehow he had summoned the strength to winnow back here, to his love, still breathing when he arrived, still fighting. 

The healers remained baffled at his endurance, at his survival, but Elain understood. Her mate had spent his life surviving and enduring things that would have destroyed other people. And that had been while hopeless, tortured and alone. Now he had something to fight for. He had this court, this people, this peace they were trying to build. And her. He had her. He would fight for her, would cling to this world through pain and against all odds for her. 

She was going to hold him to that promise he had made to her, those words he had whispered the night before he had left. They had lain in bed together, naked, spent, their arms around one another, their chests heaving in time as they panted for breath, and he had whispered those words to her. “We will always be together, Elain. Always.” 

She had fallen asleep with those words warming her heart. She had let him walk onto that battlefield with them ringing in her ears. They were the last words he had ever spoken to her and by the Mother and the Cauldron and whatever other forgotten gods stalk the heavens and play with the lives of men and fae alike, she will hold him to them. 

Elain looks down at him, still ashen faced, perfectly still upon the blankets, dotted here and there with small drops of blood, like the little red berries that had fallen on the fresh snow around their cottage in the mortal realm. His chest rises and falls, his breathing ragged and laboured, but still it comes. She has to force herself not to press her hand over his heart, to be sure that it’s still beating. 

It’s a habit she’s fallen in to. She hasn’t left his side since they brought him to her. Every night she’s sat awake, chewing on various herbs and plants to keep her awake and alert part the point of wisdom. She had only stopped when Feyre had come to her, four days after they’d brought him here, and quietly begged her to sleep a little. She had assured her that Lucien wouldn’t die, not now, he had clung on so long, and she had to take care of herself too. For his sake, if nothing else. 

She had loved her sister for understanding, for knowing not to try and coax her with talk of the war effort, or her court. Her mate was the most important thing to her now. Feyre had known that. She had crawled up onto the bed beside him, had only been able to calm enough for sleep by resting her head on his chest, listening to his heart beating in a steady rhythm until it had lulled her to sleep, as it had done so many nights before with his arms around her. 

Looking down at him now, Elain wishes yet again that she could heal him, that the gifts they had all expected had actually come to her. When she and Nesta had climbed out of the Cauldron and out of the pit that being killed and remade within its depths had shoved them into, they had been told it had given them magic. 

The Night Court had waited with baited breath, to see what the sisters would be able to do. None had said it but all had expected Nesta’s powers to be of the most use to them in the war. They had said, though they weren’t sure, this process only having been done a few scattered times in history, that their abilities would match their personalities, their skills. 

Sure enough that fire that had been burning inside her elder sister from the day she was born, stoked into an inferno that had been caged in her bones after the death of their mother and the fall of their house, had erupted into life just days after her Making. 

Elain’s had taken longer to show itself. They had expected, naturally, that she would have some control over plants, perhaps the earth itself, they had encouraged her to practice, to garden as she had but she felt no change. They had wondered then if perhaps healing would be her gift, had apprenticed her to some fae healers, had her assist them. All that had happened was that the sight of blood had made her feel sick.

In the end, neither power had come to her. Elain had been a gentle grower of things, a nurturer, a creator. And then she had died. She had died and been reborn and the Cauldron had twisted her desire to give life in the same way. The Cauldron had not given her a gift of life, the ability to create, to grow the earth beneath her at will. The Cauldron had given her a gift of death. All that grows now at Elain’s urging are the dead. 

She still has nightmares about the first time she had used her ability on the battlefield. She had been reluctant to practice, reluctant to train, reluctant to indulge the monster she had become. But they had been losing badly, casualties numbering high in the hundreds, a travesty for high fae. Rhys had begged, her, then Cassian, Azriel, even Feyre. Only Nesta had told her that the choice was hers, that if she couldn’t bring herself to do this they would understand. But Elain had seen the look in her sister’s eyes, had seen the panic there, the fear of losing her mate, her family. 

Elain had acted. She had walked onto the field alone, the three Illyrians circling overhead, guarding her, as the world stood still to watch her walk into their midst. Her allies had gasped, had lunged for her, to drag her from the field, to protect her, to get her away. The enemy had jeered, laughed, sneered. What could this little girl, this fragile doll, do to harm them? Neither of them had understood. Neither of them had known that this place, this place full of despair and agony and death. This place was now hers. 

She had lifted her hands slowly, carefully, from her sides. And the dead had risen with her. It had been a slaughter. Enemies her foes had left behind them rose up and took revenge on those they had been murdered by. Friends who they had drunk with and laughed with and fought with for hundreds of years tore them to pieces while they begged for mercy. 

They had won the day, but Elain had destroyed herself. She had been left a wreck in the aftermath, shaking, shocked, horrified by what she had done, what this curse of hers had caused. She had not spoken for two weeks following the incident, had refused to let even Nesta in to sit with her and speak with her. When she had finally been able to emerge from her room she had told t hem, softly, voice shaking so violently she was barely coherent, but with a firmness that promised retribution if they ever went against these words, that she would never do this again. 

None had argued with her. 

Only Lucien had been able to convince her that this ability did not make her a monster. He had taken into the gardens of Spring, had shown her where they had been decimated by a battle they had fought alongside Autumn and their devastating fire. She had walked through the charred ashes and ruins and had cried out in delight when from the bones of despair soft green shots had risen again, small pinpricks of colour and life. 

That had been the first time she had kissed him. She had thrown herself into his arms and embraced him and kissed him and laughed against his lips for the first time in what felt centuries. He had hugged her and laughed as well and kissed her back. 

Then he had taken her to the nearby villages, ravaged by Hybern’s soldiers when they had crossed these lands. The people were starving, terrified, desperate, their animals slaughtered, their crops destroyed. Elain had returned them all to them. She had returned their hope to them. She had found hope and life in destruction and death, all thanks to her mate. 

Lately, since his injury, her nightmares have shown her different things from that first battle. She did not dream of nameless, faceless soldiers rising, wounds still torn into their unfeeling flesh, blood still oozing as their still hearts are forced to beat, to make them rise, make them fight again. Stripped of their chance at peace even in death. 

Now it is him. It is her mate. She dreams of herself alone in this chamber with him. She dreams that his heart finally stops beating, the hoarse sound of his ragged breathing that fills the room halts, and he dies, right in front of her. She dreams that, in her grief, in her panic and despair...She brings him back. She makes him rise again, makes him sit up, drags him back into this world and anguish and agony for her own selfish ends. 

She always wakes when he looks at her. When those mismatched eyes of gold and red are both black and hollow and empty as he stares at her, condemning her, damning her for what she did to him. 

But now, while he still breathes, while he still feebly clutches onto life, she can do nothing. Nothing but sit, and hold his hand, and pray. As powerless as when she had been human. She had never minded it. Feyre and Nesta had both hated it, she knew, that feeling of uselessness, of helplessness, of not being able to do more. She had simply allowed fate to scoop her up and carry her along. Like a little cloud of dust before a breeze. 

Now she knows how they felt, sitting here, holding her mate’s hand, she is not content to leave his life in the cruel, twisted hands of fate. She wants to do something, wants to help him, wants to heal him. All of her friends have tried. Mor and Feyre, with the healing powers she had been given, but both agree there is nothing more they can do. His body has been physically healed, the tears knit back together, the holes patched and closed and mended. There’s nothing they can do to wake him, nothing they can do to bring him back to her. All she can do is wait. Wait and pray and pray and pray. 

What she wouldn’t give to look into those beautiful eyes of his. What she wouldn’t do to hear that rough bark of laughter she had begun to hear more and more of the longer she had spent with him. What she wouldn’t wreck and hurt and destroy just to hear him whisper her name once more...

She should have been there. She should have been on that battlefield and then none would have touched him. She would have made herself into that monster again, she would have embraced the abomination that haunts her dreams, stalks in the dark recesses of her soul, waiting, waiting, waiting for its chance. There is nothing she wouldn’t have done to stop this from happening to him, from keeping him safe. But...But she wasn’t there. She wasn’t with her mate. She was hiding, doing what she did so well. And the failure to learn that lesson might cost her everything she holds dear. 

The urge to be near him, to hold him, to have his arms around her, his lips pressed to her head, promising her everything will be alright, suddenly overwhelms her. 

Elain prises herself from her chair and crawls into the bed. The tears she had cursed at earlier, promised herself wouldn’t fall, are flowing down her cheeks. She can’t do this. She can’t do this. She can’t do this. She can’t lose him. She can’t keep going without him. She can’t, she can’t, she can’t. 

She tucks herself in against his side, feeling small in comparison to him, so much taller and bigger than her. She wraps her arms around his body, lays her head on his chest, right over his heart, listening to it pounding away beneath his ribs. 

“Lucien,” she whispers softly, her fingers stroking gently through his long hair where it spills over his shoulder. Her tears start to dampen his shirt but she doesn’t think he’ll mind. “Lucien please, come back to me, please.” Anger surges in her and she knows it’s not fair, knows it’s irrational and unreasonable but she wants to scream and rant and rage at him. Demand to know how he could do this to her, how he could put her through this, how he ever thought that she would be able to deal with this. 

Instead her tears fall faster, her throat grows even more clogged with her grief and her next words are thick and slurred with emotion, “You promised me,” she whispers to him, a prayer and a damning all at once, “You promised me we would always be together. You promised me.” 

Utterly exhausted after days of not sleeping, barely eating, lulled into it by her mate’s scent, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the feel of him pressed against her that almost almost convinces her that he’s here with her, holding her, that everything is alright, Elain lets herself sleep. 

She wakes, hours later, the faint rays of sunlight spilling into the room from the small gap between the curtains, catching the gold in her hair and the fire in her mate’s.

 Pushing herself up into a sitting position, rubbing at her eyes, she nearly falls out of bed in shock at the voice that greets her. “Dove,” he rasps, voice scratchy and hoarse, from disuse “My ribs are still rather tender, if you could find somewhere else to stick your elbow, I would very much appreciate i-” 

She cuts him off with a loud squeal, leaning down to pull him into a hug so tight it nearly snaps his newly repaired, still tender ribs. “You bastard,” she sobs into his shoulder, crying even harder when she feels his flicker of amusement at the insult through the bond. The bond it’s been silent since she lost him, so dead to her not even she could revive it and now, now....”You bastard,” she chokes again, not rising from where she has her face buried against the crook of his neck, “Don’t you ever, ever do that to me again. Ever,” she snarls at him threateningly, pushing herself up to look down at him, stroking his hair back from his face so she can see him properly. 

He reaches up, his hand shaking slightly, and rests it on her cheek, “I will never leave you, Elain,” he murmurs softly. His hand drops from her cheek, hooks into the front of her dress, pulls her down and she obliges him, pressing her lips to his and kissing him, unable to stop the tears that are flooding down her face in relief. 

She settles against him after summoning the healers to check on him, ignoring his assurance that he’s perfectly fine and doesn’t need to be fussed over, silencing his further irritated protests with a growl. The healers check him over, shocked that he’s awake and still with them, which makes Lucien entirely too smug as far as she’s concerned, then leaves them in peace, instructing Elain not to overexcite him. 

Obeying their wishes, Elain mixes up a sleeping draught and advances threateningly on him, “You need to rest, Lucien,” she growls at him. 

“I’ve slept for a week, pet, surely-” her snarl is answer enough and he sighs but obediently opens his mouth like a petulant child. She cradles the back of his head with a hand and helps him drink, ignoring the face that he pulls at the taste. 

His eyelids are already drooping again and, much as she’s terrified of him sleeping and never waking again, she knows that he needs this, that it will do him far more harm to stay awake now. 

Elain settles down beside him and feels her hear soar as he clumsily wraps an arm around her, drawing him in closer. She’s missed that, Cauldron how she’s missed that. His jaw bumps against her head in a move she interprets as him trying to press a kiss to it and she smiles. 

Just before he drifts back into sleep she hears him murmur softly in her ear, “I made you a promise, Elain...I will never let myself break it.” 

[exquisitley-obsessed]

Fiancés, Firebirds, Foxes and Fawns: 3

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed​

Summary: A few weeks after Briallyn's attempt at uniting with Koschei, Lucien opens the door of Lockhart Manor to find Elain, cold from the rain and holding a note from the High Lady of the Night Court demanding her to assist Lucien in building alliances with the human councils. Forced to work together by their exhausted High Lord and Lady, Elain is able to convince anyone to do anything, while Lucien has the acquaintances to go anywhere he likes. Together, they attempt to unite the fae and mortal lands and unravel the deal made between Koschei and Vassa, while Lucien remains haunted by his own promise to Elain's father. ELUCIEN, POST-ACOSF

Pairings: Elain x Lucien, Elucien

Warnings: None.

A/N: This is going to be a long, slow burn fic (hopefully)

MY MASTERLIST

THIS FIC’S MASTERLIST

AO3

Chapter Four: Playing House

“Who could be calling this time of night?” Vassa rose from her chair, her skirts flowing to the floor.

“Trouble?” Lucien shrugged.

“We can only hope,” Jurian grinned, leaping to his feet with newfound excitement.

“I sent the maids to bed,” Vassa moved to peer out a window where she should’ve had a clear view of the porch, but nothing could be seen through the black rain, “Should I wake the house for guests?”

“We don’t know if it’s a guest, might be something more fun,” Jurian was still grinning wolfishly, now bouncing from one foot to the other, “So…who’s going to open the door?” Both man and male turned to look at Vassa who only scoffed in response.

“Ugh - why me?”

“You’re the queen, princess.”

“How are you going to call me queen and princess in the same sentence?”

“It’s an oxymoron.”

“Oxymoronic more like.”

“Oh Mother, I’m surrounded by children,” Lucien groaned, running his hands over his face.

“The only children in this room are you two. Afraid of answering a door for Cauldrons-sake,” she huffed as she waltzed into the foyer, embellished with russet wood and crimson carpets, Lucien and Jurian on her tail like puppies.

She’d just reached the towering oak doors when something whipped her around, pulling her by her outstretched hand. Turning, Vassa came face to face with Lucien whose eyes were stony with determination.

“I think not,” was all he said, his other hand resting on his belt where his silver sword of Autumn was permanently strapped.

“Why?” Vassa huffed, feeling her heartbeat quicken in response to the intensity of Lucien’s gaze.

“You’re insane if you think I’m going to let a queen open the door to an unexpected guest in the middle of the night, in the middle of a storm, whilst unarmed and being tracked by a Death God.”

Vassa’s wide eyes just drank him in, before looking down at where his hand was wrapped around her wrist. He dropped it instantaneously, as though she had burned him.

“So he does have balls,” Jurian cooed from behind them, but to Vassa, he was long forgotten.

“Fine,” Vassa took a step towards the Fae Lord, allowing her voice to drop a few octaves as she refused to break eye contact, “Go ahead.” She just about purred before turning and walking back to wait at the base of the stairs, missing the confused look on Lucien’s face as he turned to the door.

He should’ve been able to smell whoever was on the otherwise of the door, as well as the Belladonna’s which sat in clay pots on either side of the entrance. But all Lucien was getting, was the smothering dew of the rain, wet overturned earth and the neither-here-nor-there scent of furious winds. He could however hear a soft murmur of voices, from the pitch, female, before a second, shy knock beat on the wooden door. Two heartbeats, and that was it, all the information he could glean given the storm and inches of brick which separated him and his ‘guests’.

With his hand on the door’s iron handle, Lucien’s body felt alive and electric, like a drawn bow ready to fire. There was something in the air, a moment of calm before the storm. Without dwelling on it any longer, Lucien rose to is full height, one of his greatest assets even against other Fae, and yanked the door open.

“Hello?” A small, quiet voice. A voice that haunted his dreams.

***

Touch her. No, don’t touch her. She doesn’t want to be touched. But it is normal for people to touch, people touch all the time, a hand on a shoulder is no affront. Just touch her. But you have no reason to touch her.

That’s what Elain smelt like, or something similar, he supposed.

At first all Lucien could see of Elain was her big eyes, peeking over her purple cloak like beacons. But he’d recognise those eyes everywhere, sometimes it felt as though they were in his room, watching him. She seemed to still as he caught her eye, him standing in the warm orange light of the house, her shrouded in darkness and mystery.

At first all Lucien could see of Elain was her big eyes, peeking over her purple cloak like beacons. But he’d recognise those eyes everywhere, sometimes it felt as though they were in his room, watching him. She seemed to still as he caught her eye, him standing in the warm orange light of the house, her shrouded in darkness and mystery.

In response to the cold and the rain, Elain’s cheeks had flushed a healthy rose. Her eyes were wide, and Lucien could see how the water had darkened and elongated her lashes. If Elain were this beautiful when she was fae, Lucien couldn’t comprehend how magnificent she must’ve looked like a human. Surely there had been suitor after suitor, clawing for a minute of her time, or even a handkerchief or a pearl. Anything of hers to prove to themselves that such beauty was possible – that she was somehow real.

It wasn’t until Lucien had stuttered a meek ‘come in’ when he noticed the second bundle of a person over Elain’s shoulder. When they came into the light of the foyer, Lucien had recognised her as one of the shadow wraith’s that often accompanied Elain in the Night Court. Which one, he could not tell, but she was lesser fae, and lesser fae were always welcome in his home.

Lucien was sure he was in a state of shock, his ears were ringing faintly as Elain entered a polite discussion with Jurian who was smiling enough for the both of them. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her, convinced that if he even blinked for too long then she’d disappear, back to the Night Court.

Lucien stood lamely to the side, his posture rigid. Vassa remained at the base of the stairs, whatever her countenance was to Elain’s arrival, he didn’t care for it. As Jurian chatted, Elain had pulled back her hood to reveal her hair of deep gold, soaked entirely, as though she had just arisen from a bath. Lucien dug his nails into his palm.

She was so beautiful, and it hurt to wonder how the Cauldron had ever, at any point of time, believed him worthy of being considered a perfect equal to such a creature.

“Ah, might this be the letter?” Lucien forced himself to tune into the conversation.

“Yes,” Elain’s gentle voice washed over him, lapping across his skin and like magic, it began to soothe him. “From the High Lady of the Night Court. I am to be staying with you for some time it seems, an extra hand to deal with the councils. If that would be alright?” Her voice, unlike Jurian’s or Vassa’s, was consistently soft, and in a strange way, it gave her an aura of power. As though she need not speak too loudly or rush her words, as she knew the world would be listening anyway.

“Ah,” Jurian plucked the sopping note from Elain’s palm, and though he really didn’t care, Lucien watched with intent at how Jurian avoided touching any part of Elain’s skin. Instead, he grabbed the letter’s corner and held it out as it dribbled rainwater across the red and gold carpet.

“Oh, um,” Elain seemed to flush, “I promise you it was a note from Feyre. The lettering might be a bit…illegible.”

“I think we can take your word, Ms Archeron.”

“Elain, please,” she whispered politely with a small curtsey that clearly came naturally. Lucien was so taken aback by Elain that he barely had time to recognise that Jurian was putting on a big show of good behaviour for his mate. If Elain had been anyone else, and if Lucien had been back in the Spring Court manor wearing his fox mask, he would’ve winked and told Elain that she was pretty enough to go where she pleased since kings would most likely fall to her feet anyway, but he just bit his tongue and cocked his head.

He needed to say something to her, he needed to be able to look into those eyes. What was she really doing here? Had Feyre truly sanctioned this? She’d said High Lady, not High Lord. Why had she come in the middle of the night? Why was she here, why was she really here?

“Let me take that for you,” was all he ended up saying, looking from Elain to her cloak then back to her eyes.

Some part of him hated seeing Elain in damp clothes with her hair dripping. It reminded him too much of the first time he’d seen her, as his mate, after she’d just been through the most traumatic experience of her life. He wished nothing more than to wrap her up into his arms and send wave after wave of warmth through her to dry her clothes, to make sure she was never cold and shivering again.

Elain seemed to stare at him for a moment, and Lucien wondered if she could possibly be just as taken aback by him as he was of her. How many of these moments, these little pauses between words, were genuine? And how much of it was the drive of the bond?

“Thank you,” She whispered, her hands reaching up to undo the clasp at her neck. As she did so, Lucien adverted his eyes. Something about seeing Elain remove an item of clothing, even a sopping cloak, felt too much like an invasion of privacy. And then she was holding her cloak out to him, and he just nodded at her, allowing his lips to turn up at the corners as he took the damp material, making sure not to accidentally touch her bare hands.

Behind Elain, the twin appeared to cock her head and glare at him, her message clear – ‘and what about me, huh?’ Lucien ignored her as he folded the cloak over his arm and took a step back towards the wall.

“Well, welcome to Lockhart Manor, Ms Archeron,” Vassa then announced herself as she strode forth from the base of the stairs, her posture stiff and elegant. This wasn’t Vassa speaking. This was a queen. “We have spare rooms in abundance which you’re more than welcome to settle into, since the maids are asleep right now please allow me to take you to your quarters.”

“Oh, um, thank you,” Elain nodded and smiled politely, a faint flush spreading on her cheeks, one that threatened to bring Lucien to his knees.

“No luggage, or are you not staying long?” Vassa inquired innocently enough, and had Lucien tore his eyes away from Elain for just a moment, he would’ve seen the slight glint in the queen’s eye.

“My sister will winnow me my bags tomorrow morning. You see, it was paramount we left the Night Court at a certain time. Unfortunately, this was our best window for travelling, but Feyre insisted you would be awake given…” given Vassa’s curse, her inability to see sunlight with human eyes.

“Are you in danger?” Lucien couldn’t bite his tongue as something began to rise within him – Terror? Anger? Worry? Elain’s big eyes drifted back to his, and once more she seemed to pause before speaking.

“No,” she breathed. Her voice was just a petal in the wind. “At least, only in danger of Nesta finding out I’m missing.”

“You didn’t tell her you were coming here?” If Lucien wasn’t mistaken, that might just be a slightly mischievous glint alight in Elain’s eye. The idea of Elain deceiving her viper of a sister to come across the world to stay with him, seemed far too good to be real, and Lucien couldn’t stop the small grin that pulled at his lips.

“Well, you must be tired after such a journey.” Lucien wished Vassa hadn’t spoken because it pulled Elain’s gaze from his. Lucien also suspected that little travelling had been done since Elain’s companion was a shadow wraith, and able to travel the world via the shades. “Please, let me show you to your room.”

Lucien hated to see her go, as she politely curtseyed to the queen before following her up the stairs and disappearing down a corridor which led to the western wings. It was only when she was, in fact, out of sight, that Lucien felt the reality of her presence collide with him like a pile of bricks.

Suddenly, he was breathing too quickly, no, too slowly. His body was overheating, and his heart was racing. All around him swirled her scent and every cell in his body was screaming at him to follow her up the stairs, to keep her in sight and never let her leave it. Keep her warm, keep her safe.

“Careful Luce,” Jurian’s voice called him back to reality, and he found Jurian peering at him with that god-damn, shit-eating, all-knowing grin, “She’s going to want that back,” was all he said as he nodded at the sopping cloak Lucien had clutched against his abdomen. The rainwater soaking through his linens, and making him shiver.

***

“You say your sister sent you?” Vassa was leading Elain and Nuala down a series of hallways. Elain liked the manor, one she would’ve adored when she was human. There was a crimson carpet that bled across the entire house, embellished with threads of sparkling gold. Deep brown wood covered the walls in panels, and there were candles here, not faelight, which cast the hallways in a warm, watery glow. It felt so familiar, in such a painful way.

“I wanted to be of some use to my sister following Briallyn, she thought I could be of use in working with the human councils given I…well, I…”

“Used to be human?” The queen’s voice was slightly monotonous, almost sounding as though she were somewhat bored, that these things happened all the time.

“Yes,” Elain nodded furiously. She’d been so caught up in the idea of seeing Lucien again that she’d practically forgotten Jurian and Vassa.

“Well, after a good night’s rest you might be able to catch me before sunrise and we can discuss where you’d be most useful.”

“Yes, thank you…what kind of work is there?”

“Meetings with councils and human lords, establishing positive relations between fae and humans which, considering humans were enslaved to the fae a few hundred years ago, isn’t the easiest relationship to manage. There’s also work to be done regarding the human armies, and not to mention the other human queens. We could also use with someone prepared to travel to establish trade routes between the mortal lands and the Spring Court, though, really all of this pales in comparison to cleaning up the mess Briallyn left behind.”

Elain blew out a breath. There was so much going on in the world, in the mortal lands alone, and her family had hidden it all from her. Or had they hidden her from the world? It didn’t matter, she was here now, and she was prepared to make herself as useful as possible.

“Where can I find you, to talk tomorrow morning?”

“I’ll most likely be in the dining room, taking breakfast with Lucien and Jurian.” The Queen swung a hard left and Elain stumbled slightly as she tried to follow.

“Okay…thank you, for everything.” Elain put on her best smile, but the queen wasn’t looking at her.

“You were quite sick the last time I saw you,” was all the queen said in response, and Elain felt as though ice had been poured down the back of her dress.

“Yes, I was,” Elain said quietly, her eyes meeting those of Nuala’s for a fleeting moment. God, where was her room?

“You’re better now?”

“Yes,” Elain practically whispered, not interested in being reminded of those torturous months post-Cauldron. Especially when, technically, she was still in them.

“Good,” Vassa said, and Elain couldn’t read her tone, but then, “Here are your quarters, Jurian’s rooms are just down the hall. If you wish to find me, or Lucien,” she paused slightly, “Then you can find our rooms in the East wing. Just ask a passing maid and they’ll lead you to us.”

Something ugly reared its head inside Elain as Vassa referred to her and Lucien as an ‘us’. And if Elain wasn’t mistaken, judging by the glint in Vassa’s eye, the language had been intentional. But Elain knew this game, knew how to play a courtier, how to manipulate a crowd with a smile.

Interesting, some part of Elain perked up. Maybe she’d gotten herself into more than she was expecting by coming to Lockhart Manor. Or maybe, it was a really, really good thing she’d come at all.

“Thank you,” was all Elain said, letting nothing pass her courtly smile. “For everything.”

***

Nuala had her own room but had stayed with Elain for a while after Vassa’s departure, perhaps reading the slight tension in the Acheron’s shoulders as she perched herself at her room’s vanity. If Elain was rational, then she would be obsessing over Vassa, of what she said and the look in her eye as she spoke. She would try and unfurl the dynamic she was to expect at breakfast tomorrow, when the world was still dark.

But she was thinking of him.

Lucien was different here, and Elain realised that she’d never seen him out of the Night Court. In fact, all at once the chaste meetings they’d had thus far seemed entirely, hilariously inadequate.

He was otherworldly, something about him seemed more fae than the others, even the Illyrian’s with their beautiful wings. Lucien was fire and light in form. His hair, no mortal could even imagine hair like that. In fact, Elain was convinced that even Feyre couldn’t capture it’s essence in her paintings. It was ever-changing, always moving and shifting colours in the light, almost as though it were alive. When she’d first seen him in the Night Court it had been a paler, autumnal orange with what seemed to be streaked with glittering gold. But here, by the candlelight of Lockhart manor, it was the red of rust and blood.

His skin was made of tan plains that rose and fell over the contours of his body in a way that reminded Elain of the deserts she’d seen drawn in adventure books. And then there was his impossible height, taller than everyone, including those back at the Night Court, only beating Cassian by an inch. He had a presence in a room like no other, he demanded intrigue and interest, with his mismatched eyes and brutal scar.

Maybe Elain had only been so nervous of Lucien because of that reason. Because she was used to seeing men who appeared to have not quite come into their bodies, their chins loose with excess skin, their hair wiry and coarse. And Lucien…Lucien looked as though he’d had hundreds of years to hone his body. Tall and sharp, standing with a poise that reminded Elain of a blade. His eyes alert and always moving, and a mouth that quirked to the side, as though there was always some dirty joke resting on the tip of his tongue.

Guilt moved through Elain in a wave. First, guilt over Graysen, then guilt over Azriel. Both men whom she’d also found to be beautiful, in their own ways. The innocence of Graysen, which in hindsight, proved to be a hilarious interpretation. The mystery of Azriel, the way that even when she was convinced he wanted her, she was never entirely sure.

Perhaps it wasn’t guilt that washed through Elain, but rather dread. Because here she was, again, and all she could hear was her mother’s voice echoing in her mind – Foolish girl. Foolish, foolish girl. Her mother would tell her that she never learns.

Or maybe she wouldn’t. She’d only admitted to herself that Lucien was attractive, his eyes searing, looking every bit of the fae prince as he swung open the door, backlit by gold and red light. And the bond was supposed to make her find him attractive, right? She could consult the book she’d brought later. Because that was the problem – what was real and what was the bond? Did Lucien truly care for her? Would he have even looked her way if the bond hadn’t existed? No matter how much she tried, she couldn’t be convinced. Lucien was suited to the bold courage of Nesta or even the quick-wit of Feyre. Elain was brutally soft. Men like Lucien didn’t care for the delicate - right?

“I’m sorry to take you from your sister, Nuala,” Elain whispered, as her friend began to comb through her dripping hair.

“It’s no problem,” Nuala’s voice was like velvet, and in the mirror, Elain could see her eyes were soft and her mouth turned up at the corners. “Sometimes getting away from family can be good for you.”

Elain hummed in response as Nuala began to knot her hair into a crown of elegant braids so that her hair would dry with a curl.

[newlyfaenesta]

Last Unicorn/ACOTAR fic

Title: The Lady and the Unicorn

Rating: General

Summary: A unicorn sets out on a journey to find the rest of her kind and is accompanied by Cassian the Illyrian Magician and the mysterious (and grumpy) Nesta Archeron. Following a narrow escape from the monster Bryaxis, Cassian accidentally changes the unicorn into a fellow Fae. While Bryaxis may be the one chasing down Prythian’s unicorns, following him leads to even more danger: the King of Hybern and his adopted son, Prince Lucien. The king does not trust Cassian and Nesta’s companion, the Lady Elain, while Prince Lucien is more than willing to get to know her.

Chapter 3 Summary: Lady Amarantha wants to use the unicorn in her carnival, but her Illyrian magician has other plans.

Main overall fic characters: Nesta, Cassian, (Nessian), Elain, Lucien, (Elucien), and Hybern.

Disclaimer and all posted chapters can be found on AO3 here.

Chapter 3:

Her eyes felt heavy, her mind foggy, her mouth dry. The world slowly, meanderingly, came into focus but grew no less confusing as the unicorn could not understand why she was lying on such hard ground nor why she could not smell the sweet scent of lilacs drifting on the breeze. But as her vision cleared and her awareness returned, the unicorn sighed mournfully, feeling a mix of consternation and shame, two rare--almost nonexistent--emotions for unicorns to have, which only made her feel worse.

She remembered leaving her darling little lilacs for tall sycamores, but there were no tall sycamores here in this grove, nor orange and red leaves blanketing the ground. She then recalled trotting past the sycamore trees into a land of snow and ice, but there was no snow soft and quiet as goose down here, nor razor-sharp spikes of icicles suspended from bare branches in the frigid sky above. She then recollected racing through the land of softly falling snow before falling suddenly into a world of melancholy and despair. A world of sorrow and distress. A world of wretchedness and discomfort.

She had been caught, and no one had ever caught a unicorn before. It was unthinkable. She did not know what to do or how to react in such a situation as the mere idea was so far removed from the consciousness of her kind that the protocol simply did not exist.

The unicorn took a deep breath, inhaling slowly through her nostrils to stem the tide of panic that threatened to overwhelm her, and took in her new surroundings. Iron bars stood on all four sides of her with a metal roof above and dirty straw below. Her enclosure was magicked, she discovered, for the bars did not even dent when she kicked them with her strong hooves, and if a unicorn could not escape, surely magic was at work.

She snorted loudly and tossed her bright white mane, panic giving way, conceding just for a moment, to anger. How dare someone capture a unicorn! Did they not know her unique? Did they not understand the worth of a creature such as she?

Just then, a shadow fell across the front of her cage, and the unicorn looked up to see a Fae with red-gold hair that shone like the sky at sunset watching her with crossed arms. “Well, well, well,” the female said with a smile. “I’m used to catching coal with my little puca trap. Imagine my surprise when it dragged in a diamond.”

She paced in front of the cage, and the unicorn noticed for the first time a large caravan of covered wagons just beyond her own sitting in a half-circle, taking up most of their little clearing. A long black canvas hung across two of them, proclaiming in giant red letters, “Lady Amarantha’s Carnival of Nightmares.” Underneath that, in smaller letters, someone had written, “Venture under the mountain and witness Prythian’s dark side.”

The unicorn shivered. She would find no help here, nor kindness from these fae. She was only satisfied that her kin had not ended up in this carnival, though that did nothing to temper the sadness she felt over her current condition.

“You shall be my show’s newest star, my little jewel. I shall attract all sorts of audiences and everyone shall be in my thrall.” A slow grin spread across Amarantha’s face, for surely that must be she and this must be her carnival. “It’s not everyday that one captures a unicorn, much less sees one. I hope you enjoy your new home, darling.” She leaned forward, her bright red lips just inches from the unicorn’s nose, and lowered her throaty voice to a whisper. “Because you’re going to be here for a very, very long time.”

The unicorn narrowed her eyes but did not deign to answer. This Amarantha did not deserve to hear the voice which had once blown wind back into a butterfly’s wings and dripped starlight into the eyes of a chestnut owl.

Amarantha straightened and snapped her fingers. Almost immediately, two male fae appeared from out of nowhere. “Bring our new guest some more hay. I have no doubt she is hungry, and we must keep our star comfortable.” She cackled again, each shriek a knife-like thrust in the unicorn’s heart.

The unicorn put her head down and watched as Amarantha’s two helpers argued over who would take care of her. The older of two males, hair graying at his temples, pointed in her direction several times. Both their voices rose and fell, up and down in roars and whispers, but she did not care enough to pay attention to the words. Hay was hay and captured was captured. The who and why did not matter.

Eventually, the older male threw his head back in a grunt of frustration, shoved the younger male aside, and stomped away. The younger one pursed his lips in grim satisfaction, and then cautiously turned towards her, approaching her cage at a careful snail’s pace. Whether this was due to nervousness or a quick perception of her worth and abilities, the unicorn could not hazard a guess. But as he gradually moved closer, she observed the Fae with her usual detached curiosity.

He wore a tattered brown leather tunic under a midnight blue cloak, which bunched up in back over his muscled shoulders as if he carried a great pack with him. He wore his shoulder-length black hair loose, and though he held his bronzed arms still as he walked, she was able to catch a glimpse of something glinting, metallic, sheathed in a brown belt around his waist. He was strong, she could see that immediately, but something about the way he moved proved he was also prudent in the use of his strength. The most remarkable thing the unicorn noticed about this male, however, were the red gems he wore in various locations around his body. She did not know their purpose nor did they shine very bright, but she counted seven in total: two each on his wrists and elbows and two on his knees, with the last and largest of them all resting on his chest against his collarbone just under the clasp of his cloak.

The unicorn watched, ears back and eyes alert, but did not move or speak.

Once he reached about a foot away from the bars of her enclosure, he knelt down in the dirt. “I am sorry I helped to put you in this cage,” he said quietly. “You do not deserve this.”

The unicorn silently agreed, but continued to regard him warily.

He exhaled loudly and scrunched up his face, conflicted. “Look, I can bring you some hay, but--”

“Hay is for horses,” she announced loudly, her objection to hay much more important than her resolution to remain silent. “I am no mere horse so I do not eat hay.” She was unable too to keep the superiority from her voice, and tossed her mane from one shoulder to the other. “I eat but sparingly, but when I do, I sip from the reflection of the moon in mountain lakes and nibble on honeycombs from the bees whose pollen is harvested from the tulips of the low valleys.”

He blinked in surprise at her outburst, and then chuckled quietly. “I am sorry, my lady. We are not quite so prepared as that, so I can only offer you hay. To be honest, I don't think any of us expected to find you for we thought your kind to be gone from our land completely.” He cocked his head to the side; it was now his turn to study her, and the unicorn found she did not like it. “Forgive me for being rude, but are you the last---the last of your kind?”

The unicorn snorted, blowing straw out of her cage and all over the male’s lap. He grinned and held his hands up in surrender. “I suppose I deserve that. Which means you definitely do not deserve to be in this cage.” He sat back on his heels then, casting furtive glances to his left and right. “I cannot claim to be all-powerful, but if you trust me, I will help you escape if I can.”

The unicorn eyed him suspiciously. “Who are you that I should trust you so well with the life of the last unicorn?”

He bounced back on his ankles once before popping up to this feet and flourishing her with a large bow, bending low over his right arm while throwing his cloak back behind him with the left. “You may call me Cassian, my lady! Resident Illyrian magician, at your service!”

“I have not heard of an Illyrian before,” the unicorn responded indifferently, “but I once knew a vole who enclosed a caterpillar within a daffodil only to remove it a few seconds later from the mouth of a very surprised fawn.”

“Well, there aren’t many Illyrians left either, so I suppose we have that in common.” Cassian gave her a lopsided grin. “I try to perform tricks. Sometimes they work, sometimes they don’t. Mostly I just argue with Keir over whose turn it is to feed the other creatures.” He shrugged in an offhand, disquieted manner.

The unicorn remembered the older man from earlier and how he had yelled and shoved. “I know I would not enjoy living like that. Why do you work for this Amarantha when I am sure you do not share her delight in this carnival. Can you not work magic elsewhere?”

If it were possible, Cassian looked even more uncomfortable with her bluntness. He grabbed the edge of his cloak and wrapped it around himself. “She feeds me and provides me with a place to sleep. The war was hard on many of us. I needed something to do, somewhere to go.”

The unicorn cocked her head to the side. The farther and farther she traveled from her lilac woods, the more she found she did not know about the world. “War? What is. . . war?”

Cassian stared back, and then began to laugh. “If only we could all live in such secluded lands as where innocent unicorns prosper. I envy you your ignorance.” He dropped his cloak, looked down at his wrists, and began polishing one of the small red gems. “I used to be a great warrior,” he said softly. “One of the best. Until King Hybern appeared and stole a prince from one of the other Courts. War broke out as war will when kings are angry and bored. We all rushed to volunteer to fight. And why wouldn't we? Hybern’s own kingdom was small, tiny, with no army to speak of. It was an easy win--or so we thought.”

He shook his head in disbelief before looking again at the unicorn. “Are you familiar with the Mother of All, my lady?” He did not wait for a response before continuing. “They say she created the entire world with a great cauldron. The cauldron is the beginning of everything and therefore many hold the idea of it sacred, though most consider the whole thing just a story, a myth. We never thought the cauldron actually existed.” Cassian dug his toe into the ground, drawing random lines into the dirt, and did not speak for several long breaths.

“Until Hybern rolled the damn thing out on the battlefield and took out half our warriors in a single blast.”

The unicorn could feel the waves of sadness and anger rolling off the Illyrian as thick as syrup, and she whickered in pain and sympathy.

Cassian cleared his throat. “We threw everything we had at him, but when we discovered he was using the cauldron to not only destroy but create. . .” Cassian tapped the red gem on his left wrist. It flared briefly before emitting a flickering red light and, after another moment, went out again completely. “His creatures were too much. I was lucky to leave with my life.”

He continued to stare for so long at the red gems that the unicorn laid her head down against the floor of her cage and briefly closed her eyes.

“Anyway,” he said somewhat loudly with a laugh, “you asked why I am here and that is why. I have just enough power left in my siphons for parlor tricks.” To illustrate this, he pulled a small red ball, a children’s toy, from his pocket and began juggling it between his hands. As the ball arced in front of them, flying through the air from one hand to the next, another ball appeared, and then another, and yet another. The siphons on his knees blinked sleepily until Cassian stopped, clutching seven multi-colored balls within his arms.

The unicorn gazed at Cassian sadly, wishing she had never even learned the word for sorrow let alone the bitter aftertaste it left in her mouth. “That is a very good trick, magician. I am only sorry I cannot give you your strength back. I fear one unicorn is not enough to counter the evil the cauldron has wrought.”

Cassian frowned as he took off his dark cloak and draped it over his arm. “I would be glad indeed if someone could fix my siphons but I would give that all up if I could just once fly away from this dreary world.” The unicorn’s brow furrowed, confused, and he gave her a stiff smile. “You should rest. I’ll be back later when the others have gone to sleep so we can talk some more. In the meantime, I’ll try to find you the best of our hay.” He gave her a small nod and turned to leave.

As the magician strode off towards the other end of the caravan, the unicorn immediately saw and comprehended his cryptic words. Free from the confines of his cloak, giant membranous wings hung limp from his back. They were almost completely shredded, the talons pointing at awkward angles. It did not take a unicorn's eyes to see that he would never fly again.