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skyloftian-nutcase · 4 months

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Imprisoning War Drama is consuming me and I cannot contain it any longer, so... here you go.

Hemisi still couldn’t believe this was happening. Link was here. Zelda had sent him here.

Her beautiful, stupid, wonderful friend was right in front her. Her former betrothed was right in front of her. Her best friend was right in front of her.

The pretense, of course, was that he was there to help reestablish healthy relations with the Gerudo. It had been three years since the war, a time that Zelda apparently deemed long enough to acknowledge their existence again. Hyrule hadn’t helped the Gerudo at all in the past three years as Hemisi had struggled to protect and guide her people, as she’d tried to pick up the pieces from a once thriving civilization.

Hemisi had originally been angry about it. Angry about everything. On the one hand, it made sense – the Gerudo had been Hyrule’s enemy. The destruction of her own kingdom was due to Ganondorf, not Zelda. On the other hand, it felt like one last slap, taking her lover, her dignity, and any hope she had of receiving help for her people despite betraying her own father to help Hyrule.

But that was then. It had been three years. Hemisi couldn’t exactly say she liked Zelda or Hyrule, but she also couldn’t say she wanted to see that kingdom burn anymore. She probably wouldn’t mind beating the queen senseless, though. But that wasn’t exactly noble, and she was trying not to be like Ganondorf. Anger was an exhausting emotion, and she was working on not relying on it or feeding it all the time.

Anger was certainly not what she was feeling now. What she was feeling was utter disbelief and exhilaration.

Link was here.

Truly, such a reunion should merit some sort of show of emotion. Instead, what came out was, “You look like shit.”

Link’s somber expression immediately shattered, bursting into life with as he let out a laugh.

And just like that, it was as if the last three years hadn’t happened. It was as if their last conversation hadn’t been her trying to convince him to come home with her, to part ways with his wife and unborn heir. Link was immediately at ease, and Hemisi felt overwhelmingly happy.

Maybe they were just pretending. Maybe enough time had passed that somehow it just worked. It seemed impossible, strange, ridiculous that they were suddenly laughing in the small space that counted as Hemisi’s court room in their new settlement, but… somehow it worked.

Link’s laughter subsided, fading into a gentle, sincere smile. “You look beautiful.”

Well, that was quite the straightforward statement to say in front of all her guards. Link seemed to realize that too, despite Hemisi’s even blunter statement earlier, and he tried to backtrack, but Hemisi waved him off.

“You doing okay?” She asked, pushing beyond it as she smiled in acknowledgement of the compliment.

“Y-yeah,” Link shakily answered, though it was hard to tell if it was due to his earlier slip up or something else. “I’m… yes.”

The euphoria of their reunion was fading fast as something nagged Hemisi’s mind, and she said, “Well, I’m glad to hear it. There were rumors circulating that you were really ill, and I… I was worried.”

Link’s mood shifted, and he seemed to grow closed off nearly immediately. She’d seen the expression before, a mixture of a mask in front of nobles and superiors and the cold, calculating gaze he’d get when he had to guard himself. She felt a strange sense of pride and reassurance that she could still read him so well, but it was far outclassed by the worry that gnawed at her further.

Hemisi waved a dismissal to her guards, who all departed, leaving the pair alone. She rose from her seat (she hardly could call it a throne – none of their new accommodations compared to the splendor of their former capital, destroyed as it was) and walked up to him, closing the space between them. “I’m… look. We didn’t exactly end things on terrible terms last time, but we also didn’t exactly end them on great terms, either. I just wanted to say… for my part, I’m sorry.”

Link’s face softened, surprise peeking through the cracks. “For what?”

For what?! “Oh, I don’t know, for trying to seduce you?”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“Pretty sure I do, moron.”

Link sighed. “Fine. You’re forgiven.”

Well. Now the initial greeting was out of the way, the wave of excitement was disappearing, and they’d quickly addressed their last interaction.

…Now what? Goddesses, she missed when they could just be casual with each other, when they could just be friends. It had almost felt real for a moment, when they’d been laughing together.

Who knows? Maybe we can make something of this.

“The news was that you were to discuss relations with the Gerudo?” Hemisi prompted as Link seemed at a loss for words.

“Yes,” he hastily confirmed, trying to get his footing, lost in her gaze. “I—the queen wants to reestablish trade. With the border, at least.”

Hemisi read into the words easily. “So having a neutral zone, you mean? Where we can interact? But we’re not really allowed in the kingdom still, I presume?”

“Not—what? Hemisi, you came to the baby shower.”

“Upon being invited by the queen,” Hemisi noted, crossing her arms. “You think we’d have been allowed passage without the paperwork?”

Link’s brow furrowed, eyes upset, and he sighed, taking a step away.

Hemisi glanced around him as a new thought occurred to her in the silence created. “Where’s your entourage, anyway? Shouldn’t the mighty King of Hyrule have some royal party following him?”

“I don’t need one.”

“What about your shadow?”

“I asked Lady Impa to stay in the castle.”

Hemisi chuckled. “Oh, I bet she loved that.”

Link’s eyes grew sad, and he tipped his head to the side. There was clearly something he wanted to say, but he’d always been a quiet man. He kept his words to himself, sighing again.

Hemisi felt like she was fumbling some kind of negotiation before it had even begun. For the sake of her people and her sanity, she tried again. “Look, why don’t—why don’t we have a drink? I bet you haven’t had something as good as a Noble Pursuit since the war.”

The tip of Link’s mouth curled up slightly. “We never had a Noble Pursuit during the war. It was mead, remember?”

Oh, that’s right. It had tasted awful. “Well, then that means you’re in for a treat. Can’t a king enjoy a little beverage? It’s our hospitality.”

Link’s smile disappeared, replaced by something new, a soft, strange bemusement, thinly veiled behind a cool gaze.

“What?” Hemisi asked. “What is it?”

Links shifted, trying to find the right words. “Why are… you’re so… last time we talked…”

“Was over two years ago,” Hemisi reminded him. “What, you really thought I was petty enough to hold a grudge that long?”

“Was it just a grudge?” Link asked quietly, voice heavy.

Was our love just worth a grudge? Is that all it means to you? Hemisi wasn’t entirely sure that was what he was asking, but it certainly felt like it. Was he expecting her to be angry as she had been, bitter and vindictive and wanting to snap? Part of the reason she’d been so hostile then was because she’d immediately been insulted by the Hyrulians – she’d been trying to stay neutral during the visit. Her original mission had been to convince Link to return to her. She hadn’t been there to pick fights over anything else. She hadn’t been there to fight.

But there was something in the heaviness of his tone, in the exhaustion in his face that had merited her initial words, in the tension of his muscles. As much as Link played his part of the Hero, as much as he bowed and kissed the ground Queen Zelda walked on, he very clearly held far more feelings about the matter than he expressed.

It wasn’t as if Hemisi hadn’t known Link loved her, hadn’t recognized their parting would hurt him too. But he’d been the one to leave her. She hadn’t exactly expected him to be hurting as much as she had, left completely abandoned just after killing her father, left to pick up the pieces of a shattered kingdom and people by herself when he had promised to be by her side, left to mourn the loss of her entire family alone.

A familiar hurt and anger churned in her stomach and chest, but she bit her lip and tried to redirect it. “You know it wasn’t. But what are you expecting? You look as tired of it as I am. You’re the one who chose Hyrule, chose Zelda over me. Repeatedly. I did try to convince you otherwise both times. Now you’re surprised that I actually respected your choice?”

Link swallowed, taking a small step away, the dark presence that clouded him seeming to dissipate a little. “No, I—I’m sorry.”

“You keep saying that,” Hemisi dully snapped, not quite able to reel in her frustration. “Doesn’t change things. Can we just… try to move forward? And have fun now? Drinks?”

Link nodded sheepishly, letting her guide him to her room. If they’d been in her old home, there’d be an antechamber where she could entertain guests. But as it was, in this new settlement they’d established at the oasis they’d found, she hardly had a regular sized house. The throne room was the only place to have an audience with people formally, and drinks hardly seemed a formal affair to be had there. As she passed the hallway leading there, letting Link get ahead of her, she paused, looking one of her trusted guards in the eye. “Don’t… if we drink a little too much… do me a favor. Don’t let it get crazy.”

The guard raised her eyebrow.

“You know what I’m talking about,” Hemisi whispered irritably. “No matter our feelings for each other, and no matter the choices we make about our relationship, we’re acting on that sober.”

It wasn’t like Hemisi was expecting anything to happen, of course. But alcohol was getting involved. And as much tension as there still seemed to be between them… well. She just… she was better than that. The baby shower had been her last attempt, one last act of hope, a thought that if the queen had an heir Link’s duty was fulfilled. She was not going to be so pathetic as to keep pursuing someone who had chosen another woman, no matter her feelings on the matter.

The guard nodded. “I can respect that. Nothing will happen.”

Feeling far more secure about the matter, she walked into her room. Link was standing in the center a little awkwardly, but his gaze had fixed on one of the walls, eyes a little wide, mouth a little parted, expression unguarded. It was a mixture of surprise, amusement, and regret, eyebrows moving subtly between the three along with his lips.

Hemisi huffed, walking up beside him as she looked at the wall in question. On it was an old painting of Ganondorf (it had originally depicted the entire royal family, but she’d cut him out and kept the rest elsewhere), pinned to the wall with multiple daggers that had been thrown at it. She was still most proud of the one she’d thrown that had ended up between his eyes. It held the piece quite well.

“You like it?” She asked, crossing her arms. “It’s my therapy.”

Link snorted and nodded. “I’m surprised you don’t have one of Zelda.”

Hemisi’s eyebrows rose in surprise. She hadn’t expected that to come out of his mouth. Link seemed equally surprised that he’d admitted it, and he shifted anxiously, asking about the Noble Pursuit. Chuckling, she walked over to where the bottle was sitting in the shade, commenting, “I probably would’ve had one for her a couple years ago. But you didn’t want that, remember?”

She wasn’t quite resentful enough of the queen to throw daggers at her. Zelda herself had seen and dealt with some shit, based on the little Hemisi knew. That didn’t mean she liked her, though. At all. She wouldn’t mind throttling her, honestly. But still. The queen wasn’t nearly on the same level of Hemisi’s hatred as Ganondorf.

This wasn’t something she really wanted to talk about much, anyway. If she vented to Link about how she wanted to punch his wife, he’d certainly jump to her defense, whether he himself liked her or not. And if his defense did prove that he liked her, it would only increase Hemisi’s ire, which was frustrating to just think about. She didn’t want to be petty or jealous. She was better than that.

Even if it did hurt. Even if the past three years alone could have been spent with someone who loved her and supported her, even if maybe her struggle to rebuild the Gerudo might not have been so terrible (or even lethal to some who had died in the interim) for everyone involved.

Hemisi was more than just a spurned lover. She was a chief of the Gerudo, she was a warrior. She would not perseverate on the queen.

She just wanted her friend back. She was hoping a little alcohol would loosen them both up to have an actual conversation.

Three drinks later, they were having more than just an actual conversation. They were having fun.

Link laughed as he put his glass down and leapt to his feet. “Okay, but I want to contribute to your therapy, to your masterpiece over there.”

Hemisi giggled. “With what? You’re not using my knives.”

“I have kunai,” he said easily with a wave of his hand.

“You still carry those, oh mighty ruler?”

“I told you, I don’t need an escort for a reason.”

Hemisi barked out a laugh as she stood on her bed, motioning towards the painting of Ganondorf. “Go for it, then. Good luck hitting anything when you can’t see straight!”

Link wiggled his eyebrows challengingly. “I’ll get him in the jewels.”

“I already got a knife in his headdress and I’m not moving it.”

Link’s smile grew. “You’ll see.”

Hemisi hummed, looking skeptical. What was he going to do, try to knock her knife off the jewelry that adorned Ganondorf’s forehead? Link faced the portrait, hand steady despite how glazed his eyes were from the drinks. He focused for a moment, and oh how her heart fluttered at the sight of it, oh how she remembered all the battles they’d fought together in the war, and oh how—

How the kunai flew, how it whistled through the air it cut as it passed, how it hit sunk into the canvas perfectly, how it landed right between the dead king’s legs.

Hemisi gawked for a moment, Link looked delighted and victorious, and they both scream yelled at the shot, raising their arms in unison.

The air was filled with excitement and glee, at the two young adults laughing and screaming with glee, at how Hemisi leapt up and down on her mattress cheering before she leapt into Link’s open arms and he spun her around. They were giggling in absolute delight, laughing at the release of the moment, at how it finally seemed to entirely break whatever barrier they were keeping between each other. Link got dizzy from spinning and fell backwards, and both rulers landed on the bed with a grunt, breathless from their amusement.

Hemisi jumped up as soon as she had breath to do so, stumbling a little. Link caught her before she fell on a table, and she laughed again, leaning against it instead.

“You’re a lightweight,” Link commented with a chuckle.

“Am not!” She snapped playfully, shoving him away from her with a laugh. Then she glanced at the art. “Feels good to do that, though, doesn’t it?”

Link looked as well, smiling. “Yeah. Too bad I couldn’t make that shot in the last fight.”

Hemisi wheezed. “Goddess, that would’ve been fucking amazing.”

The pair giggled, and then Link seemed to grow contemplative a moment, asking, “You really… I’m sorry. That he… that everything. You know?”

“Why do you apologize so much, Link?” Hemisi asked, far less irritated about it now that her mind was addled.

“I don’t know,” he answered. Clearly alcohol loosed his lips far more than she remembered.

Ah, wait, but there was that time she dared him to call Impa his mother. Maybe she’d underestimated how much alcohol messed with him.

“Pfff, and you call me the lightweight,” she snarked.

Link rolled his eyes, only mildly exasperated. “Fine. It’s all his fault anyway.”

“Damn right it is.”

“But I… I mean… us…”

The air grew thick, and the two grew quiet. Then, softly, Link tried to ask, “Do… do you still…?”

“Do I still what?” Hemisi pressed impatiently, reaching for her drink. “Speak up, goofball. Remember when I used to tell you that when we were first dating? My gosh you were such a quiet, timid little thing.”

“I wasn’t timid,” Link huffed. “Just not used to being allowed to speak.”

“Well that’s stupid.”

“Unlike you, I was just a guard, not royalty.”

“Different now, isn’t it?”

Link sombered again. “Yeah. It is.”

Then he looked her dead in the eye. “I still love you.”

Hemisi nearly choked on her spit, breath ripped out of her. What the—

What was she even supposed to say to that?!

Well. If she was sober she’d probably contemplate that more. Instead, she just said, “I still love you too.”

Link blinked. “…O-oh.”

Hemisi laughed so hard her ribs hurt. “Oh? That’s all you have to say? You’re hopeless! Did you really think I hadn’t? What, just because you said ‘no’ and I respected that you thought that was it?”

Link blubbered, flustered, cheeks far more flushed than they were a moment ago.

“I get it,” Hemisi interrupted his pathetic attempt to formulate words. “You love Hyrule more.”

Link’s stuttering ceased, and he watched her with a clear gaze. Then he sighed, looking away, eyes distant. “I… yeah.”

Hemisi’s heart ached, but it also swelled. His selflessness was one of the reasons she loved him so much. She just… had never imagined it would come between them. “Hyrule has a good Hero.”

Link’s lip wobbled a little, eyes growing glassy, alarming the Gerudo chief a little. He looked at her a moment, eyes pleading, desperately fighting for control, but the alcohol was preventing it from happening, and the tears trickled down his face.

“Oh, love,” Hemisi said, hearing her own voice tremble, and she walked over to him, pulling him into a hug. “I know.”

“I’m sorry,” he cried quietly, words thick and choking in his throat. “I’m sorry.”

Hemisi felt his tears on her shoulder, felt him tremble in her arms. She was uncomfortable and warm, on the verge of tears herself, addled and ecstatic, and instead of really digging into the issue as she might have when she was sober, she kissed his head and said, “It’s okay. You love Hyrule. But… do you love Zelda more than me?”

Link’s quiet cries were sharply interrupted by a hiccup and a snort, and he yanked away from her, expression bewildered.

“Well?” Hemisi pressed, sniffling and poking his chest. In the back of her mind, a voice that was probably what was left of her rational side whispered, this is so pathetically stupid WHAT ARE YOU DOING JUST HUG THE POOR GUY YOU IDIOT.

Meh. She wanted to know. They could hug after.

Link laughed. “You—you really—you have to ask??”

Hemisi grew mildly annoyed. “Yes!”

“W-wait, I—” Link moved out of her reach, heading for the table. “I need more alcohol for this.”

“Coward!” She called after him, his laughter contagious.

After taking another swig, Link walked back to her and pulled her to him, their lips meeting, and goddess she immediately drank him in, their bodies pressed so close, and Link poured all his energy into the kiss, hands roaming, and great Din above, Hemisi started to tug, started to feel her heart quicken, her body scream for just one thing, and—

A pole wedged itself between the couple as one of her guards jutted the handle of her spear to separate them. “That’s enough of that, Majesties.”

Link’s cheeks matched Hemisi’s hair, and the Gerudo chief rolled her eyes. “Leave us be!”

“Your orders, my chief.”

Ugh. It was a stupid order.

The guard gently but firmly grabbed Link by the arm, dragging him for the door. Before he left, though, he shot her a smile and a wink, and she knew, she knew in that moment who he loved more.

She smiled, collapsing on the bed, and before the door had even closed she was drifting off to sleep.

XXX

Hemisi groaned. Her head was killing her, and everything was too freaking bright.

She really didn’t remember much of last night, but she knew she’d had far too many drinks. Even if she didn’t recall that much, her body was certainly screaming it.

What had even happened last night? She remembered how it had started. As she tried to comb through fuzzy images, the linear progression steadily unraveled. She blinked her eyes open hesitantly to find herself alone in bed, still wearing her attire from yesterday, and she sighed a little in relief from that. At least nothing neither had planned had occurred.

So where was Link?

Slowly sitting up, Hemisi hissed as some sunlight peeked between the curtains of her room, hitting her eyes like a slap to the face. She shielded her face, grumbling and cussing as she nearly crawled out of the room.

“Good morning,” her guard greeted her.

Hemisi glowered halfheartedly at her, ignoring the fact that she likely looked like a disaster. “Where’s the king?”

“In the guest quarters.”

“We have those in this place?”

“We converted one of the guard’s rooms into one.”

Did they? Was that something Hemisi had planned for Link’s arrival? She didn’t remember that either. Great.

Leaning against the wall, she half dragged herself to the room in question, finding Link leaning over the bed, head nearly buried in a pot. He spat in it, clearly having just gotten ill, hair spilling over his shoulders. A twinge of sympathy pulled at her, and Hemisi sat on the bed, pulling his hair out of his face.

“Morning,” she echoed her guard’s greeting, waiting for a similar bite in reply.

Link just groaned.

In the past she would have laughed at him. Today, she just felt pity. She had been the one to encourage it, after all. She rubbed his back a little apologetically, waiting to see if he was going to get sick again. Instead, he slowly pulled back, grabbing a handkerchief and wiping his mouth.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been hungover,” Hemisi noted quietly, feeling her head throb rhythmically. She grimaced, closing her eyes. She almost apologized, but she chose the better route, smiling. “You’re a terrible influence on me.”

Link huffed, turning and nearly pouncing on her, tackling her to the bed and holding her hostage in his arms. Hemisi yelped, irritated at the motion as it made her headache worse, but also giggling at the roughhousing. She shoved hard against him, but he refused to let go.

“What are you doing, you butthead?” She grumbled, wiggling in his grip.

“Sleeping,” he slurred tiredly.

“Your breath smells awful.”

“‘S your fault.”

Hemisi huffed, admitting defeat. Her heart hammered with cheer at his behavior, at how they could still be casual around each other without the help of liquid confidence. Perhaps it was just that his mind was still addled from the hangover, from feeling uncomfortable and ill, but she’d take it.

Besides, she felt like garbage. She wanted to sleep. Link clearly was slipping back into a nap. So she just joined him.

When the pair woke again, It was nearly midday. A pitcher of water was resting on the nightstand, though neither knew when it had been placed there. Hemisi honestly didn’t want to really start the day, boneless and warm, safe and comfortable in Link’s arms. She remembered all the times they’d snuggled together to stave off the cold, for protection and a sense of security, weapons at the ready, wanting some kind of assurance that the other was okay, that they themselves weren’t vulnerable.

She missed the war. She missed the war.

Things were far more straightforward back then.

Killing was straightforward.

Link shifted a little, snapping Hemisi out of her musings, and she looked over to see him watching her. He was half asleep still, eyes a little glazed but so, so soft, face relaxed and open.

“Hey,” she greeted quietly.

“Hey,” he whispered back.

The moment lasted too long, each lover lost in the other’s eyes. Hemisi felt herself leaning in, Link reciprocating, and they both pulled away at the same time, sitting up with excited energy.

“Well,” Hemisi quipped breathlessly. “Guess we should do those negotiations, right?”

Link blinked, watching her a moment longer, and then squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath and rubbing his eyes. “Yeah. We should.”

“Not that last night wasn’t fun, of course,” Hemisi added with a nervous laugh, genuinely adding, “I don’t remember much of it, but what I do remember was… really nice. Maybe we can still have fun, you know? Without blacking out, at least.” Curious, she added, “Do you remember anything?”

Link huffed a little, mildly amused as he stretched. “Not really.”

Oh well. She was wondering if she could get more information on what had occurred, but whatever. They’d had fun, at least. “Well, we both could use a good start to the day. What about a nice warm bath? With some salts and nice oils… and a massage! Goddess, I sure could use one. I could arrange for it.”

Link peered over at her, letting his hand fall to his lap, and he smiled. “That sounds nice.”

Hemisi felt herself smile in return. They could have a nice day. They could. She scooted in front of him and leaned in cautiously for a hug. Link let her relax against him, carefully wrapping his arms around her once more.

Humming, melting into the embrace, Hemisi noted, “Goddess, I’m glad Zelda sent you alone. This would be way less fun if she came.”

For a moment, nothing happened. She listened to Link’s heart beat against her ear. His arms pulled her closer. And then his entire body stiffened. She felt his chest go rigid, trapping a breath in it, and slowly his arms slipped away. Hemisi pulled away, a little confused, and saw Link staring at nothing, eyes hard, face like a stone.

“Yes. Yes, she did send me alone.” He noted quietly, voice like ice.

Hemisi blinked a few times, feeling like she’d just gotten whiplash. “Y-yeah. She… what’s wrong?”

Link rose abruptly. “We should go downstairs to discuss the trading between Hyrule and the Gerudo.”

The entire atmosphere had changed. The coldest desert nights had never felt this frigid. Hemisi hesitantly rose. “R-right. I…”

She didn’t know what had happened, what was wrong, what she had said. Given how carefree and silly they’d been last night, given how gentle and caring they’d been this morning… how had she said something wrong?

Doubting and overthinking everything she’d stated today, she clarified, “You know I meant… separate. Separate baths. Right?”

Link glanced at her, and though his expression didn’t change, his eyes melted a little, trying to show some concern. “I know.”

That was all he said, and there was still finality to it. Reluctantly, Hemisi walked out of the room, wondering what the heck just happened and how she’d managed to ruin everything.

Link joined her downstairs shortly after, looking somewhat put together. Despite little hints of lightheartedness that she’d throw him, he kept everything strictly formal. The negotiations were quick enough, and before sunset he was ready to depart. Hemisi offered for him to stay the night, to rest and relax, to eat something because by the Goddess Din herself he didn’t look as healthy as he used to, but he refused.

Hemisi watched him go in the dark, her heart heavy, wondering how seeing him again had made things so much worse.

XXX

The king’s arrival in the throne room was unexpected, but the room was cleared quickly as he walked towards the queen.

“Welcome back,” Zelda greeted, a little confused. “I thought you might be gone a little longer. Did it—”

“You did that on purpose, sending me there alone,” Link interrupted her, eyes fierce. “You used me.”

Zelda flinched a little, not used to this vehemence from him, never having seen this. Even at his darkest, cruelest moment, when he’d refused to see Sonia, he’d been cold and quiet. This was the exact opposite. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t speak to me like I am fool, Your Majesty,” Link growled. “I did not enter our marriage out of blind loyalty and obedience. I’m not your political toy to continue abusing! You sent me there to curry favor with Hemisi!”

“I—yes,” Zelda answered honestly. Somehow, that derailed her husband a little, though it seemed the fire was quickly returning. It gave her time to elaborate. “I wanted to reestablish relations with the Gerudo, and you were the best person to choose for that. You two love each other.”

Link’s brow furrowed further. “Yes. We do. And you knowing that means you sent me there to exploit it. You’re using me to get to her.”

“I just…” Zelda stumbled over her words, heart racing, trying to not feel slightly afraid by this turn of events. “I just want you to be happy.”

“And you want to be able to conveniently control the Gerudo through me!” Link corrected her. “This has nothing to do with me being happy. Do you think so little of me that you assumed I’d just go there and throw myself at her, that I don’t take my vows seriously? Do you think I am that much of a simpleton, a mindless animal driven only by feelings and cravings? You think I’m an idiot?”

“No!” Zelda argued, rising from the throne. “I just—it isn’t meant as an insult or a trap, you wouldn’t be the first—”

“You’re comparing me to your father now?” Link scoffed, voice rising as he gestured angrily. “Can you insult me any further? Will you call me Ganondorf next?”

“Link—”

“I agreed to our marriage because it was a desperate plea, a last-ditch effort to prevent further destruction,” Link growled. “I did it to protect Hyrule, to protect Hemisi, to protect you. You weren’t trying to use me as much back then – you were trying to look out for your people. And you were willing to sacrifice both of us, and I understood and accepted that. I didn’t just follow your orders, I knew what I was agreeing to, I meant my vows when I took them! I committed to this arrangement in every way possible, and you dare treat me like some pawn you can—”

Link cut himself, seemingly enraged beyond words, and he took a breath to calm himself a little before hissing, “Don’t try to use me like that. I am not a blind fool. You think I have spent years in this castle and not learned the politics? I’ve allowed you to utilize me multiple times, but I will not be your tool to hurt or control her. You will never control Hemisi.”

The throne room was deathly quiet as the two monarchs stared each other down. Link’s red eyes were like fire, glare furrowing his brow deeply, while Zelda’s green eyes held uncertainty and hurt, confusion and fear, and the king gave a jerky, terse nod of acknowledgement before storming out of the room.

Zelda slowly sat back down on the throne, releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, and buried her face in her hand as she leaned to the side. There were quiet footsteps, carefully loud enough to be heard when they had every ability to hide themselves.

“I thought you had ensured everyone left so no one could listen to our conversation,” Zelda noted tiredly.

“I did,” Impa replied. “And then I came back.”

Zelda blew out a frustrated breath, rising to her feet. “I don’t understand why he’s so upset! I was doing him a favor! He loves Hemisi, they can be together and it still benefits the kingdom!”

“Zelda,” Impa tried to explain gently, but her tone only irritated the queen further.

“Don’t,” Zelda cut her off. “Don’t talk to me like I’m some ignorant little girl. I’ve been ruling Hyrule for almost five years now, I’m not a child who knows nothing!”

“I didn’t say you were, Your Majesty,” Impa said appeasingly.

“Link shouldn’t be—this is so—I can’t win with him!” She snapped, feeling tears sting in her eyes.

Just like with my father.

Why couldn’t this just be easy?! Why couldn’t one thing in her life be easy?!

“Your Majesty,” Impa tried again. “You can’t… you can’t control others’ lives. It’s not like… just giving orders to accomplish a goal.”

“I’ve healed Hyrule through my orders,” Zelda reminded her advisor.

“Yes, you have. But Link isn’t a kingdom, a distant group of people, a problem to be solved. He’s a person.”

“So are the nobles.”

“You manipulate them because you have to. That doesn’t mean you should manipulate everyone.”

It was called manipulation when there was a negative outcome. It was called helping when there was a positive one. If Link had just listened and understood his duty, it would have been a positive outcome!

Zelda sighed tiredly, hugging herself and turning away. Impa was her confidante and advisor. She should listen to her. But…

She needed to pray. She needed to sort this out.

“I’ll be in the temple if you need me,” she said quietly, leaving the throne room, trying to get the terrifying image of Link’s furious face out of her mind.

#I LOVE THEM OK #I wanted to write a piece that showed how complicated everything was #and the scene of Zelda manipulating Link and Hemisi like chess pieces popped in my head #but it also gave me an excuse to let Link and Hemisi hang out and have fun #and then destroy their hearts again :)#poor all of them really #they're all so messed up #Hemisi trying to play it cool that she was worried about him: Hey so rumor had it that you got sick so... you good?#Link who had tried to commit suicide two years ago and only just recently started talking again:...Yeah everything's fine :)#they're all idiots #I love them #hero of power #imprisoning war zelda #hemisi #imprisoning war #good ganondorf #legend of zelda #writing

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labellefleur-sauvage · 1 year

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The Highland Fox and The English Rose

Summary:

Elain Archeron, the middle daughter of an enterprising English merchant, has been raised with one goal in mind: become the wife of a respectable Englishman. Everything else—her interests, her desires—didn’t matter. But when her father convinces her to enter into an arranged marriage with a brutal Scottish Laird to save their family from ruin, Elain is suddenly forced to reevaluate everything she thought she wanted in life.

As the newly appointed Laird of a derelict clan with a crumbling castle, marriage was the last thing on Lucien’s mind. His entire life is thrown into disarray when he is forced into a marriage contract he didn’t sign, to an Englishwoman he’d never met.

But Lucien harbors a dark, ruinous secret that affects more than just himself, and he is determined to resolve the issue at hand. Together, the Highland Fox and the English Rose will go on a journey that will force Elain and Lucien together—or drive them apart.

Read on AO3. Masterlist.

XXX

Chapter 3: You Have Taken What is Before Me and What Is Behind Me

“Beg yer pardon, maam, but I doona’ think ‘helping out in the kitchen’ is somethin’ the Lady of the Hoose like yerself should be doin’, y’ken.”

Elain scowled, then turned and put on her most charming face for the head maid. “But Alis, surely going downstairs to conduct a thorough review of the kitchen and its staff is well within my duty as Lady of the House, correct?”

“Frankly ma'am, tis no’,” Alis replied shortly. “As head maid, it’s mah job to oversee the runnin’ of the castle, especially those areas tha’ the Laird and his wife should never haf tah see.”

“It’s not going to kill me to go downstairs and get my hands a bit dirty,” Elain shot back, hands on her hips.

“It verra well might!” Alis said, a hand on her chest, like the thought of Elain going into the kitchens gave her heart palpitations.

“Yes, death by oats, I’m sure we’d be the shame of Scotland if that were to happen!”

“Aye, tis it exactly!” Alis replied, triumph in her dark eyes.

Elain frowned. She needed to try a different tactic. “I know the castle has been without a Lady of the House for quite some time—“

“Aye—the old Laird was a confirmed bachelor. I’ve been managin’ this keep for well over fifty years!”

“And you’ve done a wonderful job,” Elain said placatingly. She was being somewhat serious—despite being slightly drafty, barren and missing a few stones here and there, the castle at least ran smoothly from what she had seen, all held together by the slight woman standing in front of Elain. “But wouldn’t it be nice to have someone else helping you?”

“Aye, it would, but it won’t be ye,” Alis said with a finality that made Elain realize she lost this fight. “It’s no’ proper for the Lady of the Hoose to wander down to the kitchens, or, or, gallivant outside in the woods, or ask to dust, for goodness sake!”

“Well, perhaps I can—“

“No,” Alis said. “There are plenty of other things ye can do to occupy yer time, like reading, or sewing.”

“For twelve hours a day, though?” Elain cried.

“Ye’ll be much busier when ye and the Laird start having bairns,” Alis said shrewdly, and Elain’s stomach dropped. “If there’s any advice ye need on getting started…”

“Er, no, that’s quite alright,” Elain stammered, blushing wildly. “I think I do actually have a bonnet to sew, goodbye!”

Elain fled, Alis’s throaty chuckles fading behind her as she rushed down hallways and staircases, uncaring of where she was going. She found herself at the doors of the library and pushed them open, sighing with relief when she saw that Nesta had vacated the premises for a time.

Elain sat down wearily on a low couch. How embarrassing, for Alis to point out what surely everyone in the castle knew: that Elain and Lucien weren’t even resting in the same bed at night together, much less seeing enough of each other to make a child.

The embarrassment she felt now still paled in comparison to her wedding night two weeks ago, when she brazenly dropped the bedsheet hiding her bare body from Lucien’s gaze. Elain had been a little tipsy, true, and wanted to be the brave and fierce woman she needed to be to thrive in Scotland… and apparently she thought showing her naked body to her new husband would accomplish that.

Not that Lucien had objected. She had watched him staring at her flesh, dumbstruck, as his eye slowly traveled down her body, his mouth gaping like a fish. Elain had observed him, too, particularly the bulge under his kilt that grew and grew the more he openly looked at her body. Rather than frighten her, as her aunts had warned her, the sight of his covered manhood had only excited her.

She groaned. Elain hadn’t been able to even look Lucien in the face the next morning at a terse, private breakfast between the two of them, and she had excused herself at the first moment she was able. Since then, she and her husband had been playing a competitive game of cat and mouse, with the twist being neither one wanted to win. At this point, though, Elain wouldn’t object to running into Lucien, frustrated and embarrassed as she was, if only because it would give her something to do.

Elain absentmindedly grabbed a book laying on the table and flipped it open. She had been spending more time in the library here than she’d ever spent in one before, if only because it was somewhere different than her formal sitting room. There she could sew, or gaze out the window at the pretty loch with its brilliantly blue waters… and that was it.

Now, she found herself looking at a map of the Scottish highlands, with major towns and monuments drawn in along the numerous clan lines. Her eyes darted over the page—there were the Vanserra clan lines, far to the southeast; to the east were the Norse-descended MacDonnells. There was a large port town called Adriata to the south, a bog not too far from here, a sprawling settlement in the northern mountains called Velaris, a lonely island off the northeast coast with a single monument called Sangravah—

There were a few knocks on the door. Elain closed the book and tossed it on the table—it was probably Nesta, coming to check on Elain for the hundredth time in the past two weeks. “Come in,” she called dully.

“Ye look like ye could do with some cheering up.”

Elain lifted her head. The beautiful, red-haired woman Lucien had looked so happy talking to at the wedding was peering around the door, taking in Elain all alone in the library. “Unless ye prefer the company of books over people.”

Elain stared, too shocked at the woman’s abrupt appearance to offer a greeting or ask her who she was.

“You doona ken who I am, do ye?”

At Elain’s shaking head, the woman sighed deeply. “I hate to break it to ye, Elain, but yer husband is an eejit. Cannae even be bothered to let his poor wife know that company is coming. I’m Vassa Fraser, Laird of Clan Fraser.”

Elain was stunned. “Laird? Women can be lairds?”

Vassa shrugged, shutting the door behind her and walking towards Elain. “Me dad didna have anyone else to pass the title to.”

“And everyone just… accepted that?”

“Och, no,” Vassa said, smiling cruelly, “but I made it quite clear that if I wasna the next Laird of Clan Fraser, there would be no Clan Fraser at all.”

Elain swallowed, unnerved by this new Laird. “I apologize that I wasn’t here to greet you, Laird Fraser,” Elain said stiffly, resorting to the politeness that had been drilled into her at a young age.

“Tch, say nothing of it,” Vassa said, sitting down casually on a couch across from Elain. “It’s no’ yer fault yer fool of a husband cannae be bothered to notify his wife of visitors. I can give his ears a good clapping, if ye want me to.”

She spoke so plainly and intimately of Lucien. The jealousy that she’d felt at seeing Vassa and Lucien talking at their wedding flared inside her. “Do you know Lucien well, then?”

“Aye,” Vassa said cheerfully. “He helped me take the Clan’s title by force several years ago. He literally beat back the other contenders so I could claim the throne, so to speak. Lucien’s deadly with a sword when it comes down to it.”

There it was—more casual violence from these people. Elain wasn’t sure she’d ever fully get used to it. Still, the trepidation Elain felt towards Vassa was nothing compared to the envy she felt at this woman having some type of closing relationship with Lucien. “Is that the extent of your… relationship with Lucien?” she asked coldly.

Vassa’s eyes widened slightly at Elain’s frosty tone. “Aye, it is,” she said, far more gently than Elain thought she’d respond. “We’re verra close friends and fellow lairds—nothing more.”

Elain exhaled. “I—good, thank you.”

“Besides,” Vassa smirked, “I already have my hands full with my own man. He’s English himself.”

Elain perked up. “Really? How did he come to be up here?” With you , went unspoken.

“Part of the English military sent to crush the, er, slight rebellion my own wee fight to take the Fraser title caused,” Vassa admitted with a wince. “He took one look at me and threw down his weapons right then and there.”

“I see. Sounds… exciting.”

“More exciting than sitting alone in a library in a cold castle,” Vassa noted. “How are ye getting on?”

Elain blinked, startled at the abrupt shift in topic. “All right. I’m settling in.”

“Has Lucien been showing ye around? Helping ye?”

“Er, well, he’s very busy, isn’t he?”

Vassa huffed an unimpressed laugh. “Aye, but ye should be his priority at the moment. Tell me plainly: how are ye doing?”

Elain took a moment to study Vassa. Her bright red was cut short, falling to her shoulders in slight waves. A pair of the brightest blue eyes she’d ever seen gazed back at her steadily, undeterred by the foreign English woman in front of her. Vassa was fierce and proud, a true Scotswoman. She remembered Eris’s advice from the night of the wedding: speak plainly and be direct.

“I’m bored,” Elain began, sitting up straight. “I have nothing to do here. The staff won’t let me do anything they fear is unbecoming of my station—I can’t go outside the castle walls, nor do anything to help run the castle, even though I’m its new Lady.”

“Are ye surprised the staff at the castle are so similar to your English staff across the wall?”

Elain blushed. “Yes. I thought—“

“That we’d be boorish brutes eating out of our hands and sleeping on the ground?”

Elain scoffed. “Well now, I didn’t think it was quite that desperate up here.”

Vassa grinned. “That’s alright. The Highlands aren’t as fine as what yer accustomed to in England—”

“I’m not concerned about that,” Elain tsked. “I had few freedoms in England. I thought Scotland would be different, that as a married woman I’d have more allowances than before, but it’s been the opposite. I could at least take a stroll into the neighboring villages by myself back in England. It’s incredibly frustrating,” Elain ended bitterly.

Vassa sighed. “Aye, most Scottish women aren’t too limited in their day to day lives but yer no’ a Scottish woman. I know, it’s no’ fair,” Vassa said when Elain tried to interject. “Some folks this far north… don’t care much for the English, and Lucien is a new Laird himself. Suddenly he has a foreign new wife, rather than marrying the daughter of one of his minor lords or land owners, to gain their favor? Until people can be trusted, ye may need to stay safe in the castle,” she ended delicately.

"So I am to suffer alone until Lucien’s people decide they’re not going to harm me?”

“Well, ye have yer sisters for a time, don’t ye?”

Elain huffed a laugh. “My sisters are driving me insane with their constant worrying and nattering and complaining. My eldest Nesta does nothing but make snide remarks about the state of the castle and Lucien, and Feyre leaves in order to explore the countryside on her own, regardless of the consequences. They bicker about everything, then tut about how sorry they are that I’m stuck here for life.” Elain took several deep breaths to calm her racing heart. “It’s so annoying!”

Vassa chuckled. “I’ve no sisters but plenty of girl cousins—it’s the same everywhere. They’re always criticizing me and fussing over me in the same breath.”

“How do you deal with it?”

“I ignore them,” Vassa said simply. “At the end of the day most of them are a bunch of daft bampots that are taking their frustrations out on me. And I have Jurian to talk to, relieve some… stress, y’ken.”

“Must be nice,” Elain muttered.

Vassa arched an eyebrow. “Do ye not see Lucien enough?”

Elain held her tongue. Perhaps the worst indignity of her entire situation was that her new husband couldn’t even be bothered to check on her and make sure she was settling in alright. She knew Lucien was busy— running a clan was difficult—but Elain was apparently dead last on his list. The resentment towards Lucien that had slowly been growing ever since their wedding day threatened to bubble over, but Elain kept herself in line.

“That’s something I can discuss with him the next time I see him, whenever that might be,” Elain said bitterly.

Vassa swore and shook her head. “That fuckin’ doolally,” she muttered to herself. “Absolute roaster.” Vassa looked at Elain thoughtfully. “Do ye enjoy the gardens?”

Elain raised an eyebrow. “The flowers and trees, outside,” Vassa went on. “Do ye ken where it’s at?”

“Yes,” Elain said slowly, trying to figure out why Vassa changed the conversation so abruptly.

“It’s particularly lovely at night, under the full moon, like tonight,” Vassa replied, looking at Elain pointedly. “It might be good for ye to be out there. Tonight especially.”

“Er, alright,” Elain said unsteadily. “Perhaps, after dinner—“

“No! Ye should definitely wait until much later. Midnight, or just before.”

Elain tilted her head. “Is this some sort of joke?”

“Not at all, Elain,” Vassa said happily. “The garden is so lovely at night—“

“As you keep repeating.”

“That I think it would be verra good for ye to be out there tonight,” Vassa ended, looking far too pleased with herself.

“Perhaps I shall take a midnight stroll in the garden then,” Elain said slowly. She didn’t think Vassa was trying to trick her or be cruel but it was a very peculiar insistence to ask of Elain.

“Good, good!” Vassa stood up. “Is there anything else on your mind?”

“Actually,” Elain began slowly, remembering something that had been bothering her since her wedding night, “how exactly are Lucien and Eris Vanserra related? Lucien said they were brothers but they have different surnames.”

“Ah.” For the first time, Vassa looked supremely uncomfortable. “They, ah, they’re blood brothers.”

“So Lucien was born a Vanserra?”

“Aye,” Vassa hesitantly agreed, looking anywhere but Elain’s face.

“But he’s somehow Laird of Clan Macpherson?”

“His mother was a Macpherson.”

“If Eris is older than Lucien, why wasn’t he chosen to become Laird of Clan Macpherson?”

“Will ye look at the time,” Vassa said, looking around. “I have a meeting to attend—with Lucien, I’ll make sure to clap him around the ears for ye—so I’ll see you at dinner, aye?”

“Yes, but—oh! Goodbye!”

Vassa flitted away, her long tartan dress trailing after her. Elain was left with far more questions than answers.

Nesta came into the library shortly thereafter, and just like she had been doing the past two weeks, immediately began alternating between complaining about the castle and clucking after Elain. Feigning a headache, Elain rushed back to her bedroom and threw herself on her bed.

She shouldn’t have set such lofty expectations for herself, Elain realized. She was only setting herself up for disappointment and heartache. It was clear Lucien wanted nothing to do with her, and while she had hoped for that on the way to Scotland, Elain at least thought he’d spend some time getting to know her, or that she wouldn’t be a prisoner in her new home.

Elain sighed and began getting ready for dinner. She’d go to the garden tonight, as Vassa had urged, and she’d begin the long and sad process of accepting that she was in a lonely marriage for the rest of her days.

XXX

“So, how’s the pretty new English wife?” Tamlin asked.

Lucien grit his teeth. If one more person asked him how his marriage was going…

In truth, most days he forgot he was a married man. He and Elain slept in separate beds in separate rooms nowhere near each other, they never supped together, and they never exchanged more than a brief hello when they passed each other in the halls, and even that was rare.

And for what would be the best part of a marriage for any man, well… it was difficult to convince your wife to lay with you when she wouldn’t even look at you. Not that Lucien had even tried to convince Elain of the mutual benefits of a sexual relationship.

Was he tempted to risk everything he’d been planning for months on the chance to spend some time between his wife’s luscious thighs? God help him, he was. Whenever he thought of their disastrous wedding night, the only thing he could remember was a flushed and angry Elain proudly and unabashedly standing naked in front of him before his bed, her curvy body on full display. It was the most unexpected sight he’d ever witnessed, and Lucien thought that perhaps his English wife wasn’t quite the meek dormouse he had assumed she was. He had never gotten so hard just from seeing a bare woman before. His mind often wandered on its own, imagining what she tasted like, how she’d feel wrapped around his cock, what sounds would escape that pretty little mouth as he fucked her…

But he couldn’t get distracted. Between caring for his lands, the castle, managing his new trade routes and the fragile relationships he was cultivating with various lords and lairds of all of Scotland, and putting the finishing touches on his soon to be enacted plan, he had no time to spend any time with his wife, sexual or not. Lucien did feel a little guilty—he could imagine how frightened Elain must be, cooped up in a drafty castle with no one but her sisters to keep her company—but Lucien couldn’t think of that right now. At least, here in the castle, she was safe.

“She’s fine,” Lucien answered eventually. Probably true.

“Is she adjusting to Scotland well enough?”

“Er, aye, I believe so. Some of the food is a bit off putting for her, but she’ll get there.”

“It’s a shame her father left so soon. Perhaps that would have settled her down a bit.”

“Small mercies,” Lucien muttered. Mr. Archeron had hopped onto a departing wagon train the morning after the wedding, barely waiting to say goodbye to his daughters before he left to inspect the trade routes and roads to which he had bartered his daughter and forced Lucien into.

“Do ye see her much throughout the day?”

“Eh, not so much,” Lucien answered awkwardly. “We, uh, both appreciate our solitude.”

Tamlin nodded like he understood this perfectly. “All of the sisters appear to appreciate their own solitude.”

Lucien grunted noncommittally, too focused at the moment on balancing the estate’s ledger. They were only slightly in the red at the moment, rather than swimming in it like in previous months.

“Nesta does spend a significant time alone in the library,” Lucien said. “And Elain…” What was Elain up to? He certainly never saw her enough to ask, and none of the staff bothered to keep him up to date on her comings and goings. “Elain is learning how to run the estate,” Lucien finished lamely.

“Feyre spends much of her time outdoors,” Tamlin supplied. He stood at the window, staring out over the wide forests that stretched beyond what their eyes could see. “She’s quite the huntress.”

“Interesting,” Lucien deadpanned, trying to look engrossed in his work so Tamlin would take the hint and leave.

“Perhaps I will arrange a hunting party and ask her to come.”

“Sure.”

“And perhaps I’ll invite her to my lands when she and her sister depart, for a short stay,” Tamlin went on, eyeing Lucien from the side of his gaze.

“If it pleases ye,” Lucien said, making a show of rubbing his eye and fiddling with his eyepatch.

Tamlin hummed. “I think I see Feyre in the courtyard now—perhaps I’ll see if she needs someone to accompany her.”

“Aye, aye, very good,” Lucien said, quickly standing up and escorting a thoughtful Tamlin out of his study with a few thumps on the back. “Feel free to borrow one of the horses—not Ajax, he’s a bit of a bastard, but one of the mares, like Daffodil.”

Finally Lucien was alone, but not for long. Three soft raps on his door, then Jurian quietly let himself into Lucien’s office.

“Where’s Vassa?”

“Said she needed to make a detour before our meeting. She'll be along when she’s ready. Is everything all packed? Food, clothes, maps, weapons?”

“Aye,” Lucien answered. “I’ve double checked everything, left plenty of notes without the exact details to Dougal, ye and Vassa and her men will patrol my borders while I’m gone—I think we’ve done everything we can.”

“What are you doing if the weather delays you?”

“Press on even at night,” Lucien answered, their practiced what-if scenarios fresh in his mind. “Trade Ajax for a fresh horse, if it comes to it.”

“And what if the roads aren’t as friendly as you expect?”

“Put my sword to good use,” Lucien said darkly. He didn’t want to have to kill anyone on his journey, but if it came between him and his goal…

“Not your pistol?”

“Only for emergencies. I doona have much ammunition, and it’s more for decoration than protection,” Lucien admitted, taking the heavy gun out from his desk. It was one of the few possessions he had taken from Clan Vanserra when he left, more as a final statement to Laird Vanserra than anything else. It was covered in bronze plating and delicate, black filigree along the barrel and chamber. “Lot of good this’ll do me on the road.”

They continued rehearsing the plan. A nervous weight settled in the bottom of Lucien’s stomach. So much was riding on him, and so much could go wrong at any one moment.

The door to his study slammed open and Vassa strode in, her eyes blazing with fury. Both Lucien and Jurian shrunk back as she advanced on them.

“Ye, Lucien, are an ass!” she shrieked, swinging her arm back and punching his shoulder, then unsheathing her dirk and pressing it to his bare neck.

“What the hell are ye on about?” Lucien gasped, his shoulder aching and heart racing. He tried to lean away from the metal at his skin but Vassa only pressed it harder against him.

“Have ye been completely neglecting Elain for the past two weeks? She’s miserable and lonely! Have ye even uttered a friendly word to her at all?”

“I’ve been busy, as you well know!” Lucien snapped. “After this is taken care of—“

“Oh, ye were just casually going to go on yer way and come back months later and expect Elain to be waiting like a faithful pet? What’s wrong with ye, ye daft fuckin’ fool!”

Lucien flushed. “It’s safer for her this way!”

“Perhaps, but ye could have at least gotten to know her a bit, taken her for a damn walk, do the bare fuckin’ minimum a husband should do for his wife!” Vassa’s eyes were blazing and her hand was shaking with rage. Lucien winced as he felt the trembling dirk in her hand nick the soft skin of his neck.

“Vassa,” Jurian said sharply, “I doubt slashing Lucien’s neck would make Elain any happier.”

“I’m no’ sure about that,” she said darkly, withdrawing her blade and sheathing it. “She asked me what happened to ye that made ye take the name Macpherson.”

Lucien froze, his hand half-way to his throat. “And what did ye tell her?”

“That she’s better off asking ye directly. And ye will, I’ll make sure of it.”

Lucien relaxed. “Aye, I will. But if I tell her that, I’ll have to tell her everything.”

“And what’s so bad about that?”

“The less she knows, the safer she’ll be,” Lucien snapped. He brushed his hand over his throat; his thumb came back slightly bloody. “Ye know what some of those Lairds would do to someone like Elain if they turned their attention to her, just based on where she’s from. She’s so innocent and delicate—“

Vassa snorted. “I doona ken about that, based on what she had to say to me. But promise ye’ll talk to her before ye leave.”

“I promise,” Lucien said, his stomach tightening even further as he lied to his dearest friends.

It was far too dangerous to trust Elain with this, to bring her into his closet circle so soon after meeting her. Afterwards, when everything had settled, he would woo Elain properly—she deserved that, and selfishly, Lucien didn’t plan on staying celebite for the rest of his life.

To get to that point, he had this one final task in front of him. Unrolling a map, the three of them bent over his desk, making the final preparations for his journey.

XXX

Dinner that night was an awkward affair.

As there were numerous guests at the castle—Vassa and Jurian, and another Laird friend of Lucien’s, Tamlin Stewart, plus Nesta and Feyre—the staff had nicely done up the ornate wooden head table that hadn’t been used since Elain’s wedding night. A fine lace tablecloth was spreading over the table, and the most delicious scents and foods—mouthwatering roast chickens, the skin golden brown and crispy; individual rabbit pies, spiced and slightly sweet; potatoes basted in butter, slathered in salt and mustard; delicate and herby greens; and freshly baked loaves of yeasty bread—filled the hall.

Elain sipped her wine. Perhaps Alis had a point—Elain would only be a nuisance in the kitchen for a feast like this.

Nesta sat stiff in her chair, shooting small, distrustful glares at the Scots around her. Elain hadn’t told her much of what was—or wasn’t—happening between her and Lucien, feigning marital privacy, but it seems Nesta still found a reason to be angry with her hosts.

Feyre had no such qualms. Her and Tamlin—a hulking beast of a man, with wavy, shoulder length blonde hair, green eyes and a crooked nose from one too many fights—sat together at one end of the table conversing quietly with each other.

Elain paused and took a moment to study her youngest sister. She’d rarely seen Feyre around the castle in the past two weeks and had quickly stopped wondering where she’d gone off to each day when she showed up for dinner each night. Feyre had proven she could take care of herself; why should Elain bother worrying after her?

Elain thought she had an idea of how Feyre was occupying her time as she watched her younger sister giggle at something Tamlin muttered to her. Elain nearly dropped her potatoes at the sound. Feyre, giggling like a schoolgirl, at a man, no less. It was nearly as foreign to Elain as hearing the same sound from Lucien.

Speaking of her husband…

Lucien looked more tense than usual. Elain could see the tightness in his shoulders and jaw, and the way he gripped his utensils to eat. Elain stared, transfixed, as one of his large hands poured himself another ale, as the muscles in his forearms flexed, his golden brown skin seeming to glow despite the dim firelight in the room—

“And how was yer day Elain?”

Vassa was politely looking at Elain as if she didn’t know exactly how her day was. She pulled her gaze away from Lucien’s body.

“It was fine. At this rate I’ll have the entire contents of the library read this time next year.”

There was a thump and Lucien suddenly grunted. “And do ye enjoy reading?” he asked in a pained voice.

Elain furrowed her brows. Vassa was looking at her far too innocently. “It’s an acceptable way to pass the time.”

“Anything in particular caught yer eye?”

Elain paused. “I’ve enjoyed flipping through the books on Scottish history and the maps of the clans, so I can begin to better familiarize myself with the different Lairds.”

“Oh!” Lucien said, his eye widening. “That’s… aye, verra good.”

And dinner ended exactly like it had every night before: with awkward silence between her and Lucien.

Elain wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders later that evening. There was a chill in the air. If she were back in England, this would be a perfect summer’s night.

But she might as well forget all about England and her family and everything from her old life, Elain thought miserably, sitting on a stone bench in the back of the garden. Her life was in Scotland now, and as a woman, that life now revolved around her husband.

What would her life be like if she had married Graysen, rather than Lucien? She’d actually know her husband, and would have had a choice in the matter. She’d be in a familiar setting around people she knew and understood.

But it would be the same monotony she’d spent her life up until now living. With Graysen in the militia, she would rarely see him, perhaps only a few weeks a month or less, if he were called away. She would spend her days reading or sewing or entertaining guests, would receive countless visits from her sisters, and would most likely have a child by the time of their one year anniversary. It would be the same sort of dreary existence that Elain found herself in now.

The only difference was that all the time and effort her mother put into raising Elain into the perfect Englishwoman wouldn’t have been wasted on some uncouth Scotsman. Though even that wasn’t fair. She’d seen enough from those working at the castle and Vassa to realize that the Scots weren’t the maniacal, faerie worshiping heathens the pamphlets made them out to be. It was just Lucien who couldn’t be bothered to be a decent husband.

Elain huffed a breath, standing up. This was stupid—Vassa was clearly playing a joke on her, getting some sort of sick amusement at the idea of an Englishwoman freezing herself at nothing but her own insistence. She stood up and made her way across the garden when a sudden movement caught her eye.

The light from the moon glanced upon a flash of red along the back wall. Elain wasn’t sure if she had imagined it until she heard a scraping sound come from the stone wall behind her.

“Vassa?” Elain asked, moving towards the sound. “Vassa, is that you?”

The sound stopped. Elain rounded a large bush and came face to face—or face to chest, rather—with Lucien.

“Oh!” she gasped, nearly falling down before Lucien caught her by her shoulders and steadied her. They looked at each other in shock. Elain could see Lucien’s remaining eye widen with surprise before he let go of Elain like he had been burned. “I—I didn’t know—“

“What are ye doing out here?” Lucien asked, frustration filling his voice. He hadn’t managed to relax since dinner; his shoulders and neck still looked tight.

Elain’s eyes widened at Lucien’s tone. He seemed frustrated with her ? “Is this garden not part of my new home, and am I not allowed to wander the castle freely?” Elain snapped back.

“Aye, but no’ when it's night and pitch dark out! Why are ye out here?”

Elain considered telling him that Vassa told Elain to be out here, but decided Lucien didn’t need to know everything Elain did. “Perhaps I enjoy visiting the garden at night, when the light of the moon can… shine down on all the lovely plants.”

Lucien stared at her incredulously. “What sort of dumb English bollocks is that? Is this how ye spend yer nights, skulking about in the dark?”

She pursed her lips, a hand on her hip. “And what if it is?”

“It’s a bit odd and I’d prefer it if ye brought someone with ye when ye take yer midnight strolls,” he said, looking up at the bright moon anxiously. “Come on, I’ll get ye in—“

“No! I’m fine out here!”

Lucien tsked. “I can see ye shivering. Stop being so stubborn, lass, and come inside with me.” He reached out a hand for her.

Elain took a step away from him. “I don’t want to!” Elain was aware she sounded like a petulant child but Lucien’s tone of voice grated on her, her resentment towards him rising within her. How dare he try to tell her what to do, when he hadn’t spoken a word to her in days before tonight?

“And what were you doing out here? You’re also ‘skulking about’ in the dark, same as me.”

“I’m, er, conducting a sweep of the grounds,” Lucien replied, looking anywhere but at Elain. “We’ve reports of seeing foxes in the hen houses.”

Elain raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. And you thought the middle of the night—in the garden, nowhere near the livestock—was the best time to conduct this search?” She looked him up and down. “And aren’t you a bit overdressed to look for a simple fox?”

Lucien avoided looking at her. He was wearing a kilt, the same green, dark blue and gray pattern he’s worn on their wedding day, knee length worn brown boots, a thick white shirt and a brown jacket. A dirk hung from his hips, and his back—

“Is that a crossbow?”

“It’s a verra wilely fox,” Lucien said evasively, looking at the moon again. “Let me get ye back inside.”

Elain glared at him. “First you compare me to a dog, then you ignore me for days, brazenly lie to me about what you’re doing, and attempt to coddle me like a child. What a fine husband you are!”

“Well, yer acting a bit like a bairn at the moment!” Lucien hissed, advancing towards her and reaching for her again. “Come along!”

“Ah, yes, are you afraid that the fox you’re hunting is going to attack me?” Elain sneered, dodging him again. “At least being attacked by a fox would be more exciting than how I spend my days now!”

For once, Lucien looked a bit guilty. “I’m sorry, Elain,” he said quietly, grimacing slightly. “I ken the past few weeks have been difficult for ye. I’m a bit busy with… some things at the moment.”

Elain recognized that Lucien appeared sincere in his apology, but she was too worked up, too angry to accept his kindness and docility so easily. “Too busy that you couldn’t bother to come find me and talk to me at all in the past two weeks?” Elain goaded.

The guilt vanished from Lucien’s face, replaced with a look that reminded Elain of their wedding night. “Doors open from both sides, ye ken.” He looked at her fully, glancing down to gaze at her body before settling on her lips. Elain was suddenly aware that she was only wearing a thin shift and the shawl around her shoulders. “But now that ye have me here—“

Elain hadn’t realized she was backed against the garden wall until Lucien stalked towards her and Elain couldn’t back away. She gasped as Lucien towered over her, his strong arms bracketing her head.

“Well, wife,” Lucien said huskily. “What do ye want to talk about?”

This was completely unexpected coming from Lucien, given his frosty behavior before, but not entirely unwelcome. Elain mentally cursed herself for being so weak when it came to Lucien, that all it took was a heated glance to melt her, before she remembered her anger. “You—you’ve been ignoring me!”

“Aye, I have,” he said softly, lowering his head so he was barely inches from her face. This close to Lucien, Elain could make out a tiny scratch on his throat. “Though it pains me so.”

“Does it really?”

“Aye, it does.”

“You’ve a horrible way of showing it,” Elain snapped, fighting to resist Lucien’s charm as his warm lips brushed her temple. She gasped softly at the touch, and felt her knees start to shake. This close, she could smell him so clearly, his long hair dancing across her face: crackling wood from a fireplace on a cold, rainy day, a touch of sweetness like a freshly baked apple pie, and a deep, rich scent that reminded her of the ale they served at dinner. Elain closed her eyes to steady herself. “And I’ve been so lonely and bored here.”

“Verra unfortunate,” Lucien whispered, his lips barely landing over her full cheek and continuing their downward path.

“You couldn’t bother to let me know that we had visitors today. It made me look–” Elain shuddered as one of his large hands settled on the indent of her waist, his long fingers spanning her body and tightening against her flesh– “very foolish as the new Lady of the House.”

Based on the shaky breath he let out, Elain knew Lucien was as taut as she was. “A tragedy of the highest order.”

“And, and,” Elain swallowed, losing her train of thought as Lucien kissed his way along her jaw. He stooped down to trail feather-light kisses down the column of her throat, and Elain couldn’t stop the small moan that escaped her lips, especially when his lips continued going down, down, down…

She felt Lucien chuckle against the sensitive skin of her throat, his warm breath dancing across her skin like embers from a fire. “And what, Elain?”

“And you left me alone and naked on our wedding night.”

Lucien groaned, pressing his lips into her forehead. “Which I’ve sorely regretted. How would ye have me apologize to ye?”

Elain looked up at Lucien through her eyelashes. His face was half-cast in shadow; all she could see were the silver scars on his face and the rough eyepatch covering the space where one of his eyes should have been. He looked dangerous and feral, and Elain felt desire suddenly and swiftly course through her body like a raging river.

It made absolutely no sense. Elain shouldn’t desire him like she did right now, especially after the abominable way he had treated her and the rude things he had said to her, even if he had apologized. She had been raised to expect gentle civility and respectful kindness from her peers and eventual husband.

But Elain didn’t want gentle or kind from Lucien, at least not now. His lips lightly sucked the skin under her ear, and Elain couldn’t contain her moan. What Lucien was doing to her body with so little effort was unnatural, like a clever and dangerous fae trying to seduce and tempt her into running away with him, and she was powerless to resist.

Elain had never seen or met such a wild and dangerous man as Lucien, a man who wore his mysteries like a cloak and for whom violence was like a second skin.

Elain wanted him desperately.

“You owe me a proper wedding kiss,” Elain breathed.

He groaned softly, then barely brushed his warm lips against her cheek, a whisper of a promise of more to come. “Like that?”

“I thought the Scottish had more fire in them than that,” Elain shot back, breathing hard and keeping her sharp eyes on Lucien.

“Aye, we do,” Lucien growled, his eye ablaze. His hand skimmed down her waist to her hip and roughly squeezed her flesh, his touch branding her even through her nightgown as Lucien tugged her close to him. Elain gasped at his aggressive touch—it was exactly what she needed, a way to feel something and let out some of the frustration that had been growing inside her the past two weeks. Elain reached up and gripped his biceps as hard as she could, wanting Lucien to feel the same pain and yearning she felt for him.

Based on the groan he let out, Lucien understood her loud and clear. “It seems my wee English wife isn’t the quiet, demure lady I thought she was,” Lucien rasped. Quick as a hawk, his hand not gripping her hip cradled her jaw. Elain stopped breathing, the fire in his eye turning her to stone as his thumb rested on her full lips.

Elain was truly ensnared under Lucien’s spell—that was the only explanation she had as her tongue darted out and barely stroked the pad of his calloused thumb. Just from that small touch, Elain got a taste of rich, loamy, soil, freshly washed linens, and an unknown, bitter aroma as they all wafted across her tongue.

Lucien slowly dragged his thumb down her lips. “An e bana-bhuidseach thu, air mo chuir gu mo mhilleadh?” he asked thoughtfully, almost to himself. His hand stroked her jaw, his resolve hardening. “Damn e uile—bidh mi gu toileach air mo bheò-ghlacadh leat, a ghràidh.”

Elain had no idea what Lucien was saying but she didn’t care, not when he was staring at her with more feeling and want in one eye than anyone with two eyes had ever looked at her. Elain couldn’t breathe, not when his gaze darted to her lips, not when he gently tilted her head back, not when he licked his own thick lips, and not when he slowly lowered his head towards her. She had never wanted anything more in her life than to feel Lucien’s lips against hers, and Elain knew, when his lips touched her own, his fire would start an inferno within her that neither of them would be able to put out—

Somewhere close by, a twig snapped loudly, followed by some loud jeers and laughter. Elain and Lucien froze as the sounds on the other side of the garden wall gradually dissipated away, the silence of the night overtaking them once again.

Elain glanced up at Lucien, who looked stricken, all traces of his desire gone. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “We—I shouldna’ have let it get that far.”

Her heart cracked a little. Her and Lucien had finally started forging a connection between the two of them, and he instantly regretted it when it was over. Elain pushed him away and righted herself, ignoring the throbbing between her legs.

“You’re right,” Elain said angrily, tears burning the corner of her eyes. “God forbid you spend time getting to know your wife!”

“Elain, I didna mean—“

“I think you meant exactly what you said. Leave me.”

“I can walk ye back inside.”

“I don’t want you to!” Elain snapped, her vision blurry. “You ignore me, play with me, then say such hurtful things.” She balled her fists up, her nails digging into the palms of her hands. Her eyes stung with unshed tears, but she refused to cry. Elain looked Lucien straight in the eye. “I had very little say in this marriage, but I’m at least trying to make it work. You’re a horrible husband and I want you to leave now.”

Lucien looked devastated. “Elain—“

“Leave me!” she yelled, her resolve crumbling. “Just leave.”

Elain was aware of Lucien walking away but of little else. Sobbing, she made her way to a bench and sat down, letting all the frustration and anger and sadness leave her, wishing, with all her heart, that she had listened to Feyre and leapt from their carriage and gone back to England.

XXX

Translations:

An e bana-bhuidseach thu, air mo chuir gu mo mhilleadh?: Are you a witch, sent to ruin me?

Damn e uile - bidh mi gu toileach air mo bheò-ghlacadh leat, a ghràidh: Damn it all-I will gladly be enchanted by you, my darling.

#elucien #elucien fanfic #a court of thorns and roses #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #acotar #the idiots be idioting in this chapter #i tell you what #this is about as tense and angsty as I get #i dont know how some of yall write chapters on chapters of angst #my poor little heart can't take it #my fic #my fics #would anyone be interested in a tag list?#i can also ask this separately as its own post #but let me know!

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