#official elain archeron week | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stormhearty · 10 months ago

Text

Pushed to the Edge

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Trigger: angst, cheating, suicide, death

Word Count: 3k

Summary: You were the official seer of Night Court for nearly 500 years. the Inner Circle had always listened to you and your visions; however, when the Archeron sisters came and Elain started to show her powers, your family started to shift their attention to her visions. When you try to voice your warnings about the death-lord’s resurrection, everyone gave you the cold shoulder, ignoring your prophesies — this included your mate.

Note: no hate to Azriel or Elain, it just helped with the plot. and Also, I know it's completely unreasonable for Azriel to not have the Truth-Teller be with him at all times, just go with it for now. And I am working on “Reach Your Voice” Series, I’m still trying to figure out how to make sure each of our boys spends quality time with the reader.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Epilogue

<Pushed to the Edge> Masterlist

“That sounds absolutely absurd… How many times will you try to warn about something that will never happen?”

Your voiced died in your throat as you watched Rhysand look at you with apprehension before focusing on the paperwork in front of him.

You had ran into his office, waking up in cold sweat after another vision of another Death God crawling it’s way back into Prythian. You had tried to forewarn your High Lord for weeks on end ever since you first saw that vision. However, your warnings had been ignored by Rhysand. You knew that it sounded impossible, you knew that, Prythian had just finished a war — one that almost destroyed the world.

After the war with the King of Hybern, Prythian was slowly returning to its normal … well, attempting to fix what was broken by the King. The Night Court was healing, trying to rebuild itself again to its glory, helping other Courts to fix the damages that the war caused. Rhysand had been through an ordeal, losing his life to save Prythian and you knew that your High Lord was still recuperating from that tragedy. You knew that your High Lady was as well, almost losing her mate.

They didn’t need another war to happen when peace had barely returned.

But you also knew there was another reason your High Lord had been ignoring your for forewarning. You looked to the side, one where the rest of the Inner Circle was watching the confrontation. Cassian and Nesta, sitting close to each other, a glass of wine in their hands, whispering to each other, mostly likely about you and your vision. You could barely pick up with your keen Fae hearing on what they were saying.

“Do you think what she’s saying is real? That Koschei is trying to come back?”

“Elain hasn’t seen it though…”

The whisper of the middle Archeron child echoed in your ears as you looked at the Made Fae. She sat next to the window, brown eyes that seemed to sparkle like the sun rested on you before turning over to the male that she was sitting with. Your gaze followed hers to Azriel — your mate— but you can see that he didn’t bother to glance in your direction, only to focus on the delicate female next to him.

It hurt. You watched as the two of them conversed, glancing back in your direction before focusing on each other.

It was no secret, not for you, on Elain’s growing infatuation for the Shadowsinger, and in turn his own growing affections for the middle Archeron child — and in turn, losing his love for you.

You woke up in an empty bed, your mate missing from his side. You tried to talk to Cassian about how his day went, on if he would still train you with the Valkyries if he had time. You tried to converse with Rhysand and Feyre, seeing if they were healing properly after the war, wanting to make sure your High Lord and Lady were safe. You sought after you mate, wanting to spend even a second with him.

But they disregarded you so easily. Especially after they had found out that Elain had similar powers to you, one that was gifted to her by the Cauldron — one that was deemed more powerful than your own.

Your role as the Official Seer of Night Court was granted to you after Helion had sent you as an emissary for Day Court. Helion had found you wandering around Day Court lands. You had been a wandering child, with no real attachment to any Court, abandoned in the streets by your family at the age of five when your seer powers started to come into light. Helion had taken you in when you were ten, helped you hone your powers. Being a seer had been a mystery, no one in your heritage (that you were aware of) was a seer. And it baffled Helion on why such a remarkable gift had been casted aside.

You had stayed with the Night Court, gaining their trust and friendship for five centuries, gaining your own little foothold in their family. You had been a pillar when Rhysand had been trapped Under the Mountain for nearly fifty years. You helped Mor and Armen with the official Night Court Duties, trained with Cassian to ensure you were strong enough to fight when neither he nor Azriel was there.

During your time protecting Valeris from the eyes of Amarantha, your mating bond with the Shadowsinger snapped. It had been difficult at the start, both of you were still struggling with the disappearance of your High Lord, along with the weight of protecting the very city he hidden from view. But during that time, you became each other’s pillar, each other’s comfort in such a dark time. Falling in love with Azriel wasn’t difficult.

But keeping his love, apparently, was the most difficult.

When the Archeron sister’s came into everyone’s lives, it caused a tip in the scales. You loved Feyre, you loved your High Lady. You would do anything in your power to ensure she was safe and well cared for. But for the Cauldron-Made sisters, it was difficult for you to accept them.

They were different. You couldn’t see anything about them, as if the Cauldron had masked them from you powers. It made you terrified of them. Feyre and Rhysand had tried to assure you that the Archeron sisters deemed no threat to the Night Court. And you trusted them — trusted your High Lord and Lady without a blink of an eye. And yes, while their words deemed true, you did not realize that they were a different type of threat. One that would eventually lose your foothold in the Night Court.

You swallowed, your throat parched as you glanced from the sight of your mate and Elain speaking to one another to Rhysand and then to Feyre who had stood next to him. She gave you a worried look, wondering what you were wanting to tell them.

The air was tense, the declaration from your High Lord seeming to echo in your surroundings — he had deemed your vision to be false. And he had never done that before.

“… But…” you whispered, your voice nothing but wind in such a large room, “… I’ve seen it so many times, Rhys. Someone is trying to resurrect him. That they need a piece of something from the Cauldron — -”

“The Cauldron is with Miryam and Drakon… in Creta. There is no way that anyone would be able to use that power again,” Rhysand’s tone was taut, as if trying to drawn a line between the truth and your vision, “Your vision must be wrong, (Y/N). There is no way that Koschei can be resurrected from that lake.”

Another swallow, “But what if it doesn’t have to be the Cauldron itself. It could be something that was Made from the Cauldron.”

Rhysand’s eyes snapped up from his desk, up to you, eyes darkening at the words you were insinuating, “—- What are you trying to say, (Y/N)?”

You let out a shaky breath, eyes shifting down to your hands, fiddling with your fingernails — a habit that you’ve had ever since you were a child — one that would leave your hands raw from removing skin, ‘… Nesta and Elain were Made from the Cauldron. If it were to get word to the followers of Koschei, they… they could be in danger. The power that resides in them is the Cauldron… Nesta took something from the Cauldron and did not return it… They could be looking for that.”

It was already bad that you were trying to suggest a return of a Death God, months after a war with Hybern, but it was worse that you were even implying that the sisters were the center of being in danger again.

A dark shadow stood in front of you and you looked up to see Azriel. The golden string that connected the two of you sung, it had been weeks since Azriel went near you, but you knew that his side of the bond was shut, enshroud by shadows, completely shutting you out.

“Az—-” you said his name, as if it was a prayer, hoping he’d be the voice of reason. That he would back up you and your visions. As he always had in the past.

“How can we know that your visions are truth, (Y/N)? There are two Seers in the Night Court now, and yet you are the only one who sees this.”

Your ears rang, a high pitch noise echoing through them as disbelief shook your body. Azriel never distrusted you, never doubted your visions and your forewarnings.

The bond in you ached, as if it was burning you on the inside. Tears lined your eyes as you looked up at your mate, brows furrowing, “…How could you, Azriel?” you muttered, the pain lining your tone, “How can you not trust me?” your voice small.

“Because Elain hasn’t seen it,” was all he had to say.

Hot tears ran your cheeks, as you shakily stepped back from the male that had towered you. You glanced at Cassian and Nesta who looked at you, their eyes inattentive to the pain that you were feeling. You glanced at your High Lord, who looked at you with disinterest. You looked at your High Lady, the only person in the room that seemed to have noticed your pain and anguish, as she took a step towards you way, only to be stopped by Rhysand, his hand around her wrist.

“… So, just because the Cauldron-Made Seer hasn’t seen it, doesn’t mean that it is going to happen?” you asked, your question in the air for everyone to think, “… Just because I wasn’t a Seer Made by the Cauldron, that my visions and my words are not real? That I am a lesser of a Seer than her?”

“(Y/N)—-” Feyre, the voice of reason, called our your name.

You took a step back again, head shaking at them, “I’ve worked my life off for the Night Court. Ensuring that your city is safe, making sure that any danger would never step past the wards that you have put up. I have never hidden anything from any of you. I used my visions and my powers for all of you. And yet…” your voice shook at the end, not believing anything that was happening in front of you, “You disregard me… the moment a better Seer shows up. One that is Cauldron-Made… one that you…” eyes shifting to Azriel, “Deems more suitable for you.

“I’ve seen it. Not only in my visions but here with you all. You have decided to all turn a blind eye to it, decided not to tell me about it. Three sisters for three brothers, isn’t it, Azriel?”

Azriel’s form stiffed in front of you — he did not think that you would have heard that.

You were done, you were tired. You were tired of the lies and the deceit from whom you thought were family.

Feyre’s brows furrowed as she looked at you and then her elder sisters before the back of Azriel. Rhysand stood up as well, standing next to his High Lady at your declaration.

“… What are you talking about, (Y/N)?” Feyre asked, watching your form shake.

“Don’t you lie to me…” you muttered, glaring at your High Lady, “Don’t you dare lie that you have not seen it. Don’t you dare tell me that you have not noticed that Azriel and Elain have been together all this time. That you have turned a blind eye that a mated male would be infatuated, would fall in love with someone else that was not his Cauldron-bound mate. Don’t you dare lie to me you have not all seen it, and have ignored it and not tell me about it.

“You also have all disregarded me and my visions, ever since Elain started to show her own powers. You have all deemed, even without you telling me, that my powers are not worthy enough. That you all would listen to her cryptic visions rather than my own.”

Your words were rushed, you were hyperventilating to the point that your visions swam, but you shook your head, focusing on the scene unfolding — Feyre’s surprised look, Nesta and Cassian staring wide-eye at Elain before glancing at the Shadowsinger in front of you and your High Lord gripping the edge of the table, his violet eyes clearing as if he was in a trance, as if his mind has been cleared and he realized what he has done and what was unfolding with his family.

“No, (Y/N), that’s not what we meant…” he tried to reason, try to gain back your trust in the found family you had with them.

You scrunched your face, shaking your head as you looked at your High Lord before back at your mate, “…That’s what you have meant for the months you have been ignoring my forewarnings. Been ignoring me. Because Elain’s powers are better than mine, you have casted me aside…” Another step back, glancing at the grand door behind you before you glanced back at the family who had lost you, to the mate that had broken your entire being, “You had decided, to your own conscious, to fall in love with someone else, who is bound to someone else, just because you deemed that the Cauldron was wrong. I don’t understand what I have done to you, Azriel… when I have spent nearly five-hundred years with you, fifty years with you as your mate. And you, knowing Elain for a mere five minutes, throwing all that away…”

Azriel looked at you, his chest rising and falling quickly, his eyes staring you down. He watched as tears continued to flood down your cheeks, your form shaking even further. You couldn’t do it, you couldn’t just stand here and be the object that they throw away.

So, you ran, ran out of that room, your name echoing behind you as your dress swirled behind you. You climbed up the spiraling stairs to your shared room with Azriel, throwing up the strongest ward you can muster behind you and around you. You couldn’t handle it.

You couldn’t handle the echo of the bond in your chest, you couldn’t handle the empty stare of your mated looking at you. You couldn’t handle the thought that you were so easily replaceable. A sob escaped your lips as you rummaged through Azriel’s drawer of weapons, pulling out the one weapon that he never is without — Truth-Teller. Dark tendrils of shadow gripped your wrist as you looked around you, Azriel’s shadows surrounding you.

That was where his shadows went — they had always disappeared when he was around Elain, yet they were here with you.

Frantic knocks startled you as you grasped the weapon close to your chest, your head whipping around towards the door. You heard them — Feyre’s panicked voice, Rhysand’s apologizes, Cassian yelling your name. But you didn’t hear that one voice that you had loved — you knew Azriel wasn’t there.

That had pushed you. Gripping the weapon, you moved to the bathroom, the shadows following your every movement. As you kneeled down on the marble floor, you felt the tug of the shadows against your hand, trying to will the weapon out of your grip — attempting you to stop at a take of your life.

You had always loved the shadows that surrounded Azriel, both physically and metaphorically speaking. They had always comforted you, protected you, always had been there for both of you when times were tough. But this was one of the times that you didn’t want them protecting you, comforting you.

“Please..” you begged at them. Whether or not they would listen or sprint off to their master, they backed off, though a few tendrils stayed behind, slithering around your wrist, holding Truth-Teller, as if a reminder not to do it. But you had made your mind — you couldn’t stay and be pushed to the side. Not anymore.

And with a last breath impaled yourself with your mate’s beloved knife, the very knife he had handed Elain during the war, was the last thing you remembered. As your body fell against the marbled floor, your soul leaving your body, you felt the tendrils of shadow frantically skim over your body, as if to try to find a piece of life still clinging onto you. Eyes looked and watched as the ward was broken and your High Lord and Lady skidding towards your body as your soul left for the skies above, the cool feeling of shadow never leaving your body.

A gasp escaped your lips, the dull ache on your chest making you rub at it.

“— - What…” you mumbled, your voice hoarse as if not used for a century.

“That Shadowsinger did not know what he had decided to let go, huh…” A voice, one so dark and so familiar echoing.

You knew that voice, that voice that haunted you in your visions for weeks — the same voice that you tried to warn your family about. Eyes opening, you were surrounded by the dark, the voice of the Death-God echoing around you.

“I should have died…” you voiced to no-one.

A laugh echoed around you, “You did, (Y/N), but you forget that I am a Death-God… And I can resurrect anyone I wish. Now, that your family has abandoned you, why don’t you join me. Show them what happens when a Seer of your capacity has been cast aside. I should have had you when that original family of yours stranded you, but that damn High Lord of Day found you first. Anyway… come child…”

You laid there, in the darkness, before you shakily reach out a hand, before spiny fingers grasped onto yours and pulled you out of that darkness.

#acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #acotar x reader #azriel x reader #acotar angst #a court of thorns and roses #( .one shot : pushed to the edge )

2K notes · View notes

potatoplace · 26 days ago

Text

the 1

Elriel, Azriel x Archeron!Reader

Alternate Endings: Gone | betty | The Prophecy

mini-series masterlist | ACOTAR x reader masterlist

Story Summary: All you had ever wanted to be was plain. And now, as a plain-faced High Fae, you want more. You want your mate.

Warnings: mentions of self-harm, self-loathing, suicide

Words: ~2.6k

Author's Note: I'm sorry. (I told you guys I've been having a rough week...) Apparently my brain is saying 'fuck Kinktober!' Even tho like. I WANT to write those... smut just doesn't feel in the cards for me today 😩 so have some tasty tasty angst instead. (I'm also watching an Eras Tour live so I'm hella cheered up now lol)

18+ only pls

🤍💙🩷💙🤍

Self loathing grew in your gut as you watched your family around you.

All of them were happy, reveling in the togetherness that they shared.

And your mate- your mate- was ignoring you. He was speaking to one of your sisters, absolutely enamored with her. And you couldn’t blame him.

Elain had always been the pretty one of the four of you, a shining diamond even in the filth of poverty.

Nesta was the one with regal beauty, her sharp eyes and the way she carried herself not letting anyone think otherwise.

Your twin, Feyre, was stunning, even if she herself had never seen it, the cleverness in her eyes and quiet grace drawing people’s gaze to her.

And then there was you.

You were… the ugly one. Your mother had said so, even though you were only a child when she passed. Your father had quietly agreed with her. Nesta had mocked your looks when she had had a bad day, which was nearly every day while you had been living in the run down hut after your family lost their fortune. Elain said nothing, but shot pitying looks at you when no suitor asked for a dance while you had still been human, even when it had been a ball thrown in your honor for your birthday. Feyre has been the kindest to you, reminding you that it’s what on the inside that counts…

But that didn’t appear to be so.

Even with a mating bond that you knew should draw Azriel’s attention, his eyes were still glued to Elain. He seemed to be able to breathe only when in her presence, taking in the same air as her.

And in your presence? He couldn’t seem to get away fast enough.

Being dumped into the Cauldron had made both of your sisters even prettier, and Feyre was no exception either after being turned High Fae.

For you, it had made you plain. No longer ugly, unless you counted the still crooked teeth and too small nose and thin mouth.

Just plain.

As a human, you had begged to whatever higher power there was that you could just be plain.

But now that you were, you knew it would never be enough.

Because while Feyre was right, your personality mattered more in a long term relationship than your looks, being pretty drew people in.

Being plain only made you fade into the background.

Azriel laughed at something Elain had said, the sound sending warmth through your body.

It should be you making him laugh, not Elain.

Elain, with her beauty and poise and perfect personality and her ridiculously handsome mate who wanted nothing but her time.

Elain, who seemed to want no one and no thing but your mate.

Your Azriel.

You tore your gaze away from the couple, who you already knew were in a relationship. Elain had confessed it to you a month ago, gushing about how their fifth date had gone and how she thought he was the one. She had told you first, knowing that you wouldn’t tell anyone.

After all, who would you tell?

It’s not like you had any friends in Velaris- or in the human lands, for that matter- and your other two sisters were so preoccupied with their mates and growing personal circles that they hardly had the time to look at you, let alone talk to you.

No. You were alone. You were a lockbox for all of her secrets.

Including that she was planning to officially reject the mating bond once Azriel offered a proposal of marriage.

That had made you sick to your stomach, but you had hidden it deep, deep down in your heart as you congratulated her and faked happiness, asking her when she thought he would propose.

“Any day now, I suspect. Azriel told me that he was planning for the future, and wanted to know if I would like to be a part of it,” she had sighed dreamily. “We just need to tell the family, I know that… Rhys was worried about what us being together would mean for court relations. But he’s just being dramatic, don’t you think?” Her chocolate eyes landed on you, so filled with hope that you couldn’t tell her that he was your mate.

“Yes, he’s just worried, ‘Lain. I’m sure everything will be fine,” you managed to say, and relatively normal at that.

That was last night, and while your eyes had drifted to the carpeting, they shot back upwards at the sound of clinking metal on glass.

Your mate, standing with a flute of sparkling wine in his hand and a knife in his other, had his arm locked with Elain’s.

He cleared his throat once he had everyone’s attention, his eyes passing over everyone-

But you. His eyes skipped over you, even now, with the bond flaring in your chest.

“Elain and I have something to announce, though Rhys already knows what it is.” You heard a hand slap against an arm, Rhys’s faked moan of pain, and Nesta scolding her mate. Azriel smiled at their antics, such a rarity on his face that your heart skipped several beats, leaving you lightheaded.

It most certainly wasn’t because of what they were announcing.

“Elain and I have been dating for the past two months, and we would like to make it official with you all now. In fact, the two of us will be moving into a cottage in town later in the month, and we would like to invite you all to join us for a housewarming party in two weeks.”

The inner circle broke into cheers around you, Cassian immediately encasing his brother in his arms and clapping him on the back.

“Congratulations, brother! I know you’ve waited a long time to find love.”

You remained seated where you were, offering a smile to the happy couple but staying put.

If you stood, you were sure to faint. Or be sick. Or both.

Nesta was the only other person who remained where they were, a skeptical look on her face.

“I hate to be the person to bring the party down…” She started, her voice weary. “But what of your mates? Haven’t you wanted one for your whole life, Azriel? What will happen when you find her?”

“If I find her, I will reject the bond, Nesta. My love for Elain eclipses that of what I thought possible, even with a mating bond. Nothing and no one will ever compare to your sister,” Azriel answered, which seemed to be enough to have Nesta’s approval, as she stood and made her way to the couple.

“Then I’m happy for the both of you. But if you ever hurt my sister, you will deal with me,” Nesta warned, ice in her tone.

You didn’t stick around to hear what came next.

Nothing and no one will ever compare to your sister.

And of course, he was right. How could you compare to Elain?

She was beautiful, yes, but she was also a perfect match for Azriel. Kind and caring, always ready to help people, not to mention she would be a wonderful mother.

And then there was you. Plain. Boring. Nothing special.

Even the Cauldron hadn’t thought anything of you, leaving you with a High Fae body but no magic to speak of.

You couldn’t even fathom why you had been made Azriel’s mate when Elain was such a wonderful pairing to him, and had the magical abilities to match.

You stumbled your way to the town house, where you had taken up residence once Feyre and Rhys had finished the river house. Once inside you quickly made it to your room and shucked off your clothes after locking the door.

Bare, you stood before the mirror and assessed yourself. It was a habit you had picked up once your family had regained their fortune after Feyre had been stolen away.

One that brought you no comfort, but you needed to do.

Your physique was fine, you had filled out in the past year of being fae.

But there was nothing… special about you. You were medium height. Your chest was a bit smaller than average. Your legs were on the shorter side, making your torso look too long.

And your legs… they were covered in small white scars.

Another habit that you had picked up, this time after turning fae.

And tonight would be no different.

You suppose the one saving grace of being turned fae was your quick healing, letting you destroy your body without anyone knowing.

And no one ever would, seeing as your mate was on his way to being married to your sister.

A sigh left your lips as you turned to your bed, fishing the small blade you kept underneath out from below the mattress.

Tonight would be no different.

Except now you knew that even if you confessed your bond to Azriel, your heart would be torn to shreds no matter what.

🤍💙🩷💙🤍

It was two months later, during Starfall, that your world crumbled further.

You had donned a plain dress in a midnight blue, with long flowing sleeves and reaching your feet. You had opted for flats, seeing as no one would pay you enough attention to notice if you were in heels or not.

No, no one would notice you at all.

Because Azriel had a ring in his pocket.

One that you had given him advice on, to choose something Elain would love.

A glutton for punishment, that’s what you were as you gazed at the beautiful couple, clad in matching blue outfits and beaming at one another.

You had attempted to stay home that night, only for Azriel himself to personally fly you up to the House of Wind, insisting that you needed to be there for Starfall.

You knew he meant their engagement, though.

He hadn’t even glanced your way once last Starfall, so you knew it wasn’t that you would be missed by him.

Still, you stood on one of the balconies, watching them. Waiting for the moment that your life would be forever altered, never to have a great love.

Because truly, your one chance at a great love was a mating bond. You knew that no one would choose you to spend their life with, not when you were so plain and boring with nothing to draw people in, to get to know you.

They were dancing together, so wrapped up in each other that it was painful to watch.

And then your feet were moving, leading you straight to them. You met them right as the song finished, the two of them just inches apart.

It stung.

“Azriel, may I speak to you for a moment?” You asked without realizing the words had left your mouth. “Alone, please? It will just be a moment, I promise.”

You cringed at yourself.

What were you doing?

Azriel glanced down at Elain, who nodded with a smile. “Of course. I’ll be right back, sweetheart,” he said softly, placing a gentle kiss to Elain’s lips before following you back into the House, away from the commotion.

“What’s this about, Y/N?” Azriel asked in a clipped tone once you were alone, anxiously glancing back to where you had left Elain.

“I…” You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. Are you really going to tell him?

“Well?” He asked impatiently, his shadows swirling around him.

“I… I’m your mate,” you said, the words rushing out all at once, and your tore your eyes away from his face and to the floor.

“You’re… You’re joking, right?” Azriel asked incredulously.

A dagger of ice to the heart, crafted of your own yearning and longing for him, for your mate.

“No, I… It’s true, Azriel. I am your mate.” Your eyes flicked back up to his face after you said it again, but you wished you hadn’t.

Anything would be better than seeing the horror in his eyes, the disgust twisting his features.

The dagger, forced in further by a hand smacking the hilt.

“You?” Azriel laughed. “Why would the Cauldron make you my mate?”

Twisting, bleeding, shredding your soul apart even as you felt the bond flare to life on his end, the very slightest stumble as he regarded you.

“I… I don’t know…” You whispered, barely audible.

“You’re not my mate,” Azriel said, stepping away from you. “You were never going to be my mate. You’re a fine enough person, sure, but how could you compare to Elain?” He shook his head, snickering to himself. “I suppose these five hundred years of waiting were for nothing. I’ll tell Cassian or Rhys take you back to the town house. Just…” He sighed. “Don’t take it personally. It’s not you, it’s me, hmm?”

And with that, the bond between the two of you was shredded, a wounded cry leaving your lips as you sank to the ground, clutching your chest where it used to reside, glowing brightly and giving you a reason to go on.

“I think it’s best for you to stay away from Elain and I. I wouldn’t want you getting territorial and ripping my love’s throat out of anything. Goodbye, Y/N.”

You barely heard him walk away, so overwhelmed with pain.

Why me?

Why was I his mate?

Why didn’t I just drown in the Cauldron?

With a great deal of trying, you managed to hoist yourself back onto your feet, stumbling your way to one of the unoccupied balconies, still clutching your chest.

Your gaping, empty chest.

Because Azriel still had your heart. He had shredded it, mangled it beyond believe but it still resided with him, leaving you with nothing but a hole where it used to be.

Your legs crashed into the edge of the balcony, your hands flying to the stone to steady you.

But it didn’t help, everything was still spinning, blood rushing in your ears as your heart kept beating somehow, somehow still physically intact even as you felt it was being ripped from your chest over and over and over.

You couldn’t breathe.

You couldn’t live.

The very fact that Elain was so casual, so blasé about shredding a bond to bits had you questioning everything you thought you knew about your sister.

How could she condemn someone to this existence?

Because already, you weren’t living.

This couldn’t be living.

It couldn’t be.

You risked a peak over the edge, spying the sharp, jagged rocks below.

If you weren’t living now…

Before you could second guess your choice, you lifted yourself onto the balcony, letting your legs dangle for a moment.

Then you swung them over the stone, to the side that had nothing to catch you.

Well, nothing but the cold embrace of death.

Which at this point would be a welcome reprieve from the fiery hot grief flooding through you, grief at the bond that was never given a chance, a moment to be considered.

But perhaps that was all the consideration you needed. To know that you would only have been a burden of mate to the male you had fallen for.

You took one last, jagged breath into your lungs before you slid off the smooth stone, air rushing past you and-

This must be what it feels like to fly.

General Taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff @lilah-asteria

#the 1 #Azriel x reader #azriel x reader angst #elriel #archeron!reader #az x reader #Az x reader angst #azriel shadowsinger #azriel #acotar #acotar fic #angst #acotar fanfic #acotar x reader #mating bond #tato writes

420 notes · View notes

mcuamerica · 2 months ago

Text

The Lake | Eris x Reader

For Eris Week 2024 - Day 5: War | Adventure @erisweekofficial

Summary: The war with Koschei gives Eris and you an adventure you weren't expecting.

Warnings: 18+, suggestive sexual content, canon level violence, not well-proof read (let me know if I forgot anything!)

Dividers by @tsunami-of-tears for Eris Week.

It wasn’t exactly easy convincing Rhys to let you spend your time with Eris. You may have eased the worry that Eris was going to hurt you, but that didn’t mean he trusted the male. And he certainly didn’t want you marrying or mating him. Not yet. Not with Beron’s sadistic mind still around.

But you could spend time with Eris now. And after he helped win the war with Hybern… let’s just say Rhys was more inclined to leave you alone with him.

When Koschei came about… when he took Elain and Lucien begged Eris for help, you were the one who offered to go with. Because you loved Elain like a sister, like all the Archeron’s. And for Lucien… for the male who helped save your life… you would help his mate.

Eris needed to help his little brother. Needed to ensure that even if he couldn’t erase the past, maybe he could aid in the present. For Lucien’s future.

Here you were, Eris and you trekking through some human land where Koschei should have been. You should have found him days ago. Found the lake. But nothing was around.

“If we don’t find anything by tomorrow… we might have to go back.” You said, finally giving up and sitting down on a rock. “We’ve been at this for days and we haven’t found a thing.”

“Don’t give up so easily, darling.” He said and knelt down in front of you. “Maybe we need a little… adventure.” He said and stood up, smirking slightly.

You looked up when he held a hand out. “What would you call what we’re in right now?” You asked.

“War… but war doesn’t have to be all bleak. And while we look for Elain… maybe we keep have a little fun.” He said.

“Elain could be suffering-“ you had been thinking as much for the past few days. Lucien was on some curse bound to the Night Court, of course set on by Koschei. The rest of the night court was finding ways to find Elain. And you… for whatever reason whenever Koschei was about to attack… you could sense it. As if your power came from the same darkness he possessed. Eris was there as an anchor for you. To ground you. Ensure your safety. Because even knowing the rest of your family would protect you… no one would do it as fiercely as your mate. Even if it wasn’t official yet.

“Hey, we’ve been looking. Let’s just… I think there’s something down here. Maybe it’s good. Maybe it’s bad.” He said and shrugged, taking your hand and tugging you down a path.

You picked up running water and as you rounded a corner full of trees, you found a small lake with a beautiful waterfall. “How can something so beautiful be near something so terrible?” You asked.

“You’re next to me, I think that speaks for itself.” He said.

You looked up at him and frowned. “Eris Vanserra… you are not terrible.” You said and cupped his cheek. “You’re the most kind… handsome… amazing male I’ve ever met. And that includes all other High Lords.” You said.

“I think you’re obligated to say that, you’re my mate.” He said and smirked.

“Well I mean it.” You said and leaned up, kissing his cheek. “Now what about that adventure?” You asked.

Eris stared into your eyes for a few more moments. “Hmm… how about I get to see you out of these leathers?” He said, his hands trailing to the buttons on your jacket. “It’s way too hot. And if we’re having an adventure…”

You smirked. “Only if you get to take this off too.” You said and tugged on his tunic.

His answering smirk only heated your core. “To the water we go, my love.” He whispered and nipped at your neck before pulled away. You watched as he completely stripped, leaving nothing for your mind to imagine as he strutted into the water. Your eyes lingered on his ass, lip between your teeth as he submerged.

He came out a moment later, dripping in water. His hair was wet and stuck to his head, which struck something deep in your core.

“Are you coming, darling?” He asked, his large biceps flexing as he leaned against the raised earth.

With that, you stripped off your top. “Anything you want, High Lord.” He said and smirked, watching as you walked towards him and stripped your clothes.

“You are magnificent.” He whispered, just loud enough for you to hear.

You hummed as you walked over to the lake, slipping in the water so your hair didn’t get wet. “Am I?” You teased and swam over to him, smiling when his hands landed on your waist.

You could feel the wet earth on your toes, sinking just slightly before Eris picked you up. You squealed, laughing as you wrapped your legs around him. You could feel his hard length pressing against your core as you tangled your fingers with his hair. “Why don’t you show me how magnificent I really am?” You whispered, nipping his ear.

Just as he was about to, you felt him tighten his grip on you, sinking deeper into the water. “What is it?” You asked.

“This isn’t a normal lake.” He muttered. Before you could inquire further, he hoisted you into the earth. “Run.”

You watched as he was sucked under water, a yell coming from your lips. “Eris!”

Your eyes widened as the air became cold, your naked body being drained of all the heat. And with Eris potentially drowning…

Like hell you were going to run. He was your mate. He may have the intrinsic need to protect you but you have the need to protect him too. So, without even trying to grab your leathers, you dived into the water.

Black murky water devoured him. It was almost as if he was stuck in the mud itself. He held his breath, knowing he couldn’t keep it up for long.

There was a faint yelling he couldn’t hear. How long has he been down here? He hoped you got out.

The pulling started. He felt as if the water-mud around him was sucking him dry, even though he was under water. These damn lakes in the human lands. Unless this is Koschei… it can’t be. Eris was shown the lake by Rhys. Who saw it from Vassa. This wasn’t it.

Unless Koschei changed the appearance to lure you in. Considering how powerful you both were… he might just want to trap you as well. He hoped you ran.

The water wasn’t clear as you swam through it. You made sure to steer clear of the mud, searching for Eris. Anything at all to let you know that he was still here. You didn’t see his fire bright hair. Or anything to indicate he was here.

You held in screech when you felt something grab your ankle. When you looked back, you couldn’t see anything. But you felt like you were being dragged further. You shot out your magic, but whatever grabbed you didn’t react. If anything, it took your magic. Grew stronger. As soon as you realized it, you stopped. You didn’t have your weapons. They were on shore with the rest of your clothes. How stupid were you both to go into a strange lake without anything on?

You continued to hold your breath, glad that you had enough capacity as the creature pulled you further down. Were you in the mud? Were you still in the water? You couldn’t tell. But as soon as you tried to take a breath, you saw a light. You kicked the creature off and swam towards the light, gasping for air.

The land you found was not the same. But a land that had a cabin just on the other side of it. You took a deep breath again, knowing you found Koschei. You looked around, finding Eris’s red hair pop out of the water. You let out a quiet sob as you swam towards him. “You’re okay.” You said, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I am… and we found Koschei.” He said. You nodded and looked around. “I can get clothes from the pocket realm. But we need to get out of this lake.” You whispered, then swam to the shore. If Koschei was here or not, he didn’t let on. You got out, mind fully gone of lust as you went towards the wood. You didn’t feel any wards pull at your magic, so you pulled the clothes you held in the pocket realm for this reason. You slipped them on and then tossed a few to Eris. “They’re Cassian’s… he never knows how to hide them.” You said.

Eris cringed as he put them on. You noticed how the slightly sagged on his body but still fit. Cassian was a large male… and Eris definitely had the same strength if not more, but his build was different. “If you say I look hot in these clothes…” he growled.

You let out a small giggle, shaking your head. “I wouldn’t even think it.” You said. Honestly, it was a miracle that you even had a sense of humor at all. But… being around Eris did that to you.

“We need a plan.” You said. “Our magic might make him stronger.”

“I don’t suppose you have any weapons in the pocket realm?” He asked, sighing when you shook your head.

He saw the spark in your eye the second the thought reached your mind. His eyes narrowed just as you said, “You’re not going to like this idea…”

Eris walked along the forest edge of the lake, watching as you dove back into the water, swimming straight for the cabin at the other side. Your idea was insane. Maybe genius… but insane. He was fighting every instinct in his body to go after you and pull you away. He knew you could protect yourself. At least for a moment while he got away with Elain. And you.

He watched a male… creature… walk out of the cabin door, calling to you. His hair was white, his eyes black. Eris knew it was Koschei. And you did too as your head perked up. You used your magic to dry yourself as you swam out of the lake, feigning innocence. Eris walked towards the back of the cabin, knowing the male was distracted by you - the female - too much to notice as Eris AND you probed at the wards, taking them down one by one.

He walked in the back of the cabin, finding Elain in a room not far from the door. Her clothes were in tatters, but he knew her mind was clear.

“You should not have come.” She said, standing up. “He will know. He will kill you.” She said.

“Elain, we need to go.”

“This is my war to fight.” She said firmly. “Not yours, not my mates, and not (Y/N)’s. You both need to go.” She said. “I have a plan.”

“Tell it to me now because we aren’t leaving without you.”

A sense of fear struck him the moment she opened her mouth. The bond… why couldn’t he feel the bond?

“That would be because I took it away, fox,” a low, gravel-like voice said. It was like sand paper and nails on stone combined. Horrible, ancient. How had Elain stood this? “You won’t be getting to see your mate for a long long time.” He said and smirked.

Eris turned towards him, shaking with rage. If he so much as laid a hand on you- “What did you do to her?” He asked. He’d worry about that missing piece of him. That hole in his chest later. He needed to see you. Where you were. Bond or not, you were his mate. The one thing in this world that truly made him happy.

“Oh, she’s in the darkness where she belongs. Where her magic will be mine forever.” He said and smirked. “So much as she stays alive.. Which I plan on making sure of. Such pretty creatures that come from your land… Elain.. (Y/N).. It’s too bad I’m stuck here.”

Elain had gone quiet and Eris knew well enough to not look at her. If she had a plan, she had to do it now. “And the magic from your lands… the sweet magic.” He smirked. “I can’t wait to see what I can take from a future High Lord, as you like to call yourself. What will I do-”

His eyes, dark as the night without the moon or stars, turned white. “What are you doing?” He let out a rasp, hand immediately reaching for Elain. She sidestepped him, an uncharacteristic smirk dawning her lips.

“You will never take from females- or anyone, ever again.” She said and took a deep breath. Eris finally turned to look at her. The eyes she shared with Feyre, white as well. She was somehow in his mind. “Not his mind,” Elain corrected. “I’m in his soul… You see, I found it yesterday. In this little box. And my magic called to it, told me to destroy it. I’m a seer… and I saw all that you’ve done. And I also saw exactly how to kill you. Release everyone from your grasp.” Elain stepped up, a dagger- Lucien’s dagger at her side. “This box really is pretty, too bad I have to destroy it.” She said, placing it on the table. All around her white power glowed, radiation off of her skin, her torn clothes. “Goodbye, Koschei,” she finally said, stabbing the box.

Eris blocked his eyes as the creature ignited a light brighter than anything he had ever seen before. “What-”

And just as quick as it happened, he was gone. And the bond… he could feel it again. But it was distant.

Elain held onto the table and he went to grab her. “I’m fine… go find (Y/N)... Koschei… many of those trapped are going to come out. We need to get her out of here.”

It was a different kind of darkness, the hole he put you in. Or… whatever it was. You were used to darkness. Your powers craved it most of the time. But this was different. It was void of all life… hope… anything to give you some semblance of reality. You may have only been in there for a few minutes but it felt like days.

Your magic was being drained from you, every second it would replenish and then be pulled out. Painfully. And the bond with Eris that you tried to tug on to give you some hope… it was gone. You couldn’t feel it. A part of you thought you died. Maybe Koschei killed you and this is what the outcome was. This is what death- what fading truly was like. A miserable darkness that was void of all light and goodness. But then you saw it. That bright, fire red hair.

Your eyes adjusted as a door opened above you. All the light streamed in and a gasp left your breath. “Eris!” You yelled, taking his hand. He pulled you up right into his arms.

“Oh thank the Mother.” He whispered. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

You sobbed as you buried your head in his chest. “I want to marry you.” You whispered.

His head pulled away from yours, cupping your cheeks. “What did you say?” He asked.

“I want to marry you. I want to mate you. I need- I need this to be official. To be strong.” You answered. “I can’t go another second without being your mate.”

Tears lined Eris’s eyes. “I will marry you, and mate you, and make you my High Lady whenever you want, my love.” He whispered, kissing your brow. “Let’s get back to your family first.”

You took a shaky breath, holding onto him. “I’ll kill your father myself. We will be together.” You said.

“Let’s focus on killing one big bad at a time, shall we?” Elain asked.

You let out a squeal and looked towards her. “Elain! Thank the Mother you’re okay.” You said and hugged her. “You saved me. You saved everyone. You’re amazing.” You said.

“I’d like to go home… and speak to my family before we get that far.” She said, a small blush creeping up her cheeks.

You nodded and smiled, taking Eris’s hand. “Will you do the honor?” You asked him.

He winked at you. “Of course.”

“Remind me to never follow you on an adventure.” You teased, Eris’s loud, bright laugh echoing in your ears as he returned you all to the Night Court.

A/N: honestly this is kind of all over the place but I still like it lol

#erisweek2024 #eris fic #eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris x reader #acotar fic #acotar

70 notes · View notes

themildestofwriters · 4 months ago

Text

Elain Week, I gotta ask, and this is a genuine question: Does this mean Feyre, Rhysand, Cassian, Nesta, Father Archeron, Mother Archeron, among others aren't being officially endorsed alongside Tamlin and Beron by this event? Or... what? What's the criteria a character needs to fulfil before they're officially soft-banned from this appreciation week?

I've seen many express that they found Feyre's behaviour in WAR triggering, discomforting, one going as far as to label it "retaliatory abuse." Rhysand is a contentious character because of his torture and sexual abuse of Feyre in ACOTAR, and we all know how controversial his actions in ACOSF were. I know people who have called Cassian's treatment of Nesta in ACOSF abusive (alongside her treatment by the wider Inner Circle). We know for certain that people consider Nesta abusive, too, for her actions during Feyre's childhood. Of course, people can disagree about whether these characters are abusive, but that doesn't erase the fact that people do genuinely have visceral reactions to these characters.

Will these people's comfort be taken into account or not? If not, why not? Must these characters be classified as abusive by the author to count? If so... why? If this is truly about making this event as comforting and safe for fans to enjoy Elain content, why aren't these characters soft-banned from the event?

Would it not be a better idea to just let the participants and viewers of this event self-regulate? Maintain that all entries into the event be tagged correctly and implore those who find certain characters discomforting to block those tags? We're all adults. Should we not be responsible for what content we engage with?

This is ACOTAR. If you're old enough to read it, you're old enough to deal with a character you find discomforting being portrayed in a positive manner. And Elain isn't real. You're not respecting her by soft-banning Tamlin from the event, especially not if you allow her to be depicted with others who have abused, and have even abused her sisters at that. It's low-key insulting, really.

#elain archeron #acotar

101 notes · View notes

slytherhys · 7 months ago

Text

Silver Linings & Raspberry Fortunes

Prompt: New Beginnings (week one) @elriel-month

A/N: HAPPY ELRIEL MONTH! 🌹🦇 I had so much fun writing this silly little AU and I hope you all enjoy it too!

You can also read this story on AO3!

If there was one thing everyone knew about Elain Archeron it was that she didn’t like being single. Her friends knew it, her sisters knew it, her therapist knew it – even her ex-boyfriend, who wasn’t the most perceptive person Elain knew, had callously pointed it out right before Elain kicked him out of her house. Truth be told, she had a serious case of abandonment issues with a side of middle-child syndrome and – because those weren’t enough – a deep fear that she’d never be loved the way she very much wanted to be loved. The fact most men she met were a disappointment was just the cherry on top of a very emotionally damaging cake.

Which explained why she had accepted to go on a date, at her sister’s insistence, with a man she had never met or seen before in her life.

At first glance, it had seemed like a great idea. Feyre clearly had great taste in men (read: Rhysand), her friends were some of the most interesting people Elain had ever met and the alternative had been staying at home watching crappy romcoms, eating salt & vinegar chips and wondering if maybe installing a new dating app would finally lead to her meeting the man of her dreams (even though it never did). Looking back, maybe even a night of getting texts from strange men who were entirely too comfortable asking about her sex life did seem like the better choice. Because Elain Archeron had officially been stood up – which, considering the dress she was wearing, was a damn shame.

Elain sighed again, earning herself a look from the bartender that definitely felt a little bit exasperated. She couldn’t even blame him considering she’d been nursing the same drink for the past 45 minutes (a martini because it sounded fancy) and she probably looked as dejected as she felt, which probably didn’t go well with the overall Saturday night vibes he definitely preferred.

Smiling weakly, Elain turned to stare at the door for a few seconds longer, wondering if instead of giving up and going home, she should just stay, have a drink in a too-dark bar where no one could see how hot she looked in her very expensive dress, under the hostile gaze of an entirely too attractive bartender. Because she was 25 and she was single and if she spent another night wallowing in self-pity, she would probably dye her hair a ridiculous colour in the name of adventure. And that couldn’t happen – no matter how many times she tried to bleach her hair it never looked any good.

And she was absolutely not staying for – Elain checked her phone – Lucien Vanserra and his stupid red hair and his stupid “nice manners��. The only reason she wasn’t calling her sister to complain about the audacity of it all was because it was past 9pm and Feyre and Rhys were most likely enjoying the only time of the day their son actually slept.

All in all, Elain’s night was pretty fucking miserable – and she couldn’t even drink her pain away since the martini alone had cost a ridiculous amount of money and Elain was supposed to be saving money in the name of being a responsible adult.

“Can I get you another drink?” A low, gravelly voice sounded from behind the bar and Elain startled as she looked up. Hazel eyes stared her down, darting between her and her untouched drink. If the bartender had been attractive from afar, Elain could barely think with him standing so close. A strong nose, high cheekbones and a lush mouth that twitched under her perusal. His dark hair was unruly, as if he had run his hands through it in the past five minutes, but somehow, he made it look hot. Elain blinked once, twice before her brain finally caught up, making her cheeks heat under his gaze.

“Uh,” was her eloquent reply. “No.” She said, though it sounded more like a question than an answer.

He raised an eyebrow, lips twitching again as he eyed her martini. Elain shifted in her seat. “Is there something wrong with the drink I made you?” He asked teasingly and Elain flinched. It probably wasn’t good for his ego that she hadn’t touched it yet, was it?

Elain sighed, trying not to buckle under the embarrassment of being called out. “I don’t like martinis.” She confessed, unable to look the man in the eye. She probably seemed like an idiot, looking completely out of place in her stupid dress and glancing longingly at the door waiting for a stupid ginger man. Mother, she didn’t even like gingers. What the fuck had she been thinking?

The bartender laughed – well, he huffed but it sent a sparkle of heat down her spine, so it might as well had been a full-on laugh. “Why didn’t you order something else, then?”

Now it was her time to chuckle. Bitterly though because it was embarrassing how hard she had tried for a man that hadn’t even bothered to show up. “I wanted to look sophisticated.” She shrugged as if it didn’t really bother her that her cheeks were aflame and that the most beautiful man she had ever seen in her life was looking at her as if she had lost her mind. She couldn’t even blame him – she probably had. “For my date.” She clarified at his confused face, as if that made it better.

The bartender frowned, eyeing her where she sat, and Elain felt heat lick up her body at his slow perusal. Even if she did feel like shit, it was a small victory that her boobs looked amazing – and that, apparently, the bartender thought so too.

“Who the fuck stood you up?” His midnight voice sent shivers down her spine, the incredulity in his question sending a jolt of satisfaction down her stomach.

Elain stood a little straighter, feeling encouraged in her own disbelief. “Can you believe it?” She asked, her voice sounding a bit shrill. If the bartender smiled at her outburst, Elain didn’t notice. “And now I’m sitting here alone at this stupid bar waiting for a date I didn’t even want, drinking something I don’t even like–”

“You could’ve ordered something else.” The bartender muttered.

Elain, however, was too focused on her own tirade to be silenced. “And it’s too dark in this room for people to even notice my dress and I spent so much fucking money on it.” Elain shook her head, feeling ridiculous. “I really shouldn’t have spent that much money on a dress.” She confessed in a sigh, looking up and blushing as she noticed the amusement written on the bartender’s face. He raised an eyebrow, and it was absurd the way her body reacted to that small movement. Feeling chagrined, Elain smiled weakly. “Hi, I’m Elain.”

“Azriel,” his lips twitched. “Owner of the Stupid Bar.”

Of course he was. Elain groaned, dropping her head into her hands in a rather melodramatic fashion. “I’m so sorry.” She said, covering her face with her hands. “I’m usually much nicer than this.”

Azriel chuckled, tilting his head as he eyed her. “You look pretty fucking nice from where I’m standing.” He said, and Elain’s brain nearly short-circuited at the oh so casual way he said it. However, before she could answer he was leaning down, strong arms folding across the bar, hazel eyes set on her. “What do you really want to drink?”

Elain smiled sheepishly, pushing her martini away. “I’m not a big drinker.” She said, loving the challenge in his eyes as he waited for her answer. As if he wanted to figure her out. The thought of it shouldn’t have pleased her nearly as much as it did. “But I like sweet things.”

Azriel squinted his eyes ever so slightly, closely watching her expression. Elain wasn’t sure what he found, but her heart tripped inside her chest when he started to smirk. “I’m not sure you do, Elain.” He mumbled, head tilting as his eyes trailed down her body again. No one had ever made her name sound so decadent. “Want to make this more interesting?”

Her entire body went hot and cold at the suggestion. How was it that this man had already turned her entire night around when she had only known his name for five minutes? Elain bit her lip before leaning closer, intrigued. “What did you have in mind?”

“I’ll make you a cocktail and if you don’t like it, I’ll give you whatever drink you want on the house.”

Elain raised her brows, embarrassingly charmed by everything this man said. “And if I do like it?”

As if he knew that question was coming, Azriel smirked, bending down until his face was close enough to hers that she could feel his breath warm against her lips. Elain felt her breath catch, her heart stutter inside her chest. “If you like it you’ll go on a date with me.”

Elain blinked, unsure if she had heard him correctly. Why was this bar so fucking warm, all of the sudden? She looked around, aware that she had been so caught up in Azriel she had notice little else. When had the bar gotten so crowded? Elain would’ve felt claustrophobic if not for the man taking up all her attention. “Don’t you have to work?” She asked dumbly, painfully aware of the crowd behind her and of how silly she sounded.

Still, Azriel smiled softly. “Slow night.” He said, refusing to take his eyes off of her. She chuckled, feeling a bit frantic as she watched Azriel watch her back, a daring look in his hazel eyes.

“You want to go on a date with me?” She asked, just to be sure.

“Tonight, preferably.” Azriel said, throwing a cup into the air with an ease that spoke of years of experience.

Elain choked, laughing in disbelief. “Tonight?”

He looked up, all pure charm and wicked smiles. “That dress looks too fucking good on you for you to go home alone.”

Elain couldn’t help but giggle. “You sound very cocky.” Never mind that her entire body was heating up with his every word.

“Yes or no, Elain?”

She bit her lip, unsure. Wasn’t it crass of her to go on a date with another man only hours after being stood up? Elain wasn’t entirely sure what the protocol was in this situation, but she couldn’t exactly say no when everything in her was screaming at her to say yes, go. Truth be told, any thoughts of gingers and missed chances had been long gone. Everything seemed to start and end in the way Azriel, the bartender, was staring at her in the dim-lighted bar. And like Feyre always said, sometimes you needed to take hold of your own destiny.

“Yes.” She said, and Elain was sure she had never sounded so certain in her life. Maybe tomorrow she’d regretted and maybe in 10 years she would look back and think fondly of the one night she decided to be a bit brave and trust the rugged bartender who looked at her with wicked promises in his hazel eyes. Whatever outcome it all had, Elain felt absolutely no regret as she watched Azriel smile, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

And as she watched him pour drink after drink into a steel jigger, pouring liquids into a shaker as if this was just another drink, she knew that no matter the drink he made, Elain would be leaving the bar with him. Because sometimes things just felt right, and sometimes a failed date meant more than being left stranded in an unknown bar. And maybe to Azriel this was just another night – maybe this was something he did often. As a bartender, Elain assumed he had no shortage of pretty girls trying to convince him into a wild night. And yet, it didn’t feel like it was just any other night for him either – not as he kept glancing at her, a smile curving his lips every time he found her, as if relieved she hadn’t left yet. And Elain did not blush. She absolutely did not feel herself coming out of her skin as she watched his biceps bulge as he shook the shaker, and she definitely didn’t squirm in her seat every time those hazel eyes flickered in her direction with a promise that sent heat to her core.

Elain took a shaky breath as he began to pour a red drink into an empty glass in front of her, a sprig of spearmint and a few raspberries sitting prettily on top. Elain eyed her drink dubiously, avoiding Azriel’s watchful gaze. A shot of adrenaline went through her and Elain bit her lip as she eyed the fruit floating on top of her drink.

“What is it?” She twisted the glass around, watching as tiny bubbles danced to the top of the glass.

“Exactly what you need.” Azriel answered simply, making Elain chuckle in disbelief. Her cheeks probably resembled the exact colour of the drink in front of her and Elain wondered if the way his eyes flickered from the drink to her face meant he was noticing it as well.

She raised an eyebrow. “What makes you believe you know what I need, Azriel?” She wouldn’t tell him how he was most likely correct – how raspberries were her favourite fruit.

He shrugged, unbothered by her scepticism. “We can say it’s bartender’s intuition.”

Elain smiled, intrigued. “But what is it, really?”

“Stop stalling, beautiful.” He nodded towards the drink, urging her to take a sip. With little doubt he had nailed it, Elain did.

An explosion of flavour burst in her mouth, and it was all Elain could do not to react to the delicious drink in front of her. The tartness of the raspberry and the hint of lemon mixed perfectly with the sweetness of whatever liquor Azriel had chosen. The freshness of the spearmint kept the drink from being too sweet and – no matter how unbelievable it seemed – it was everything Elain loved. She didn’t know how, but it was everything she needed.

Azriel’s eyes didn’t leave hers, cautious hope clear in his face as he waited for her verdict. Elain wasn’t sure what kind of expression she had on her face, but before she could even say a word, Azriel’s shoulders sagged, and a brilliant smile took over his face.

“So?” He asked anyway, as if needing to hear it coming from her mouth.

Elain finally let herself smile, impressed and a little turned on by how fucking good he was. “What is this drink called?” She asked instead, stalling once again. Because she wasn’t sure what it all meant, but she knew it was more than just a drink.

Azriel huffed, a bit exasperated. “Really?” He groaned, making Elain chuckle.

“Just indulge me, please.”

“It’s called Kismet.” He shrugged, as if his words didn’t send her heart tumbling down her tummy. “It’s an invention of mine.” Elain could’ve sworn his cheeks darkened a bit. Still, his eyes never left hers.

Elain smiled sweetly, making herself comfortable where she sat. Azriel watched her with amusement. “Well, you can make me another one since I’ll be waiting for a while.” She said, eyeing the clock. The bar would close soon enough but Elain didn’t mind waiting. She didn’t mind waiting at all. “Seems to me we’re going on a date, Azriel.”

#elriel month #silver linings and raspberry fortunes #elriel #pro elriel #elain archeron #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #Bartender AU #Bartender Azriel #my writing #elrielmonth2024

76 notes · View notes

velidewrites · 11 months ago

Text

Get In The Water

To bargain with an ancient death-lord, Captain Elain Archeron must acquire the rare, magical scales of a siren. Little does she know her target is no ordinary Mer—but the Prince of the Undersea himself.

Pairing: Elucien

Tags: Pirate!Elain x Merman!Lucien

Notes: For the beautiful talented stunning @areyoudreaminof for the @acotargiftexchange! I wasn't your original Secret Santa, but I tried to include some of your favourites here (this is your official warning for Jurian being a canon-typical little shit). Sending you so many smooches!

Thank you @ablogofsapphicpanic for being my beta<3

Read on AO3

“With all due respect, Captain Archeron, I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

Elain’s answering sigh was deep enough to rustle the waves ahead. She tossed them a final look before turning back to her quartermaster. “You know exactly where you can shove your respect, Jurian.”

He bounced off the mast with a grin. “Up my arse, no doubt,” he mused, a large, tanned hand stroking his much overgrown stubble. They’d been out at sea for weeks—for good reason, too, though Elain realised it was a sentiment less and less of her crew continued to share.

Still, she nodded with a smile of her own. “Same as last time.”

“Then I’m sure I don’t have to tell you it would have been wise to dock in Adriata two weeks ago.” He crossed his arms. “We’re not exactly welcome on Day Court waters.”

That was certainly one way to put it. Elain was half-expecting the High Lord’s army, ready at arms and lined up on the shores of Port Denera to arrest her and her crew. It would hardly be the first time.

Elain’s smile only grew wider. “There’s nothing quite like coming home.”

Jurian rolled his eyes, no doubt remembering their latest excursion himself, and leaned over the bulwark. “It’s been a while,” he remarked, his brown gaze drifting off to the azure sea. In the waning hours of the afternoon, the golden sunlight reflected off its surface, shimmering quietly as though unaware of the chaos to come. Where she came from—a little town bordering the Eastern Coast—the fishermen used to say the future was carried in with the waves. Elain was never much a practitioner of such belief—after all, if it were true, her ship would surely be on the verge of utter collapse right now, sinking underwater with the crashing force of the raging sea.

Instead, they continued to peacefully make their way northeast, the sun warming their skin as though in greeting. The irony wasn’t lost on her, but she supposed it was much easier to enjoy the bliss while it lasted. The silver blade strapped to her side flashed at the thought, undeniably in protest—she’d had it dipped in the Cauldron a few decades ago (before her sister, the High Lady herself, had somehow lost the whole damn thing), and since then, the sword had seemed to develop a mind of its own. Elain didn’t mind. It was bloody useful in battle, and she was smarter than to argue with a deadly, magical artifact. Even if it was a real fucking smartass.

The sword flashed again—and a lot brighter this time, too bright to mistake it with a random glimpse of the sunlight.

“Sorry,” Elain muttered.

Jurian—she’d nearly forgotted he was still here—glanced down at her belt. “You need to stop talking to the damn thing.”

She could have sworn she felt something sharp twitch against her hip.

“Would you like to talk to it instead?” she asked sweetly.

Jurian’s eyes narrowed. “No.”

“I thought so.”

“Seriously, Elain,” he sighed, apparently foregoing her usual title. “I would have gone to the ends of the earth with you to get those scales. Hell, I will go to the ends of the earth, and you know I won’t so much as hesitate.”

Elain did know. The stakes were too high—too personal, especially for her second-in-command.

“But the crew needs a break,” Jurian continued. “Adriata was supposed to be our goldmine, and we found nothing—nothing, Elain, not even one of those gods-damned—”

“I know what happened in Adriata, Jurian,” Elain cut in. “I was there.”

“I only mean—”

“I know what you mean. And I agree, even if I do not show it sometimes. Jurian, I…” She closed her eyes, letting the salty mist pearl on her skin, her lashes. “I miss her too. Every day.”

For a moment, there was only silence—silence and the quiet whoosh of the deep blue waves.

“I know you do,” Jurian whispered beside her.

“She’s out there, somewhere—somewhere on the Continent. With that monster to do with her as he likes.” She could practically hear Jurian grit his teeth beside her. “I won’t give up, and we’ve been out here together long enough for me to know you won’t give up, either.”

“The Death God is persistent,” Jurian seethed. “He demands too high a price.”

Indeed he did. Koschei, a being so ancient even the fishermen in her small Day Court village had no legends singing of his name, had been magically bound to his lair on the Continent millennia ago—and, apparently, had been trying to find a way out of his chains ever since. The only thing in the world able to release him, though, was—of course—the Cauldron, the creator of the world itself.

And, up until sixty years ago, Elain would see it in her sister’s dining room every Solstice. It was ridiculous, really, the power the Night Court used to have in its grasp. That wasn’t to say it had not been deserved—the Cauldron had been won in a war full of blood and sacrifice, one her sister and his mate had nearly lost their life in, but…well. Surely they could have found a more secure place to display it than their townhouse in Velaris. A place where it could not have gotten stolen by only the Mother knew whom, or better yet—a place where no one, not even Feyre and Rhysand, could ever find it again.

It was too late for such semantics. Despite an entire Valkyrie region searching the skies for a sign of it, the Cauldron was simply…gone.

Nesta believed it to have been an inside job. After all, there were only a handful of people outside of Velaris aware of the city’s existence at all, let alone the High Lord and Lady’s private residence. But the Head Valkyrie had questioned them all—and found nothing at all.

For the first twenty years, Elain searched for it, too—anything to get out of her village, really, and the ghosts of a life she longed to leave behind. An engagement to a local lord’s son might have been the dream of many females back home, but it was, and never would be, Elain’s

The missing Cauldron had given her the opportunity she’d been searching for, and Elain did not look back when Feyre asked for her help. In her travels, though…she discovered a beauty to the seas, to the vast world they opened up for her taking—and so, after too many hopeless clues and tearful conversations with her sister, Elain had let the waves consume her entirely.

She did not think she would ever have to worry about the Cauldron again. She’d hoped, perhaps foolishly, that it had lost itself to the world just as she wished it would. But then Elain had met Vassa, and then Vassa had been taken by Koschei, and, well…

Her fate belonged to the Cauldron once again.

This time, though, it was hardly a chore, or a favour she was doing her little sister. It was a matter of life or death, of the family she’d found sailing the seas of Prythian. Vassa was a sister, too, a sister she loved dearly enough that when Koschei’s demands began to invade her visions, Elain did not hesitate.

She and Jurian had devised a plan—it wasn’t exactly foolproof, so to say, but she hoped it would be enough. It had to be.

“Do you know how much just one of the Mer scales runs for on the black market, Jurian?” Elain asked, more to prove a point than to get an actual answer. He knew—they’d been chasing them for the past two years. Still, she said, “Ten thousand gold marks. You could buy a manor in Spring for that kind of money.”

“I have allergies,” Jurian murmured.

“I know I didn’t just hear that.”

Jurian sighed. “It just seems…I don’t know, Elain. The Mer people are folktale. If your so-called Undersea were to exist, we would have found it in Adriata.”

“The High Lord’s libraries clearly point to the seas of Day,” Elain pressed.

Jurian snorted. “Are you sure you read that right? We didn’t exactly have a lot of time in that library, you know.”

She cut him a look sharper than the sword at her side. “I’m sure. I got the information we needed with a few minutes to spare.”

“I think your posters are still hanging at the entrance.”

Elain wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like the way my hair looks in those ones.” When it came to painting, the Day Court forces were no Feyre.

“They put quite the bounty on your head, you know,” Jurian added. “If that isn’t flattering, then I don’t know what is.”

Elain grinned. “Well, I stole some really valuable books.”

“I’ll bet.” He looked out to the sea again, that rugged face turning more solemn as he studied the horizon—and the shore stretching far ahead. “How do you know the scales will be enough to get Vassa back?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t know. But, if we can find the Mer here and get the scales we need…perhaps we can bargain with Koschei to take them instead. Their magic is forgotten, just as he is. He might find them to be enough.”

“That’s a big if, Elain.”

She shrugged. “At the very least, we might be able to use them to trace the Cauldron. I’ve sent a letter to Velaris—Amren volunteered her assistance.”

Jurian shuddered.

“Don’t be a baby,” Elain rolled her eyes. “She’s useful. Ancient.”

“Precisely.”

“I just…” He shook his head, his brown curls catching the sunlight. “Things are weird enough as they are. You Fae are hardly accepting of pirates, let alone humans.”

Elain tucked a loose strand of hair behind an arched ear. “I’m a pirate,” she declared, letting some of the pride she’d buried deep in her chest creep into her tone. “I am happy to share at least half of the burden with you.”

Jurian’s warm hand covered her own. “You’re a good friend, Elain,” he said. “You could have left—could have sailed off after that whole fiasco with Koschei.” He gave her a light squeeze. “But you chose to stay.”

She could not meet his stare—not when the salt in her eyes had begun to burn too much, blurring her own gaze as she turned to face the shallowing water. “I’ve run away before,” she told him quietly. “No more.”

“No more,” Jurian agreed. He had a past of his own—and, when the time was right…he would tell her. And she would embrace it without question.

“I’ll tell you what,” Elain started, her throat suddenly tight. “It’s a big day we’ve got tomorrow. Tell the crew we’ll be dining at the local tavern tonight?”

Slowly, Jurian turned to her—and smiled. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

***

The Pearl was a small ship—small enough not to raise suspicions when they’d docked in Port Denera. The flag—a Mer tail with a pearl resting between its fins—had been carefully folded away prior to their arrival, the sigil of Elain’s crew all but too recognisable in those parts of Prythian.

It wasn’t that Elain had no moral compass whatsoever, but, over the years, she had learned that sometimes, taking her life into her own hands had a tendency to pay off a whole lot more than simply letting it run its course. Had she lived by a different set of rules, she would have long been married to the new Lord Nolan, never having left her hometown and spending her days at the beach, looking out to the sea and wishing for a life never to be.

It could have been a good life, perhaps—but it would never be the life she wanted, the life she craved. Besides, it wasn’t like Elain had ever been given a good example to follow. Feyre, after all, had escaped her own arranged marriage and ran right to the deepest, darkest corners of Night, Nesta following shortly after. It was only fair that Elain followed the family tradition.

Father had been devastated—Elain’s engagement, after all, had been his final, desperate attempt at seeing his daughters well off before his passing. After Feyre and Nesta’s disobedience, as he’d called it, Father had assumed his daughters had simply rebelled because they wished to remain home. Perhaps that was why, after having tried marrying Feyre off to Spring and Nesta to Hybern, he’d settled for seeing Elain with a small, local nobleman.

Elain did not care for riches—well, she hadn’t cared then. Now, having seen all that the world had to offer, she supposed she did enjoy having a few pearls and gold around her neck at times. But it hadn’t been the match itself that bothered her—she was sure Greysen Nolan was perfectly nice and well-mannered—but the fact that Father hadn’t even asked if he was who Elain wanted, if he’d even cared if she could ever love Greysen at all.

As cliché as it sounded, love was exactly what Elain craved so viciously. And now, decades later, she had finally found that love—here, out at sea, with the waves embracing her wholly and eternally. This—the Pearl—was her home.

She sure hoped home wouldn’t mind seeing her stumble back aboard in a few hours, when she was well and thoroughly drunk out of her mind.

Aside from pearls and jewellery, Elain had developed a taste for ale, and it just so happened that the Port Denera tavern was famous for the golden drink. It tasted like liquid gold in her cup, leaving a tinge on her tongue that sent her senses spiralling and flushed her cheeks with bright-pink heat.

The crew seemed to be enjoying themselves, too, and it was only for that reason that she’d allowed her instincts to abandon ship for a moment or two. Well, perhaps three. She hadn’t seen Jurian this happy and relaxed since Vassa had been taken—a sign of how truly tired he must have been these past few weeks, of how badly he needed an evening to forget.

The thought sobered her up just a little, and Elain remembered the true reason she’d allowed this unusual night out in a town where the entire army was on the lookout for Captain Archeron. She did feel slightly guilty for misleading Jurian into thinking it was simply out of the goodness of her own heart—into omitting the one, small ulterior motive that had lately seemed to be driving nearly every decision of hers.

Information.

While the fishermen in the East of the Day Court had no knowledge of the Mer, the folk of Port Denera no doubt sang of the old creatures lurking beneath the sea. She’d already picked up on a few shanties on the way to the tavern, humming the words quietly to herself as she searched the lyrics for anything valuable. The Mer’s magic appeared to be as sharp as their teeth, capable of stirring the waves and calling upon storms. The strongest of them could lure the innocent, hungry wanderers into their traps with a lulling voice and mesmerising eyes, ones that reflected the soul’s deepest desires just as the surface of the sea reflected the sun above. Once captured, they’d sink those teeth into the flesh of their prey, and drag them under—never to be seen again.

Elain hummed the tune again cheerfully, excitement bubbling up in her chest—well, she supposed the bubbles might have had to do with some of the barrels of alcohol she’d consumed. Still, this was promising. All she needed was a name—a lagoon, or a hidden grotto, perhaps, where she could locate a lair. Her Cauldron-blessed sword would do the rest of the job.

Somewhere far beyond her peripheral vision, she heard the silver hum happily, already summoned by the rather bloodthirsty thought.

It was not that Elain wanted to murder the Mer in cold blood. She did not enjoy killing (she could have sworn her blade huffed at the sentiment), but if there was no other way to acquire the scales, she would do it. She loved Vassa enough to do whatever it took—the exiled, Firebird queen would do the exact same for her.

For what had to have been the hundredth time, Elain looked around the tavern, her somewhat blurry gaze scanning the bustling area. It was a lot more crowded than she’d expected—which proved a good thing all the same. It was a lot harder to get spotted in a sea of creatures of all shapes and sizes, and it sure helped that they all seemed piss-drunk, too.

The local shanty found its way onto her lips once more, and she sang it absently, her attention entirely focused on some old wraith somehow downing two bottles of wine at once. Her sharp nails scraped against the glass as she drank, and Elain watched, completely entranced at what she’d never thought could be accomplished before.

In the morning sun so bright, the sailors set to sea,

Their hearts as bold as brass, their spirits ever-free.

But careful, sailor, please, beware the waves that dance and play,

Beneath this sunny surface, a wicked mermaid lay.

“Sounds terrifying.”

Elain jumped.

The ale in her hand fell to the ground with a loud clunk, the sound immediately drowned out by a rumbling laughter of the crows. The golden liquid spilled over her, sticking to the skin of her neck, her collarbones, the curves of her exposed breasts—until finally sinking into the white fabric of her corset. Elain swore under her breath, cursing her choice of garment for tonight, before finally looking up.

“Shit,” she swore again, for the lack of a better word—or, perhaps, because there was no word to describe the male standing before her.

The most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

A pair of shining eyes of molten gold looked her up and down, an auburn eyebrow quirking up in amusement. “Now, don’t tell me you’re disappointed,” he drawled, his voice rich and deep and smoother than the liquid she’d swallowed down her throat. “I spent a lot of time on my hair earlier tonight.”

Elain blinked—then blinked again. “Are you…hitting on me?”

His mouth—full and plush and gods she needed to get it together—twitched. “And here I was, thinking I was all too obvious,” he quipped.

She peeled her gaze off the soft waves of his hair, glistening under the tavern’s candlelight. “Perhaps you’re just not very good at it,” she remarked, thanking the Mother for keeping her tongue sharp when her mind bordered on insanity.

The stranger smiled openly now. “What’s your name?” he asked.

Elain angled her head an inch. “Why?”

Did she really just ask him that?

Perhaps it was time to order some water.

The male seemed entirely unbothered. “It’s not often you meet a beautiful female singing old folktales in the middle of a tavern,” he said, offering a one-shouldered shrug. “I find myself somewhat…intrigued.”

“Intrigued,” Elain repeated blankly.

His smile grew wider. “Quite,” he agreed. “Those are old, you know.”

Elain straightened—straightened and blinked again, her thoughts somehow collecting into one, singular stream as she remembered what, exactly, she had come to this tavern for. “Are they?” she asked, “I’ve just picked up on them an hour ago.”

“An hour?”

She offered a smile of her own. “I have an excellent memory.”

Those golden eyes glistened. “Is that so?” the male asked, his gaze sweeping down her body as though he had all the time in the world. “If I tell you my name, will you sing it for me, too?”

Focus, Elain. He’d mentioned the Mer shanties, did he not? “I doubt anyone will hear it,” she remarked. “I never see Port Denera this busy.”

“You’ve been here before?”

Elain waved a dismissive hand. “Once or twice,”

The male hummed. “Then you know today is an important day,” he said, that strange shade of amusement playing over his features once more. “The High Lord is mourning the loss of his dear wife and son, and we are drinking in a show of, ah…solidarity,” he finished, a passing faun raising his glass at them, as though emphasising his agreement.

Elain waited for him to get out of earshot. “Wife and son?” she questioned, searching the corners of her mind that stored everything she knew about her Court.. “Didn’t that happen three hundred years ago?”

Those eyes narrowed at her slightly, and the stranger tilted his head. “Do you think he should have moved on instead?” he asked, the question so quiet it may as well have been a breath—and yet, she’d heard it perfectly over the bustling crowd.

Elain considered. “I think it must have been a beautiful kind of love, if he’s mourning it so many centuries later.”

His auburn brow arched in surprise. “What did you say your name was, lady…?”

Elain snorted. “Oh, I’m no lady.” She set her glass on a nearby table. “Haven’t been for a while.”

“You certainly look like one,” he remarked, that smile once again creeping back onto his ridiculously handsome features.

She couldn’t resist. “Do I, now?”

He chuckled, the sound low and honeyed. “Oh, absolutely.”

“And are you in the habit of flirting with all the ladies you pick up in a tavern?” Elain teased.

“No, no. I usually let them come to me.” He winked. “I can be a good singer too, you know.”

Elain smiled.

“I’ll take your word for it,” she laughed. “So, you know those shanties, too?”

His eyes glittered.

There it was.

“Some of them,” he agreed.

“Do they hold any truth?” she pressed. Come on, come on, come on…

“Sometimes,” he nodded. “Does it matter?”

You have no idea, Elain thought. “It does. I’m looking for…” she hesitated. “Information.”

“Oh?”

“The books in Day’s library state I might find it here,” she added carefully.

Something like realisation crept onto his features. “You wish to know about the Merpeople,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. Elain’s gaze flickered to the movement. “How did you get access to those books?” he asked.

“It’s not important,” she told him, eyeing the golden-brown muscles flexing under the candlelight.

“I disagree,” the male said, “those books are extremely well-guarded.” Was that admiration she’d heard in his tone?

“What was your name, again?” Elain asked him.

The male smiled. “Would you like to come outside with me?”

As if. “I’m not exactly in a hook-up mood right now, sorry,” she told him, though uncertain if the words rang entirely true.

He smiled—as though he knew. “What about information?” She felt her brows flick up. “I thought so. Now, shall we? It’s more quiet out back,” he added, gesturing to the tavern’s back door.

“I like it loud,” Elain countered. The more people drowning their conversation, the better.

“So do I,” he winked. “Another time, baby, I promise.”

Elain rolled her eyes. “Very funny,” she said, then dared a quick glance around the space again. Come to think of it, the couple at the table near where the two of them stood were awfully close—close enough that Elain decided not to risk it. She nodded to the stranger. “Let’s go.”

“Just so that we’re clear,” he started as they made their way through the crowd, “once you get those scales, we’re splitting the profits.”

“We can discuss the money later,” Elain countered. Like hell she was going to share anything with him.

“If that is what you wish,” he nodded, and opened the door.

The fresh air hit her almost unexpectedly, but it was a welcome change from the stuffy tavern in the back. She breathed in the salt carried in by the sea, her thoughts clearing up enough that she could finally focus on the matter at hand without unnecessary…distractions.

The distraction flashed her a smile, the beach behind him illuminated by the dying sunlight. “So, Mer scales, hmm? What do you need those for?”

“That,” Elain said firmly, “is none of your business.”

He chuckled again, the sound different this time—less than that deep, raspy sound she’d heard before, but more…fluid, like tea stirring in a cup. Warm. Inviting. “Oh, you have no idea,” he said quietly—and reached out his hand.

“Come with me,” the stranger told her.

Elain frowned. “I’m already here,” she pointed out. “You wanted to leave the tavern,” she reminded him.

He hummed—and she could have sworn it was like a melody pouring from his chest. “Yes,” he told her, stepping back until his feet—bare, she now noticed—reached the sand. “Let’s go a little further, alright?”

Elain stepped forward. “I…don’t understand,” she said. Still, she moved in closer.

He offered her a gentle smile. “Just one more step for me, gorgeous, please,” he tried again, his hand still outstretched.

“Okay.” She reached the sand now, too—but he had somehow moved back a few steps again, inches away from the waves’ embrace.

“Good girl,” he purred, the water now kissing his skin. Elain stepped in closer. “You’re very beautiful, you know,” he told her, angling his head slightly. She watched as his long hair spilled down his back in waves softer than the very sea—and met his gaze again, only to find it dark. “Almost beautiful enough to hide that rotten soul of yours.”

That gold had tarnished—enough to hide that bright, enticing gleam.

“Yes,” Elain agreed.

“Mmm, I thought so,” he mused. “I just need you to take a few more steps, alright? We’re almost at the shore,” he added, his voice like a lullaby, reassuring.

“Yes, I’ll follow you,” she agreed again.

“You’re doing so well for me,” he praised. “I might even consider making your death painless,” he whispered, watching her closely as she, too, neared the edge of the water. “Though that wasn’t the kind of death you had planned for my kind, was it?” he asked, a certain sharpness to his tone that made her open her mouth. “Oh, no need to answer that, baby,” he interrupted, “but I do appreciate your eagerness.”

Elain nodded. “Whatever you wish.”

He smiled, flashing his teeth. A perfect, pearly set of sharp blades—sharp enough to tear her flesh apart. “That’s a good girl,” he hummed, and she could have sworn she heard her soul sing in answer. “Now, step into the sea.”

Elain stopped inches from the seafoam. “Will you give me your hand?” she asked him shyly.

His features softened—though the sharp, predatory smile remained. “Of course, my rotten, terrible lady,” he purred. “Come with me.”

Elain slid her hand in his—and waited.

His skin, surprisingly, was warm—sun-kissed, as if he hadn’t spent an entire lifetime in the dark depths of the Undersea. He felt smooth, too, with some coarseness here and there that let her know his palm was no stranger to holding a weapon—a trident, perhaps, if the songs of the fishermen had, indeed, held any truth to them.

The leaves behind her rustled—and Elain finally, finally released a breath.

“No,” she told him, her voice still feigning that blissful softness. “No, I don’t think I will.”

The merman blinked. “What?”

Elain gave him a smile that was purely Fae—one that let him know she was a monster, too. “It was a nice try, really,” she said, her free hand reaching back to her belt. “Sorry it didn’t work out.”

A pair of iron cuffs appeared in her grip—and, in a flash of a second, found its way onto the merman’s wrists.

His skin sizzled, and he hissed sharply, those dark eyes wide and not leaving hers for one second—but Elain held on, murmuring the spell she’d memorised under her breath.

She could never come to the land of the Mer unprepared.

“Duck!” Jurian yelled behind her.

She only had a fraction of a moment to see the bow in his hands—to stop him before he released the arrow.

Elain didn’t stop him, though.

She ducked.

***

“I can’t believe you caught one of them,” Jurian said in disbelief. “Good work, really, Elain, but did you have to bring him onto the ship?”

From the corner of her eye, she caught a flicker of movement behind the bars. The merman rose to his full height—he seemed taller in the constrained space of the brig, somehow—and met her gaze directly.

“Your name,” he said as though in a daze. “Elain.”

Elain cut her friend a look. “Thank you, Jurian.”

Jurian bounced off the wall. “Sorry,” he shrugged, his tone suggesting he wasn’t sorry at all.

“It didn’t work,” their prisoner said, more to himself now than his jailors.

“What didn’t work?” Jurian asked him sharply.

The merman looked at him—and Elain knew it took everything in her quartermaster not to flinch under his scrutiny. “My spell,” he explained slowly, then turned toward her again. “It didn’t work on you,” he repeated.

“Perhaps you’re not as good as you thought,” Jurian said.

He scoffed, as though the remark pulled him out of whatever fog had clouded his thoughts. “My name is Lucien Spell Cleaver,” he declared, his voice louder now, stronger. “Firstborn son of Helion Spell Cleaver, Prince of the Undersea—and heir to the High Lord of the Day Court.”

Beside her, Jurian went entirely still. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure she was moving at all, either.

She may have been a pirate, but kidnapping a High Lord’s son—nay, his heir—was an act of treason, and Elain really wished to see one hundred before eventually dying a horrible, undoubtedly painful death. Quite common in her profession, really.

“Impossible,” she whispered. “Helion’s son is dead—as is his wife.”

“Clearly not,” Jurian murmured.

The male—Lucien—narrowed his gaze at the two of them. “We have been in hiding for the moment I was born. There was no denying what I was, not until I learned how to glamour myself, and my mother—she took me back to her people to protect me,” he explained.

“Does the High Lord know?” Elain breathed. He was lying. He had to have been.

Still, it was nice to at least know his name. Fake or not, it pleased her, for some reason. Lucien.

“Of course,” he scoffed. “The ‘Summer Estate’ he leaves for six months every year is Undersea.”

The answer was detailed enough that Elain’s heart quickened. “You really are Lucien Spell Cleaver?” she asked.

“And you,” Lucien nodded, “are Elain Archeron. Pirate…and Mer killer, apparently.”

“I haven’t killed anyone,” Elain protested.

“Yet,” he finished for her. “You were going to kill me,” he said, those golden eyes—back to normal now that he was at their mercy—settling on her as he added, “You still are.”

“I haven’t decided yet,” she scrambled. Some pirate she was—some of her rivals back East would have made her walk the plank for her hesitation.

Still, Elain could not bring herself to remember why…

“Why do you want my scales?” Lucien asked, interrupting her trail of thought—completing it, really.

“I told you, that is none of your business,” she told him, though her voice lacked her previous conviction this time.

“It is, if you still want them,” he countered.

“Why on earth would you give us your scales?” Jurian demanded.

“Well, I wouldn’t,” Lucien shrugged, then lifted his iron-bound hands into view. “As you can see, I am not in my Mer form, and will not be until you release me back into the sea,” he argued. “So, why don’t you just let me go, I give you my scales, and everyone wins?”

“Because you’re very obviously lying,” Elain cut in. “And you and your little Undersea army are going to sink my ship the moment it sails.”

The corner of his lip ticked upwards. “Is the word of a Prince not credible enough for you, Elain Archeron?”

“Not particularly,” she replied calmly. Princes, Lords—she’d heard their promises before, and ran to the sea to escape them.

“You are unlike any Mer hunter I’ve ever met before,” Lucien hummed, as though in thought.

Elain frowned. “There are hunters?”

“Of course,” he told her. “My father has disposed of as many of them as he could, but some still emerge every few years, hoping to see if the songs are true.” His expressions sombered. “Our scales are very valuable.”

“So we’ve heard,” Jurian said.

Lucien’s gaze flickered up. “It is money, then,” he said matter-of-factly, though something like anger lingered in the back of his throat.. “You wish to kill my people for a few gold marks?”

Elain swallowed.

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, princeling,” Jurian seethed.

Elain placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Take a breath, Jurian,” she told him quietly. “Why don’t you leave us alone for a moment?”

Jurian looked at her—then back at Lucien again. “Let me know if you need help killing him,” he said darkly. Then, “For the record, I don’t care what you are,” he told Lucien. “You’re just annoying the shit out of me.”

And with that, he was gone, the wooden stairs carrying the echo of his steps. Only when they faded did Lucien finally say, “I like him.”

“He shot you,” Elain reminded him.

Lucien shrugged. “It wasn’t an ash arrow, now, was it? We live to forgive. Besides, I’m healed now.” Indeed, the wound in his shoulder had now closed almost entirely. “Well, almost,” he said, pointedly raising his wrists back into the light.

Elain had hoped the iron would work—it was an old superstition the humans thought could harm the Fae, but it had to have stemmed from somewhere. With Day’s libraries proclaiming the Merpeople as millenia older than the Fae, Elain figured it wouldn’t hurt to try.

“Sorry about the iron bars,” she said, nodding to Lucien’s cell. “Precautions.”

“I would have expected nothing less,” Lucien said—then leaned back, letting the back of his head rest against the wood. “So.”

Elain released a breath.

“Alright,” she braced herself. He was her future High Lord, apparently—if she lied, she was already dead. “What do you know of Koschei?”

“Who?”

“Nothing, then,” Elain sighed. “He is a death-lord—a god-like being trapped somewhere deep in the Continent. His magic is even more ancient than yours.”

Lucien’s brows furrowed. “And you seek to…take his magic for yourself?”

“I want nothing to do with his magic,” Elain told him hotly, earning an arched eyebrow in response. “It is revolting. But, it also currently binds my friend’s soul to Koschei himself, and he will not give her up unless we offer him something in exchange.”

“Mer scales?”

“He wants the Cauldron,” she explained. “We are hoping the scales will do for now.” She fought the urge to bury her face in her hands. Was the plan truly that hopeless? Was Vassa going to be trapped…forever?

In her misery, she hardly noticed Lucien had gone strangely quiet.

“Our scales do not even compare to the sheer power of the Cauldron,” he said, the words barely above a whisper.

Elain laughed bitterly. “If this is your way of talking me out of it, you should know I’m pretty desperate,” she told him. “I’ll do whatever it takes to get my friend back.”

At that, Lucien said nothing. He only stared at her in thought, his eyes shimmering despite the darkness she and Jurian had shoved him into.

Then, “I see.” He stepped forward then—and halted an inch from the iron bars. “I was wrong about you.”

That, Elain did not expect.

“I told you, your spells do not work on me.”

“I’m well aware,” Lucien hummed. “I speak the truth. What is your friend’s name?”

Her throat threatening to close up, Elain managed, “Vassa.” She shook her head. “She’s like a sister to me. She’s Jurian’s…”

Understanding dawned on his features.

“That makes a lot of sense,” Lucien said.

“Yes,” Elain whispered. “Yes, I suppose it does.”

Lucien studied her closely. “And do you have a…?”

Elain almost laughed—though she supposed it was better than breaking down in front of the man she’d imprisoned aboard her own ship. “Don’t tell me you’re back to your flirting strategy now,” she told him.

Lucien smiled—a true smile this time, though Elain wasn’t sure how she knew. “Was I truly that obvious?”

“I knew what you were,” she gestured over him as if it was enough of an explanation. “No one else has eyes like that.” Like the morning sun itself.

“Now who’s the shameless flirt, Elain?”

Elain chuckled. “Don’t flatter yourself.” She met his gaze again. “The song summoned you, did it not?” she asked. “You weren’t at the tavern when I arrived.”

Lucien nodded. “I heard it from beneath the waves.”

“I’m not that good a singer.”

“No, you’re not,” he said, his smile fading with the words. She found herself wanting to see it again. “It was for another reason that I heard you. I recognise that now.”

“Recognise what?”

Lucien hesitated. “I need to…” He shook his head. “I—I can’t be sure, it doesn’t…” He locked his eyes with her own again, and she watched him patiently as he searched her gaze. “Elain,” Lucien tried again, and she could have sworn his voice trembled with the word. He loosed a breath. “Come with me.”

Elain looked at his outstretched hand—careful not to let the bars graze his skin. “I told you—”

“I’m not using my magic,” Lucien interrupted. “Just…come with me. Undersea.”

“Like hell I will,” she crossed her arms. “I don’t trust you.”

Lucien just stared at her—started as if some internal battle was playing out deep inside him, one she could almost feel in her own chest.

Then, his hand pulled back, and he laid his palm flat over his chest. His heart, Elain realised, her gaze dipping toward it.

She heard it, then—a quiet, yet powerful sound, like a wave crashing over the shore. The steady beating of his heart.

It couldn’t have been—and yet…

And yet, somehow, Elain heard it. Continued to hear it even now, even stronger as Lucien proclaimed, “With my life,” he began, “I promise to do you no harm.” There was an urgency in his gaze as he pleaded, “Just get in the water with me, and I will be yours.”

Elain paused. “Your scales, you mean,” she corrected, suddenly finding herself entirely out of breath.

“Yes,” Lucien agreed. “That.”

Elain studied the bars keeping him away—then the iron key strapped beside her Cauldron-blessed sword. She swore on the Mother herself she could hear it whisper: Do it.

Perhaps she was simply losing her mind.

“Are you going to make me regret this, Lucien?” she asked him.

He simply stared back. “Are you?”

She supposed the question was reasonable enough. “Don’t tell Jurian I’m doing this,” she warned Lucien. “He’s going to kill me.”

Two minutes later, Lucien was free.

It was a blessing that they’d somehow missed Jurian, really—that she’d guided Lucien through the narrow space upstairs until they arrived at the starboard hand in hand, the sea soft and patient. Waiting.

What the hell was she doing? The only thing Elain knew for certain right now was that she was almost certainly going insane, and that Lucien’s hand in hers was warm and steadying in the buoying ship—and that those steps she was hearing somewhere behind them were, without a shadow of a doubt, Jurian’s.

Whatever Lucien was trying to prove, he had to do it now.

“Do we…jump?” she asked him.

“ELAIN!” Jurian yelled.

“I guess so,” Elain answered for him—and, together, they jumped.

The water, surprisingly, was warm despite the middle of the night. Helion liked to keep his Court warm at all times, but she supposed the sea, at least, would have carried some chill to it. It was then that she realised she’d never swam in those waters before—that she’d spent her lifetime admiring their every corner, but had never actually felt their beauty herself.

Everything happened so quickly.

The moonlight shimmered atop the sea, then sank deep beneath its surface, illuminating the space between them. Illuminating Lucien as his glamour faded and revealed the Prince of the Undersea in his true, unmasked form.

Elain could have drowned there and then.

The scales dotting his body glimmered under the light in a symphony of golds, bronzes and maroons, glowing even underwater as they formed a long, finned tail that floated gently with the current. He was sunlight come to life, the forest on a warm, autumn morning, the golden thread coming to life as it wrapped itself around her ribs, and Elain knew—knew this was the true beauty the sea had meant to show her from the very first moment she’d set sail.

“You…” She struggled for a breath. “You’re so beautiful.”

Lucien smiled, a webbed hand reaching for her own. “So are you, he said, placing her palm over his bare chest—just as he did aboard her ship moments ago. This time, though—this time, Elain could hear as their two heartbeats blended into one, a melody that made her own soul sing as Lucien whispered, “I am yours.”

The thread around her ribs tightened, forever to remain.

“You…” Elain blinked. “Oh.” She covered their joined hands with another, as if to make sure. “Lucien.”

“I needed to make sure,” he breathed, pulling her in. “You are my mate.”

There was reverence in the way he’d spoken the words—like some sacred spell only Elain was privy to hear from his lips.

She wanted to try them too.

“You are mine.”

“Yes,” he assured her.

“And I am yours.”

“Yes,” Lucien whispered again.

“Your scale—”

He squeezed her hands tighter. “Everything I am belongs to you now, Elain,” he interrupted. “But you will not need them.”

Elain blinked once more. “I don’t understand, I—”

Lucien smiled. “We have the Cauldron,” he told her. “My father took it—from Velaris.”

Elain wasn’t sure she was breathing.

“No.”

“Its wards protect us—have been keeping us safe for decades,” Lucien explained. “I think it is time we take our safety into our own hands,” he added, his thumb brushing over her palm.

Did he mean—?

Elain shook her head. “I couldn’t—”

“Where you go, I go,” Lucien said. “I am yours, Elain, and you are mine. Together, we’ll get your family back. And,” he hesitated, “If—if you still wish to have me around then—”

Her mate.

“Kiss me,” Elain demanded.

Lucien stilled. “What—”

“Now, Lucien.”

And he did.

Her eyes fluttered shut as Lucien’s mouth clashed into her own, and the world around then exploded—he tasted of salt and the sun-warmed breeze. He tasted like the rest of her gods-damned life, though she supposed eternity could never be enough to satiate the hunger one kiss had instilled deep inside her. Lucien kissed her as if she was the world, as if she was the light illuminating the sea embracing them, his lips hot and soft and all-consuming.

They had a war to face—but, as long as they faced it together…

Elain pulled back, their hearts pounding as one. She smiled at the sound.

“Let’s do this.”

#acotar gift exchange #elucien #pro elucien #elain x lucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elucien fic #elucien fanfiction #acotar #my writing

112 notes · View notes

separatist-apologist · 8 months ago

Text

Traitors Never Win

Summary: When Feyre Archeron's father promises she'll marry notorious crime boss Rhysand Moreno, Feyre will do anything to get out of the arrangement…including framing him for murder.

Rhysand isn't about to let her go so easily.

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Now I get to write nessian

Rhys knew he was on borrowed time.

Never more so than when Cassian and Azriel crossed into Wisconsin to track down the newly reunited Nesta and Elain. The sisters were officially out of custody and it was only a matter of time before someone went to check on Feyre. Rhys was no closer to making her his wife that morning than he had been when he met her.

It occurred to him that he could force her. Drag her home, tie her up, gag her, and call someone willing to overlook her distress. He wanted a more auspicious start for them rather than repeat his own mothers marriage. She’d never been happy with his father despite his fathers obsession with her.

Rhys rolled to his side where Feyre lay, her back facing him. Gently, he ran his finger over the soft ridges over her spine and considered his next move. He needed her—and refused to give her back. He was out of options, though.

For the two of them, it was now or it was never. If he told her, though, Feyre would dig her heels in. Stubborn to a fault, Rhys believed she’d refuse to marry him on principle, even if she wanted him. It had to be a conclusion she came to on her own, even if he manipulated her into thinking she wanted it.

Staring at his phone, Rhys reread the message Cassian sent that morning.

Get home if you can. Koschei is on our trail and if he’s found us, he’ll find you.

Oh, no doubt he was sending one of his little soldiers out to Rhys. It was fucked up and he knew it…but maybe a little danger was what Feyre needed. Just enough adrenaline to see him clearly, make a decision she wouldn’t normally, and see it finalized before she could change her mind. Rhys could keep her distracted with his body if she agreed, trapped in a rose colored haze for the next few weeks.

And then it would be too late. There was no divorce for them.

Besides, if that didn’t work he could always just get her pregnant, assuming she wasn’t already. He’d been too nervous to ask if she was using birth control, unwilling to admit any part of his fucked up plans. He’d been poking around her cabinet looking for them—but maybe she used an insert.

Maybe he ought to stop obsessing over her body, he reminded himself. Everything was fine—case and point, Feyre was naked in his bed and he hadn’t had to force her to do it. And while she had kicked him in the stomach once, she’d also flipped herself onto her stomach and raised her ass in the air when she felt his cock pressed against her tailbone.

And he’d take it.

“Hey, pretty baby,” he whispered, brushing his lips against the back of her neck. It was fun to see goosebumps rise on her shoulders, to feel her stir against the morning light pouring through the windows. “Are you hungry?”

Feyre was always hungry—if Rhys didn’t know what she wanted, he could always start with food.

“Do you ever sleep in?” she mumbled.

“Would you like to?” he questioned. Rhys loved to be up early, with a cup of coffee in one hand while he sat outside and watched the sun rise. It reminded him that he was alive and Rhys knew too well how much a gift that was. Especially for someone like him, forever hunted. Even then, Rhys could feel Koschei getting closer and closer.

Not the man himself, of course. He’d let people like Hybern do the work for him, venturing out only if everyone around him failed. If he hadn’t been so focused on Feyre, Rhys would have been working on drawing them out and setting his little traps.

Maybe he still could.

“Yes,” Feyre interrupted, unaware of the slant of his thoughts. “Until at least noon, but maybe all day.

“A whole day in bed?” Rhys practically purred, trying to imagine it. In his daydreams, they were somewhere tropical and isolated, surrounded by warm water and open skies.

Feyre rolled onto her back, making him painfully aware of her perky breasts staring up at him. “Yeah, Rhys. You never spend a day just rotting in bed?”

“No,” he admitted. He got up, he went to the gym, and he went to work—always in that order. Even when he was sick, Rhys thought it was better to get up and power through than to stay in bed doing nothing.

Still, if Feyre was in his bed, the thought of nothing suddenly seemed exceptionally appealing.

“Never?” she questioned, blue eyes focused on his face.

“I could be tempted,” he told her, trying—and failing—not to look at her naked breasts.

“Today?”

This was what he needed—Feyre, inviting him to stay in bed with her where the activities were fairly limited and he was positive she’d have sex with him at least once.

“Why not,” Rhys agreed, sliding his phone onto the table next to the bed.

Feyre settled among the pillows once she’d reached over the edge of the bed for his shirt—he was letting her wear them despite losing access to her body, if only because he liked the sight of her in his too big shirt.

She wore it like a dress, drenched in his scent. There was something primal about it, he decided. Rhys liked the way she looked in his clothes, his bed, his everything.

“What now?” Rhys questioned, hoping she was going to let him slip beneath the blanket and have his wicked way with her.

Feyre considered his question. “Now we just…lay here. We could watch something, or—” “Or we could talk,” he suggested. Feyre raised her brows.

“Is that a euphemism?”

“No. I like the sound of your voice,” Rhys admitted. “Tell me about your life.”

“What part?” she questioned.

“All of it,” Rhys said, greedy as ever. “Tell me all of it.”

Feyre balked a little—did he want to know about being a baby, she wondered? Yes, he’d declared. Start from the beginning, tell him everything. And Feyre, for her part, did. It wasn’t linear, but she told him stories about her life while Rhys listened, absorbing it all. He did get up to make breakfast, throwing on a pair of sweatpants and nothing else while Feyre trailed after him.

She was less prickly that morning, answering his questions when he asked. And Rhys had a thousand questions—a million, really—that he wanted answered. He brought the food into the bedroom, tempted to feed her fruit from his fingers though he abstained. No need to ruin what was turning into a perfect day.

“Why did you kill him?” Rhys heard himself asking later in the day. She’d danced around her father, omitting him from most of her stories.

Feyre drew her knees to her chest, back resting against the wooden headboard. “I was angry,” she admitted. “I’d been angry for a long time.”

“Why?”

She grew silent for a moment, contemplating her feelings. “I guess…after our mom died, he just became something of a shell. He was spending money recklessly, he was making decisions without telling anyone…”

That explained her anger about their engagement, he supposed.

“All he wanted to do was hole up in his office. He left everything else to me and my sisters and we just…we weren’t accustomed to taking care of his household. Elain was taking care of him and Nesta was just so mad all the time which caused us to fight…I was just tired. And when he came home and he informed me he’d decided to marry me off, I guess I just snapped.”

“You know, I was at home when I heard the news he was dead,” Rhys told her, wondering if she cared about him at all. Feyre looked over, eyes bright again.

“Were you angry when they told you what I said?”

Rhys smiled. “No. I had a good laugh about it, though. If I was going to kill your father, I would have done a far neater job.”

“Were you? Going to kill him, I mean?”

“No. His debts would have killed him eventually without any help from me. I was merely a bandaid for his bigger problems. If you wanted him dead, you should have come to me.”

“And what? You would have done it? Just like that?” she asked skeptically, snapping her fingers to illustrate her point.

“Just like that,” Rhys agreed easily.

“Why me? Why not Nesta or Elain?”

Rhys couldn’t even remember what they looked like. He just shrugged. “Would you hate me if I told you that you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen?”

“No,” she replied with the pinkest cheeks he’d ever seen. “I’m starting to think its not possible to hate you.”

“I’m growing on you,” he said with a grin.

“Like a fungus,” she agreed. “You should hate me, you know.”

He shrugged. “I don’t see why. If I were in your position, I might have done the same.”

“I don’t think I’d be so forgiving,” she informed him, looking over to drink him in. “I don’t know if your face is that tempting.”

“What about the rest of me?” Rhys questioned, running a hand down his bare torso. “Maybe I should have sent you a picture of my cock—”

“That would not have helped!”

“You don’t know that,” he replied good naturedly. “It’s a nice cock.”

She didn’t argue, and Rhys didn’t push her. He knew the truth and besides, there was no point in ruining what was shaping into being a perfect day. She was in his bed, telling him about her life and for once they weren’t arguing or snapping. It was a little peek into the life he wanted—domesticated Feyre purring in his lap like a house cat.

“I didn’t plan it,” she finally said, eyes glazed with memory. “It just happened.”

“I don’t judge you for it,” Rhys told her, unwilling to admit that he couldn’t remember everyone he’d killed.

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t. I wasn’t thinking about you at the time. I planned to turn myself in—”

“Foolish,” Rhys hissed, immediately frustrated by the thought. Even with all his money and influence, Rhys didn’t think he could have kept her from prison.

Feyre offered him a small smile. “You sound like my sister.”

“You did the right thing,” he praised, not wanting her to feel an ounce of guilt on his behalf. “They’ll never tie me to it.”

“I said you did it,” Feyre reminded him.

Rhys tapped her nose with the tip of his finger. “You didn’t see me, little love. And just as soon as Azriel gets back, there will be no evidence tying you or me to that death.”

“Why do you say that?” Feyre asked, her face paling.

“Don’t worry about that,” he said quietly. “The less you know, the better.”

“I thought we were equals—”

“We would be if you were my wife,” Rhys shot back before he could stop himself. Feyre crossed her arms over her chest, eyes narrowing.

“Why? So I can’t testify against you—”

“So I don’t have to testify against you,” he snarled, suddenly furious. “You committed the crime, Feyre—not me. And one of these days some overzealous agent looking for a promotion is going to reexamine the scene, the evidence, and who was standing in that house that day and they’re going to realize what you’ve done.”

She took a breath. “They won’t.”

“They will,” Rhys replied. “Trust me—putting away a mobster is the dream of every cop. They write your names in books for that kind of take down. They’ll be looking for me…but they’ll find you. And then they’ll send some nervous, sweaty asshole to my door offering to look the other way if I tell them what happened when I tracked you down. That’s a tempting offer, Feyre.”

“Are you blackmailing me?”

Rhys didn’t think about it. “If I have to. Though, I’d prefer you willing.”

Feyre stood abruptly, her face unreadable. “I need a minute.”

“Take your time,” he replied, climbing out of bed himself. He let her walk toward the back of the cabin, assuming she was going to his office to think. Let her think about the day she’d sat on his cock while he worked, he thought sullenly. Rhys went to the living room so he could stare moodily out the window.

Nothing ever went the way he imagined. It was hard to celebrate fucking her when she didn’t like him or trust him. Would he blackmail her into being his wife? Rhys wanted to be the kind of man who would say not…but he knew he would. He knew if he couldn’t get her to agree in the next two days, he’d be tying her up again and threatening to turn her in.

“Rhys?” Feyre’s voice asked from behind him. He twisted to look at her, stepping to the left to keep balance.

“Ye—”

The glass behind him shattered and something threw him forcefully to the ground as Feyre screamed, arms up over her head.

“Get down!” he roared, terrified another bullet would silence her. He’d been shot, he realized—though rather than hitting him dead center, he’d been shot through the shoulder. It wasn’t ideal, but it was workable.

Someone was coming—Rhys could hear boots crunching against snow. Twisting, he turned to make his way to Feyre only to find she was gone. Fuck. Now he had two problems—a killer at his front door and a runaway wife out the back. He didn’t have time to grab a gun before the door kicked open.

He knew the bitch standing in front of him. He’d recognize that bottled red hair from space—Amarantha.

“Rhys,” she said, flashing him a vicious smile. “You’re getting sloppy.”

He forced himself to his feet, refusing to die on his knees. “Your aim is as good as it's always been.”

Amarantha shrugged, gloved hands holding her rifle firmly. “You know, I usually love our banter but today I just don’t have time. You’ll forgive my—”

A shot fired, sending Amarantha flying to the ground like a doll who’s strings had just been cut. Rhys looked up to find Feyre, barefoot and pantless, standing in the doorway holding a gun. He expected to see fear—or maybe shock—but all he found on that beautiful face of hers was grim determination.

“A friend of yours?” Feyre questioned, dancing back into the house in an attempt to avoid the snow.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Rhys replied. Feyre came to him, stepping over Amarantha’s body like it didn’t exist.

“You’re hurt,” she said, reaching out to touch the blood before pulling back.

“I’ll survive,” he replied, grateful adrenaline was keeping the pain at bay. This was what he’d wanted, right? A little danger to soften her? Maybe not like this—Rhys had assumed they’d have more of a warning and less bullets coming at them.

Still.

“We need to go,” Rhys told her, steering Feyre toward the bedroom. He’d kept her clothes from that first night specifically for this reason. He couldn’t drag her naked across the country, afterall. Rhys pulled out the jeans, t-shirt, and jacket before tossing it to the bed.

“What about your arm?” Feyre asked, gun still in hand. “Shouldn’t we dig it out?”

“You’re a doctor now?” Rhys asked, hating that he needed her to do this for him. Feyre shrugged.

“I’ve done it before. For my dad, I mean.”

“You’re a good girl, Feyre,” he murmured, wishing he had the time to bend her over the bed. Rhys could still fuck her, injured or not. In fact, he thought the sight of his blood smeared over her tits would send him into a frenzy. “My good girl.”

“I thought she killed you,” Feyre whispered as Rhys sat on the edge of the tub. “I thought…”

“I’m fine,” he told her, heart thudding in his throat. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Yeah,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Rhys couldn’t take his eyes off her while she worked, swallowing his pain so he didn’t upset her. Maybe, in another life, Feyre would have been a doctor—she certainly had a soft touch. She managed to get the bullet out in one go while he was lucky it hadn’t shattered into a million little pieces.

His arm burned by the time Feyre got to suturing, and all he wanted to do was lay down. Dried blood coated his upper half and stained his shorts, the towel beneath his feet, and likely the white tile, too.

“Can you stand?” Feyre whispered, brushing her fingers against his jaw.

“Of course,” he lied. “Go get dressed.” But he couldn’t. Rhys wobbled the moment he tried, flinging out his hand to hold the wall so he didn’t fall backward. His whole body trembled from the dull, throbbing pain from his wound that seemed to echo in his skull.

He didn’t know how long he stood there. Only that Feyre returned, more blur than woman, and led him out.

“You can go,” Rhys whispered as he collapsed to the bed, too heavy to move. His eye lids were iron, unwilling to open once they’d shut. “You should go.”

The blackness ate away at him before he heard what she said in response.

And then he was lost.

FEYRE:

Rhys was a big man.

She’d never really thought about it before he’d collapsed onto the bed, shirtless and bloody. A dull roaring filled Feyre’s ears as panic threatened to consume her. They couldn’t stay—someone else might be coming. So Feyre forced herself to swallow her fear so she could dress him in a pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt. She packed him a few things, unsure what he’d want to wear when he woke, and then began the arduous task of dragging his muscular body out to the car.

She did it, though. She put him in the back, her guns in the front, and then herself in the car. “We did it,” she said with a grin, turning toward the road with unrestrained glee. His car had a navigation system and after she thought she was far enough from the cabin, Feyre quickly typed in her destination.

And then she drove. It was strange to be in a car again—for the last five years, Feyre had biked everywhere she went. Tamlin had kept her isolated, perhaps to her benefit at the time. Now, though, Feyre finally felt uncaged. Free, somehow.

Feyre drove through the night without stopping, terrified that she was being tracked at first. After she was certain she wasn’t, Feyre worried about leaving Rhys’s unconscious body in the back of her car. The last thing she needed were the cops pulling them over and realizing who they were.

Sheer will alone would keep Rhys from dying.

He was a predictable man. Rhys woke with a start just before the sun began to rise, peering first out the window before looking between the seats at her.

“You’re still here,” he rasped. Feyre smothered her smile.

“Did you think I’d leave you to die?”

“Expected it, actually,” Rhys replied with a grimace. “Where are we?”

“Nevada,” Feyre replied with a grin.

Rhys blinked. “Why?”

“Oh, are you coy now?” Feyre half teased. “Why else would I be here?”

“Feyre—”

“I realized something,” she interrupted, uninterested in his attempts at nobility. It was too late now. “When you were down and I thought you were dead, it occurred to me that I didn’t want you dead. I want to keep talking to you, Rhys. And I know this whole situation is a mess, but I think I might be falling in love with you.”

“Oh, thank God,” he panted, resting his chin on the seat of her chair.

“Plus, I figured this was the only way you’d agree to take me home.”

“You know me so well, darling.”

“Now it's your turn,” Feyre murmured, needing a distraction from the decision she was about to make. “Tell me about your life.”

Rhys settled back against the seat with a soft groan and began to talk. Feyre half listened, mind occasionally wandering to her sisters. She could bring them all back together…though what would they say when they realized the last five years had been for nothing? She trusted them not to betray her, but didn’t trust they wouldn’t shun her.

Nesta, at least.

“What happened after your sister died?” Feyre questioned, wincing at the story of how she’d been shot in the back after his mother had been executed by a rival family.

“Dad went berserk,” Rhys murmured, eyes dark. “He wanted revenge which made him reckless. He died to a bullet, to…and I took over.”

“That must have been hard.”

Rhys shrugged. “Not as hard as you’re imagining. I miss my family, but I was groomed for this. Work is easy.”

“The last five years have been easy?” she questioned.

Rhys smiled. “Frustrating, I suppose…but I found you, didn’t I? Was it all worth it, Feyre?”

“Yeah,” she replied, unsure if that was true or not. There was no reason to give him the satisfaction of being right. “I’d do it all over again.”

Rhys liked that answer, murmuring something about foreplay. It was the perfect time to stop, get a marriage license, and then have a quick, quiet courthouse wedding. Rhys swore up and down he didn’t want anything flashy or big which suited Feyre more than fine. She hated to be the center of attention.

“I want to fly home,” Feyre whispered to him later that night when they were alone, pretending like neither one of them wanted to peel the other out of their clothes. “And I want you to tell your friends to let my sisters come home.”

“What else do you want?” Rhys asked her, fingers laced with hers as he kissed her fingertips.

“If you ever step out of this marriage, I’ll have your balls.”

Rhys chuckled. “I think that’s reasonable.”

There was no question if he needed to issue the same threat. Feyre wondered if Rhys was merely willing to tolerate her indiscretions or if he merely assumed she never would. Feyre knew Rhys well enough to assume if he ever caught her, he’d execute the unlucky man without sparing a second thought.

It should have bothered her and yet it didn’t. Maybe, she thought, she was just as messed up as he was. Maybe worse, because Feyre found herself rolling over to look at him.

“How is your shoulder?” she questioned.

“Fine,” he lied, eyes sharp with hunger.

“Oh? I guess you don’t need me to take care of you, then?” she asked, sliding her leg over his waist. Rhys swallowed.

“You ah…could check,” he said. Feyre straddled him, pushing the hem of his shirt upward over his chest before gently pulling it over his head. She was careful with his injured shoulder, removing that sleeve last so he didn’t have to raise it over his head.

Rhys merely watched, eyes wide while he waited to see what was about to happen. Perhaps this was the moment Feyre would pull out her knife and kill him. Feyre didn’t have a knife on her and the guns she’d stolen were hidden in the hotel room they were staying in, far out of reach.

She merely kissed the wound.

“You can be sweet when you want to be,” Rhys breathed, his good hand resting on her hip.

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Why not?” he replied, arching her neck as she pressed a kiss against the hollow of his throat.

“I want to see you live to old age, which means keeping you sharp.”

Rhys sucked in a shuddering breath, relaxing as she crawled down his body. It felt good not to pretend anymore—to just give in to the life that had always been waiting for her. Maybe she’d regret this in another five years.

But maybe not.

She didn’t right then, as she licked a path down his stomach toward the erection she knew was waiting for her. Rhys seemed to be perpetually aroused and today was no exception.

“Feyre,” he breathed as she pulled his cock from his shorts. “Come back here—”

“Stop talking,” she ordered, just before licking a stripe up his shaft. Rhys moaned, lifting his hips in the air. It was tempting to stop and ask him how often he’d fantasized about this. She didn’t. He’d tell her when they finished, if only because Rhys loved to talk more than he loved anything else. He told her his every thought, sometimes as he was thinking them.

Feyre liked that about him.

“Is this what you want?” she whispered, teasing the blunt head with her tongue.

“Yes,” he all but pleaded.

Feyre took him in her mouth like she’d done the first time, though she wasn’t hanging upside down. Stretching her jaw to accommodate him, Feyre watched through half lidded eyes to gauge his pleasure. In turn, Rhys watched her. He gathered her hair up in his hands, wincing from his wound. It clearly wasn’t painful enough to stop him and Feyre wasn’t going to demand it of him, either.

She wanted to make him feel good, easing her own mind after the day she’d had. She hadn’t told him how she’d had to drag him out to the car, assuming he understood how he’d gotten there. It didn’t make the experience any less harrowing.

Feyre worked on taking him deeper, until his cock was lodged in her throat as she softly gagged around him. Rhys swept his thumb over her jaw before moving his hand to her throat as she took him again, feeling himself through her skin.

“Fuck,” he whispered, keeping his hand loosely wrapped around her. He should have let her continue given how much he was obviously enjoying himself, but he didn't. Rhys tugged her, pulling her mouth off his cock so abruptly that strings of saliva came with her.

“Rhys,” she protested as he lifted his hips, trying to line himself up with her own body.

“Please,” he said in response, finding his target. Rhys slid into her with a fluid motion, both hands on her hips to guide her. “Take off your shirt.”

It was all she was wearing. Feyre had become used to wearing Rhys’s shirts and rather liked it, though she’d never admit it. In that moment, Feyre was happy to comply. She tossed her shirt to the floor as Rhys’s hands slid up her body to cup her breasts.

“You’re so fucking pretty, baby. Do you know that?”

Feyre only moaned, rocking her hips against him. While Rhys tried to touch her everywhere all at once, Feyre merely dug her nails into his broad chest and continued moving against him. Every time Feyre and Rhys met, her clit brushed against his skin causing her to tighten around him.

“You feel so good,” Rhys whined, arching his back. “This is my pussy now.”

It was an absurd thing to say and only a man like Rhys could pull it off. Rising up so Feyre was fully in his lap, Rhys pressed them chest to chest.

“You’re my wife,” he whispered against her neck. “Tell me you love me.”

“Rhys—”

His teeth grazed her throat. “Say it.”

“I love you,” she gasped after a particularly brutal thrust that left her brainless. Rhys kissed her, hands bracing her ass so he was doing most of the work. Somewhere in the very back of her mind, Feyre knew his arm must have been killing him.

Gripping the back of his hair, Feyre pulled Rhys back just enough to force him to look at her. “Now you.” He moaned, “I love you.”

That was enough to send them both careening over the edge, gasping and kissing long after her orgasm had faded. If they had neighbors on either side, they had surely heard everything…and would hear more as they night went on. Who needed sleep, anyway?

Who needed anything at all, beyond the man in front of her.

“Rhys?” she murmured, chin resting on his uninjured shoulder. “Will you do something for me?”

“Anything. Just name it.”

“Take me home.”

Rhys smiled, face pressed to her hair. “You got it, baby.”

#feysand #i literally finished this so i could start working on nessian seriously #also warning for egregious use of the word baby #and for rhys saying something i had to look away from as i typed #it embarrassed me hahaha

61 notes · View notes

aldbooks · 6 months ago

Text

Read on AO3

This story will officially be posted starting in July for Elucien Week but I'm sharing the prologue early!

Summary:

Seven years ago, persuaded by both her elder sister and a male she chose for herself, Elain Archeron rejected her Cauldron given mate. A male without home or Court, exiled by his own father. An outcast and a good male.

Two years later, when Azriel abandons her in favor of his newly discovered mate, Elain decides it’s time for a change and some distance from her family as she begins to regret her decision. She retreats to the Day Court at the invitation of its High Lord, Helion Spellcleaver and finds solace in the sunshine.

Now, after having made a home and life for herself as a courtier for the last five years, news reaches the Day Court that the High Lord of Autumn, Beron Vanserra, is dead. His eldest son has taken the throne and his wife is now free to be with the man she’s always loved- Helion.

But the Lady of Autumn arrives in Day with more secrets than her past affair with the High Lord and Elain suddenly finds herself face-to-face with the mate she rejected all those years ago. Lucien Vanserra... the High Lord’s true son and Day’s heir...

Rating:Explicit

words: 3322

Lucien Vanserra was everything amiable and clever and good. He was, perhaps, the only member of her family who, without need of proof, had fully trusted in her abilities and had, upon her description of the firebird queen, volunteered to find her. Even if she had, in the end, been found by her own father, Lucien had been there to bring them all home.

He was a good man- male. She knew this from her own observation, despite whatever venom spewed from the mouths of the others. She knew little of their history, though it seemed most of the animosity between them stemmed from the actions of his family, rather than his own.

She'd been too consumed with her grief over the loss of the life she'd planned with Graysen, in the beginning, to spare him more than awkward glances and stilted hospitality. They'd only managed to have two or three private conversations, most of them before the war, thanks to her family's overbearing need to chaperone them. But, in those brief moments, he had been honest about his intentions and expectations. That he simply wanted a chance to know her. To see if this was something they might want to pursue.

Despite her sister's insistence that he had tried to claim her, he had been clear that her choices were her own. That she did not belong to him, no matter what the laws in certain parts of Prythian claimed. He had explained some of his own past, had related to her heartbreak, and, in those moments, she had seen the kind of future they might have had.

But, as soon as he was gone, the others began dripping poison into her mind again. Her sister and Azriel had been the main culprits. Nesta, because she was still angry over what had happened to them, and Azriel who's jealousy had been plain, even before she had decided she wished to pursue anything with him.

And thus, it was an unfortunate occurrence that circumstances contrived to keep him constantly away from her, working in the interest of both the Night Court and Prythian as a whole as they approached the various conflicts which threatened their lives and in which Lucien played a crucial role.

After the battle with Koschei, Lucien had been severely injured and had spent weeks recovering in Spring. In that time, Azriel had convinced Elain to give in to the attraction shared between them.

Their joining had not been quite as romantic and fulfilling as she had hoped, but he had convinced her that he loved her, and that her feelings were just as strong. Convinced her to finally make a decision regarding the bond that still strung her soul to her mate's.

"But won't it hurt him?" she fretted, unable to stand the thought of causing another living being pain, regardless of how she felt about them. Lucien might be little more than a stranger to her still, but she did not wish to harm him for her own selfish desires. The bond might just as easily have been ignored as it had been the last three or more years, even if it meant they would forever be tied together.

But Azriel had wanted her with no strings holding her to another's mercy. "If he were a weaker male, perhaps," he said, a direct contrast to the way he had described the male not a day before as he tried to convince her of his own worthiness over Lucien's. "He will survive it."

"But will it hurt him?"

He'd pursed his lips for a moment before nodding, unable to lie to her. "A little."

In the end, Lucien had endured her rejection far better than Azriel- who had insisted on remaining nearby in case he lost control- had anticipated. Though there had been a moment, a brief flash of emotion, where she had felt his sadness, his pain, his humiliation, even a bit of anger- he had merely bowed his head, graciously accepted her wishes and left her in peace.

She had learned later, when her sister and her mate had confronted her and Azriel about it, that Lucien had formally declared his resignation from any and all positions held within the Night Court and announced his intention to leave Prythian entirely. Had departed within an hour of their meeting, not a single one of his belongings remained in the apartment he had kept, but rarely used in the city.

Rhysand had been furious at first. With Azriel more than her, at the loss of such an important ally, and Feyre's disappointment had been plain, though she did not speak against Elain's decision. Rhysand had fretted for weeks, worried that Lucien might change his mind about letting her go so easily. That he might invoke the ancient Autumn Court right of the Blood Duel in order to keep her, despite her rejection. A ritual Elain had been horrified to learn about, and shocked that anyone had actually thought it a real possibility, given what little she knew of Lucien.

But, when months passed without so much as a whisper from Lucien, or the Autumn Court, he had reluctantly accepted their relationship.

For two years, Elain had indulged in the bloom of a new relationship with the Night Court's Spymaster, ignoring every voice and instinct that told her she had made a mistake. Ignored the doubt in the back of her mind that told her she did not belong here. That, no matter how hard she tried, she did not fit in amongst the Night Court and Rhysand's inner circle. That Azriel's friends would never be her's, just as they had not been Nesta's. But, unlike her sister, Elain had never managed to cultivate her own group of friends outside of the inner circle besides the shadow wraith twins. And even they ultimately answered to Rhysand.

She remained alone and isolated in a court that was often too cold and too dark for her liking, with a male that, while he did not mistreat her, it became increasingly clear was incapable of fully opening up to her. Even after two years, she knew there were parts of Azriel that he kept from her. That there were things about himself he did not wish her to know. That he was holding back. It did not seem to matter that she trusted him, that she gave herself to him every night- most of the time, it felt like she was living with a stranger.

It didn't take long for her to regret her decision to sever the connection with her mate. The bond was still there, thrumming faintly in the background, just as Rhysand had warned her it would remain, but the constant pull, the song of his heartbeat, the warmth that had kept her sane in those early days, was long gone.

And then came the day that made her regret allowing herself to be persuaded by others the most.

---

Elain blinked once, and then again, clearing the shock from her mind as she stared blankly at the male standing before her, head bowed in shame, refusing to meet her eye. "Excuse me?"

Azriel winced, his shadows peeking over the edge of his wings. She'd been surprised to see them at all as they had a tendency to vanish when she was around. At first, she thought it a good thing, that it meant he felt no reason to hide with her. That is, until she'd seen them interacting with the young priestess friend of her sister. The way they had danced and played with the beautiful, copper haired Valkyrie, much to everyone's amazement.

She should have seen it coming that very day. But, once again, she had allowed herself to be convinced that her instincts were wrong. That she had nothing to worry about, Gwyn was 'just a friend'.

"She's my mate," Azriel now said, his voice quiet and carrying a thread of apology.

Elain's mind was numb. She hardly knew what she was saying as her mouth seemed to move of its own accord. "So break it," she said flatly. "Reject it."

Azriel's shoulders hitched up towards his ears. "I can't do that."

"Why not?" she demanded. "I did. It was what you made me do."

Azriel's shadows seemed to darken. "I made you do nothing. You chose-"

"You might as well have!" she cried, anger now replacing her shock. "You spent all that time, whispering in my ear, poisoning me against him, telling me he was not good enough, convincing me that rejecting him was the right course, when his only crime was that the cauldron chose him and not you!"

Azriel flinched again, his lip curling slightly, but still, he kept his eyes on the floor. She stepped closer, trying to force him to look at her. When he did not, her anger only grew. "So what's different now? You told me- you promised, that if you found your mate, it would not matter. That you would reject it. Because we had chosen each other, because we would be together-"

"I didn't think I had a mate," he admitted. "I never- I didn't think it would happen..."

She stared at him, seething. How easy it was for him to make promises that he thought he would never have to keep while demanding she make an irrevocable decision- one that he himself now refused to make for her. "You bastard," she hissed. "I gave up everything for you. I let you keep me locked away here, when all I ever wanted was to be free. I gave myself to you because you promised that you would fight for me when he wouldn't-"

"I did! I did fight for you-"

"And you're not now!" she roared. "You swore, you would forsake your own bonds for me if I did the same for you, and now, at the first hint of the bond, you abandon me. And for what? A half breed orphan who was too afraid to leave the library unless there's a battle going on?"

As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. Elain had met Gwyn several times over the last few years and found her to be a perfectly kind and charming young female who possessed a kind of strength and fortitude that she could not help but admire. She had heard her story in bits and pieces through the others and had been amazed, wondering where she found the will to carry on after losing her sister and everything that had happened to her. She only spoke now out of anger and jealousy. Jealousy that, in truth, was not truly directed at her.

Azriel's wings flared as a low snarl ripped out of him, his shadows swarming him angrily. She took an involuntary step back, faced with the sight of an angry, protective mate. Her heart ached at the sight, knowing she might once have had the same and had chosen to give it up.

"Do not speak of her that way," he snarled. hands fisted at his sides. Finally, his eyes rose to meet hers, burning with icy fire that made her shudder.

"I'm sorry," she conceded, bowing her head slightly. "I didn't- my temper got the better of me."

Azriel's eyes closed as he inhaled a deep, calming breath. Slowly, his wings refolded behind him and his shadows retreated, though his body was still tense. "I'm sorry, Elain," he said, eyes still closed. "I never intended for this to happen. Never thought it would. But- mates are so rare. They're revered, I-"

Elain laughed without humor. "Revered unless they're in the way of what you want," she spat. He had the grace to blush, to look ashamed. She pinched the space between her brows where a headache was beginning to form. She could feel her magic stirring, trying to tell her something, but, as she had done every time it tried to rise to the surface since the end of the fighting, she shoved it down. She had little need of it in times of peace and had no interest in the visions it might try to torment her with.

"You should go," she said quietly, turning her back on him to stare out the window at the garden behind her sister's house.

Azriel had been spending more and more time at the House of Wind as of late, another sign, perhaps, that she should have heeded, and as a result, she had begun making daily visits to the River House to visit her growing nephew.

Feyre and Rhysand would again be furious when they learned what had happened between them. Rhysand's relationship with his brother had already been strained following the argument they'd had when they'd first announced their relationship. Rhysand had raged at Azriel for interfering in his politics and endangering his court, though none of the consequences he had originally anticipated had come to pass. At first, she had thought it a sign of his devotion when she learned of Azriel's refusal to follow Rhysands' order to leave her be. Later, she learned it was more a natural result of his jealousy and stubborn temper. She couldn't help now, but feel like a pawn in Azriel's game. The placeholder he had coveted and used until he found what he'd truly been searching for.

As she felt him take his leave, she wondered if the priestess already knew? If she knew what had happened between them. That he had been unwilling to do the same thing he'd demanded of her. That he likely only wanted her now because of that bond that existed between them and not because of who she was. A shame really.

She could only hope she would not make it easy on him.

She didn't know how long she had stood in front of that window, staring at the garden. But day had turned to night, and she had reluctantly forced herself to sleep, staying in the guest room in her sister's house that had formerly been hers.

The next day, she found herself wandering aimlessly through her gardens that she still maintained, her mind whirling with a mess of disjointed thoughts she refused to allow to find purchase when she was interrupted. He came to stand beside her, silently observing the brightly colored flower beds as the light that seemed to radiate from him naturally warmed her side.

"Very beautiful," the High Lord of Day said. "You have quite a talent for growing pretty things, my dear."

"Thank you," she said, not quite able to muster a smile.

"I'm sorry," he said, more gently. "I heard about what happened with the Shadowsinger."

Elain stilled, the only outward sign of her discomfort she would allow.

"For what it's worth," he continued, fingering a bright yellow bloom that spread its petals further to capture the light that glowed from his fingertips. "I always thought you seemed out of place here. This court- as beautiful as it is- it does not suit you." He glanced sideways at her dark gown, his full lips turning down slightly at the corners.

She felt her hackles rise slightly. "And what would you possibly know about me, my Lord?"

He turned to face her then. "I do not mean any offense, darling. But this is the Night Court, its citizens thrive in the comfort of the darkness, whereas you- I always felt you were made for the light of day."

She glanced sharply at him, at the suggestion in his voice. "What are you implying?"

He stared back at her with a frankness she was unused to. The flirtatious High Lord he normally portrayed to the world was nowhere in sight now as he said- "Come back to Day with me. Just for a little while. I think you could use a break from this place," he said, glancing briefly around them. "You don't have to stay if you don't wish, but, I have a feeling you'll like it there."

"And what will I do in a foreign court?" she asked.

"Well," he shrugged. "For now, you'd be a guest. We have libraries with some of the most extensive collections in the world, a variety of landscapes, and of course, plenty of sunshine..."

Elain stood very still, her heart racing. Was he saying what she thought he was?

"If you decide to stay for longer however, I'd be happy to grant you a place in my court. There are many occupations open to those who wish to feel more useful, though I would value your company either way."

She slowly released the breath she'd been holding, feeling her eyes sting with the warmth of tears. For so long, even when she was a human, all she had wanted was to see more of the world. More than just the little village they'd lived in. But she'd gone from that little human town to Velaris, which, while larger, was still much the same as the village. The only other parts of Prythian she'd seen were war camps they'd stayed in during the fighting with Hybern and Koschei. Her sisters were too afraid to let her leave, though they were apparently free to travel as they pleased.

Now, here was this male, almost a stranger to her, offering her a chance to see more. To do more than just sit at home in her little kitchen or garden. To be more than just the High Lady's sister...

"Why?" she breathed. She couldn't seem to find the words to further explain what she was asking, but he seemed to understand.

"Because you seem like a kindred spirit. And..." an sort of sadness flickered in his golden eyes. "It would be nice to have some company."

She made a disbelieving sound. "No offense, my lord, but I find it hard to believe that someone like you is ever lonely."

The smile he gave her did not quite reach his eyes. "Oh, my lady, I may have all the bedfellows I could wish for, but a true companion is a far more rare and precious thing..."

Elain's hand reached out on its own, landing softly on his forearm and he reached to pat it gently. But, even as her heart urged her to accept his offer, she couldn't help that creeping doubt. The voice in her head that had driven her, for so many years, to sacrifice her own needs and wants for the sake of her family's happiness. She glanced back towards the house, to the sister who had done so much for her-

"I've already spoken with Rhysand and your sister," Helion said, his smile more genuine. "They know what I am offering you and seem to agree that it would do you some good to spend some time away from here. Whether that is to avoid further confrontation with the Spymaster or for your own sake, I cannot say, but the end result is the same."

Elain's head whipped back towards him.

"Either way though, none of us will push you to choose one way or another. It is your decision..."

Her decision. It hit her, in that moment, just how rarely she heard those words. How little of her life had truly been her choice. Even the decision to be with Azriel had been the result of the combined persuasion of him and her sister, who had not wanted her to leave.

She glanced back at the house again, noticing a flicker of movement in one of the upstairs windows. The curtain shifted slightly and she saw Rhysand peering down at her. She waited for that brush of talons against her mental shields, for him to offer his own input, but he merely smiled encouragingly

Elain felt lighter than she had in years, almost giddy, as she turned back to Helion with a slowly blooming smile. "When do we leave?"

#elucien #elucien fic #lucien x elain #lucien and elain #elain x lucien #elain and lucien #The Remembrance of Regret

30 notes · View notes

sonics-atelier · 4 months ago

Text

Lantern's Light

For @elucienweekofficial Day 2 : Golden

Elain stood in the bustling kitchen of the Night Court, her hands covered in flour as she kneaded dough. Determined to create a feast that would lift Lucien’s spirits, she had called upon an unexpected ally—Mama Vanserra. The formidable woman had arrived promptly, her presence commanding yet kind.

“More salt in the soup,” Mama Vanserra instructed, her eyes softening as she watched Elain follow her directions. “And don’t forget the thyme. It will remind him of home.”

Elain smiled, grateful for the guidance. The kitchen filled with the mouthwatering aroma of roasting meats and baking bread. She could hardly wait to see Lucien’s reaction.

Hours later, the feast was laid out on the table, a banquet fit for a king. Elain adjusted the flowers in the centerpiece, a final touch of beauty. Just as she finished, she heard the door open and the familiar sound of footsteps.

Lucien entered, his face weary and lined with fatigue from the arduous mission. His eyes widened as he took in the sight before him. “Elain... what is all this?”

“It’s for you,” she said softly, stepping forward. “I wanted to surprise you.”

Lucien’s composure crumbled. He sank to his knees, tears streaming down his face. “I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you.” ( trust me he would react like this )

Jurian and Vassa, who had been lurking nearby, couldn’t resist. “Look at him,” Jurian teased, though his tone held no malice. “Big, bad Lucien, reduced to tears by a home-cooked meal."

Vassa snickered, but her eyes were warm. “Softie.”

Elain knelt beside Lucien, her hands cupping his face. “You deserve all of this and more. You’ve done so much, and you never ask for anything in return.”

Lucien took her hands in his, kissing her palms. “I’m the luckiest male in the world to have you.” He pulled her into a tight embrace, his heart swelling with gratitude and love.

Mama Vanserra, who had been quietly watching, approached them. Her usually stern face softened as she looked at Elain and Lucien. “You’ve made a wonderful home here, Elain. And Lucien, you’ve found a love worth cherishing. I’m happy for both of you.”

Lucien smiled up at her, the tears in his eyes mingling with genuine joy. “Thank you, Mother. This means everything to me.”

They all sat down to dinner, and Lucien’s initial hesitation gave way to delight as he tasted the food. He closed his eyes, savoring the flavors. “This is incredible, Elain. Every dish is perfect.”

Elain’s heart swelled with pride and happiness. “I’m glad you like it. Mama helped a lot.”

Lucien glanced at his mother, his eyes filled with gratitude. “Thank you Mama." , not just for the dinner either.

Seraphina Vanserra smiled, a rare and beautiful sight. “It was my pleasure.”

After dinner, the laughter and joy continued as they shared slices of cake. Lucien, still glowing with happiness, caught Elain’s gaze. She smiled, her heart fluttering.

“You’re glowing like a lantern,” she teased, her eyes sparkling with affection.

Lucien chuckled, pulling her close. “Then let me light your way, always.”

As the night drew on, they lingered at the table, savoring the moment. Lucien’s glow was not just from happiness but from the deep, abiding love he felt for Elain. It was a love that shone brighter than any bond of fate, a love chosen freely and cherished deeply.

In the warm, glowing light, they found their true home—in each other’s hearts.

- @sonics-atelier 2024 , do not repost or reuse in any way , shape or form.

31 notes · View notes

c-e-d-dreamer · 1 year ago

Text

But I'm Only Looking At You: Part Two

A/N: Happy happy day two of @cassianappreciationweek! Nothing says Gentle like (checks notes) crashing the wedding of the woman you love, right? Right? What can Cassian say, sometimes love makes you do crazy things! Anywho! Hope everyone enjoys :) Also, fun fact! The words Cassian says during the ceremony are historically accurate!

Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Previous Part // Next Part

Cassian watches from the shadows as a carriage pulls up in front of the church. The footman steps down and pulls open the doors, Elain and Feyre stepping out first. Both of Nesta’s sisters are wearing dresses of a pretty, pink color, their hair pinned up with flowers tucked into the golden brown strands.

Lord and Lady Archeron follow their youngest daughters out of the carriage, Eleanor turning back to say something. From this distance, Cassian can’t hear what’s said, but from the dip of Eleanor’s brows, the pinch of her lips, it appears to be some sort of reprimand. The look just has Cassian’s resolve hardening, a scowl of his own twisting across his face.

Finally, Nesta steps out of the carriage and into the afternoon sun. Despite the other ladies of London preferring yellow for their special day, Nesta has opted for a pale blue dress that looks almost silver beneath the sun’s rays. The style is simple but elegant, exactly what Cassian would expect for Nesta, and while he can’t quite see her face beneath the lacey veil she’s wearing, she looks beautiful.

With a steadying deep breath, Cassian straightens and rolls his shoulders back. He takes a moment to tug at the cuffs of his sleeve, combing his fingers through his hair to ensure the strands fall neatly around his face. A sigh from behind him has Cassian pausing before he steps out of the alleyway, and he just barely swallows down an eyeroll.

“Are you sure there’s no talking you out of this?”

Crossing his arms across his chest, Cassian turns around to face his chosen brothers, Rhys and Az each leaning against the brick walls of the buildings on either side of the alleyway. Rhys looks at Cassian with blatant exasperation as he waits for the response to his question, an expression he’s been wearing since Cassian first informed him of his plan the night of his House Party. Not that it made a difference then. Nor, does it make a difference now.

“No,” Cassian answers matter-of-factly, almost daring Rhys to try his argument tactics again. They didn’t work all week and they certainly won’t work now. “Did you ensure my request arrived?”

Rhys sighs again, rolling his eyes, but he doesn’t look particularly surprised at Cassian’s response. “Yes. I pulled a few strings and was able to make sure the Bishop sees your request as soon as possible.”

“Good,” Cassian nods his head, turning back toward the church. He can no longer see the Archeron family, which means they must have gone inside and the countdown has officially started.

“There’s no going back from this you know,” Azriel finally pipes up. “She honestly might hate you for this.”

“I know,” Cassian answers quietly. And he does. He knows exactly how disastrously this is probably going to go. “But I love her.”

And that truly is the crux of it. He loves Nesta, and he refuses to watch the woman he loves marry a man like Tomas Mandray. He refuses to watch her become just like Lady Mandray, growing pale and thin, wearing long sleeves even in the warmer months, being prone to ‘sudden illnesses’ that keep her out of the public’s eye for weeks. He refuses to watch her curl into herself and lose that fire he loves so much under the words he used to hear Tomas spew when they were at school. And if that means throwing himself into the firing line in order to do that, then so be it.

“We all know exactly the kind of man Tomas Mandray is,” Cassian continues, glancing over his shoulder at Rhys and Azriel one last time. “And even if she hates me forever, at least she’ll be safe.”

“Then go get your wife,” Azriel tells him, smirking slightly.

Cassian chuckles and shakes his head, walking across the road to the church. He wastes no time jogging up the front steps and through the door, but he pauses just inside the atrium. The large, wooden doors that lead into the nave loom before him, taunting him. Everything he’s ever wanted is right there on the other side, and once he steps through them, he won’t be able to take it back.

He takes a slow breath in, holding it for a few moments before he lets it back out. It’s all quiet in the atrium, almost eerily so. Cassian tries to strain his ears for sounds, for voices, beyond the doors, but the wooden doors and the stone surrounding him are too thick. He supposes there never really is a good time in a wedding ceremony for this type of thing.

“I’m sorry, Nes,” Cassian mutters to himself before he pulls open the doors.

The wood of the doors creaks and groans, and the metal hinges give a high pitched whine, the sound echoing loudly along the vaulted ceiling of the church. Cassian winces slightly, but it does have the required reaction. All sets of eyes in the church snap to him, but he doesn’t even bother looking anywhere else. Not at Lady Archeron who he’s sure must be sneering and glaring at him. Not at Elain or Feyre who he’s sure are staring with shock. Definitely not at the Mandray family…

Instead, Cassian keeps his attention firmly on Nesta, on where she’s standing at the front of the church, her hands clasped neatly with Tomas’s. Her hands that decidedly do not yet have a ring on them. Beneath the lace of her veil, her blue eyes are wide, and she shakes her head almost imperceptibly.

“What is the meaning of this?” the Rector asks, frowning down at Cassian.

“Forgive me, Father,” Cassian begins, continuing down the aisle and closer to the altar. “But I cannot lie, cannot continue on with this secret. Not under the Mother. I must be honest, must confess.”

“Then confess, son,” the Rector encourages.

“I have already had Miss Archeron.”

For a moment, the whole church is deathly silent, his words slowly but surely sinking in. And then gasps and murmurs break out, a cacophony of sounds and alarm. It’s with sick satisfaction that Cassian watches Tomas drop Nesta’s hands like he’s been burned, watches him step back and away from her with a disgusted scowl on his face.

“I beg your pardon?” the Rector asks, clearly trying to calm the rising emotions swirling around the church.

“I'm sorry, Father, but it’s true. I have laid with Miss Archeron. I know what a grave sin it is, what a dishonor I’ve committed for us both, but I’m prepared to right this wrong. I’m prepared to take her hand in marriage myself.”

“What are you doing?” Nesta seethes, storming over to him and shoving hard at his chest.

“I’m sorry, Nesta,” Cassian tells her, and he prays she can see the truth in his eyes, hear it in his words. He prays that she knows just how much he means it, how sorry he is for all of this. “But we cannot pretend any longer, cannot lie to everyone here including your betrothed. It’s not right.”

“I should have known you’re no better than a common whore,” Tomas sneers, tone dripping with cold cruelty.

His words have Cassian’s anger flaring red hot through his veins. He lets out a quiet growl and takes a step forward, his fist already clenching and his knuckles practically itching to collide with the Viscount’s face. It’s only Nesta’s hand settling firmly on his chest, stopping him, that has Cassian holding himself back.

“Tomas,” Nesta pleads, whirling back around to face the Viscount. “Please. It’s not like that. Just… just give me a moment. I’ll sort it out.”

Nesta’s fingers curl around Cassian’s wrist, her grip tight enough that her nails dig into his skin. From the glare she settles him with, the pain is clearly intentional. She all but drags him out of the nave and back into the atrium, leaving the still shocked wedding guests behind. She drops his wrist once the doors close behind them, but it’s only to shove at his chest again.

“I cannot believe you,” Nesta snaps, shoving hard enough this time that Cassian stumbles back a few steps.

“Nesta—”

“Seriously. What is wrong with you?”

“Nesta, please—”

“We have never laid together.”

“I know.”

Nesta finally pauses in her assault to his chest, blinking a few times as she takes in his words, before she lets out a sardonic, almost hysterical laugh. “So, you just decided to lie? To ruin me? To ruin my sisters.”

Cassian lets out a quiet breath, reaching for Nesta’s hand but she yanks it away and out of his reach. He tries not to let the gesture sting as much as it does. “Nes, please. You have to understand that I—”

“Go back in there and tell them you lied. This instance.”

“I can’t,” Cassian tells her, his voice quiet and mournful.

“Cassian!” Nesta pleads, her voice tinged with desperation.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t.” Cassian steps closer to her, his hands coming up to cradle her cheeks. He hates it. He hates seeing the pain in her eyes, the water that’s started to line them. He hates that he's the reason for her tears. “I can’t let you marry him. I can’t lose you. If this is the only way, then so be it.”

“You have already lost me,” Nesta whispers coldly, knocking his hands away from her and taking a pointed step back. “I will never forgive you for this.”

“Nes…”

Before Cassian can finish his thought, those large wooden doors swing open again, Eleanor Archeron stalking through them. Cassian braces himself for her ire, for the cutting, choice words he’s sure she has for him, but her narrowed gaze isn’t pinned on him. It’s her daughter that she’s glaring daggers at.

“You insolent child,” Eleanor seethes, smacking the back of her hand hard across Nesta’s cheek.

Fire roars through Cassian’s veins, burning molten until his hands tighten into fists. He’s moving before he can even think twice about it, eyes glued to Nesta. To the way she has her face turned away, her hand cradling her cheek, a tear slipping free to slide down along her skin. He stalks closer and gently curls his fingers around Nesta’s wrist, tugging her behind him, placing himself firmly between her and her mother.

“I would appreciate it kindly if you did not put your hands on my wife.”

“She is not your wife yet, you filthy factory rat. I should have known when you were always sniffing around as a boy that you’d dare to lay your hands on my daughter. Not better than your disgusting father.”

“Mama,” Nesta starts to argue, but Cassian gives her wrist a gentle squeeze. There’s no reason for her to step into the firing line and certainly not for him.

“I’m staying with the Duke, Rhysand, while I’m in London, until the Bishop’s License arrives,” Cassian explains, keeping his voice calm, polite, refusing to rise to whatever bait Lady Archeron tries to dangle in front of him. “Nesta is of course welcome to stay there as well, until the wedding.”

“You truly are a fool if you think I’m going to let you whisk her away like that,” Eleanor snorts derisively, her fingers curling roughly around Nesta’s bicep and yanking her daughter to her. “She is still my daughter until the registry is signed.”

Cassian swallows hard and tries to calm the way his blood has started to simmer. “I’ll call on her—”

“You will not.”

The clear dismissal has a scoff tearing free from Cassian before he can squash it back down, but before he can argue, the doors to the nave swing back open. The Viscount comes striding out, his mother’s arm looped through his. Neither even looks in Nesta’s or Cassian’s direction, keeping their gaze straight ahead as they exit the church. If it weren’t for the way Tomas’s lips are pressed together, the way his brown eyes are darkened with clear annoyance, Cassian would almost say he looks the picture perfect of indifference.

“My lord,” Eleanor begins, her tone oozing with a courtier’s charm that Cassian has certainly never been on the other end of.

The Lady Mandray lets out a harrumph, the sound quiet but no less contemptuous, the only acknowledgement that she even heard Eleanor. Tomas and his mother continue down the front steps of the church and toward their carriage, the members of the wedding guest list there to support the would-be groom following behind them, each expression directed their way more judgemental than the next. It has Cassian taking an instinctual step to the side, blocking Nesta from those snide looks, shielding her.

He chances a glance over his shoulder, but it’s Eleanor’s gaze that meets his. With Tomas and his mother no longer looking, the placating smile has dropped from her face, that irritated scowl and glare returning and pinned right on Cassian. He can’t find it in himself to care for the look she’s settled him with, not when her hand is still curled around Nesta’s arm, fingers gripping tight enough that the skin has started to turn red.

Cassian opens his mouth to say something, but there’s more scuffling from the nave. He turns his head back around just as Elain and Feyre step into view, both of their faces still bewildered as their eyes dart between him, Nesta, and their mother. At least Feyre offers him a small, almost sympathetic smile.

“I’ll go get the carriage,” Elain offers quietly, rushing out of the church and tugging Feyre along with her.

“I’ll be sure to have a settlement drawn up for you to review and sign,” Nesta's father says, stepping out of the nave and over to Cassian, his face surprisingly impassive despite the day’s turn of events.

“Of course. Whatever terms are most favorable for Nesta,” Cassian agrees with a nod, earning a quizzical look in response from Lord Archeron.

“The carriage is ready,” Feyre declares, walking back up the church steps.

With her message delivered, Feyre turns on her heel and heads back down the steps, her parents side-stepping around Cassian to follow their daughter. It’s Nesta that takes up the rear of their party, her arms wrapped around herself even as she holds her shoulders back and her head up high. It’s a mask if Cassian’s ever seen one, and the sight sends a crack shattering clean through his chest.

“Nesta,” Cassian calls out to her, soft desperation and pain coloring his tone.

“Nesta,” her mother’s clipped voice cuts in.

Despite the clear order hidden in her mother’s request, Nesta’s steps do pause. She turns back to look at Cassian, and that crack in his chest explodes into a throbbing ache at the betrayal burning in her blue eyes, her lips pinched into a cool, hard line. She opens her mouth, words clearly poised and ready on the tip of her tongue, but then she merely shakes her head, turning away from Cassian and joining her family.

She leaves him standing there alone, nothing to do but watch her walk away from him, watch her leave. A lump presses in around his throat, his lungs burning and chest aching despite his attempts to swallow around it. He lets out sound somewhere between a scoff and a self-deprecating laugh, scrubbing a hand down his face and along his jaw. He tries to remind himself why he’s doing this, to remind himself that when it’s all said and done, it will have been worth it.

Even still, Cassian can’t help but tilt his head up, sending a silent prayer to the Mother and just hoping that he’s doing the right thing.

~ * * * ~

It takes a week before the Bishop’s License is finally signed and in Cassian’s hands. Unsurprisingly, Nesta’s family wants everything to move quickly and quietly. Cassian can’t say he minds. It means the sooner he can see her, can talk with her just the two of them privately. The sooner he can get the both of them out of London and away from all the prying eyes, the whispering gossip and judgemental looks of the ton, the better.

The Archerons are already waiting at the church when Cassian arrives with Rhys and Azriel. It’s Elain and Feyre, standing with their father, that greets him as he steps inside the atrium. Despite the fact there’s about to be a wedding, there’s a solemn air that clings inside the walls of the church, heavy and pressing in. Neither sister is smiling, even Feyre not quite able to meet his gaze. Instead, her attention is pinned to her right, lips tugged down in a frown.

Brows furrowing in confusion, Cassian turns his head, following Feyre’s gaze to where Nesta is standing with her mother. Eleanor has her head tipped down, practically right in Nesta’s face as she hisses something too quiet for Cassian to hear.

“Eleanor,” Lord Archeron calls out, drawing his wife’s attention.

Lady Archeron takes in Cassian standing there and straightens, striding over to her husband’s side. She doesn’t even acknowledge Cassian as she passes him, but he doesn’t miss the sneer still ever present on her face. It’s only when she realizes Rhys is standing behind him that her disdainful expression drops away, surprise taking over before that courtier smile returns.

“Your Grace,” Eleanor offers, dipping into a polite curtsy.

Rhys doesn’t say anything, merely dips his chin in a nod of acknowledgement, and Eleanor continues to her husband’s side. She slips her arm through Lord Archeron’s, and they head into the nave of the church, their daughters trailing behind him. Rhys claps his hand against Cassian’s shoulder and does the same, Azriel offering a small, sympathetic look as he too follows Rhys inside.

It leaves just Cassian and Nesta still standing in the atrium as they wait for their cue to walk down the aisle, for their lives to be forever bound together.

Nesta finally walks over to him, but she keeps her eyes downcast, seemingly glued to his kilt. The attention has him resetting his stance, has his hands reaching down to smooth out the fabric along his thighs. He rarely wore it when he was in school. He already heard enough from his peers, from the ton, about his family’s new money status. He hadn’t wanted to add fuel to their fires by flaunting his Scottish heritage too, practically handing over the insults and jabs on a silver platter. But now, with Nesta’s eyes on him, he finds himself more nervous than he ever was back then, his heart beginning to stutter between his ribs.

“After today, you’ll wear my colors too,” Cassian explains quietly.

The comment has Nesta’s gaze finally snapping to his, and Cassian’s heart squeezes tight enough it sends pain ricocheting through his chest. Even through the lacy fabric of her veil, Cassian can tell the way all the color seems to have leached out of her cheeks, the dark circles clinging to the skin beneath her eyes. And her eyes. Cassian doesn’t think he’s ever seen them so dull, more gray than blue and not even a hint of that spark he loves so much.

He takes a step closer to her, eyes sweeping over her accessingly. She’s wearing that same pale blue dress as her almost wedding to Tomas, but despite it only being a week, the fabric seems looser in places. Cassian has to swallow hard around a lump forming in his throat before he’s able to find his voice again.

“You look pale. Have you not been eating? Or sleeping?” Cassian asks gently, reaching a hand up beneath her veil to slide his knuckles against her cheek, but Nesta jerks her head away.

“Don’t touch me,” Nesta snaps, readjusting the veil draped over her face. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Cassian’s hand hangs in the space between them before he drops it back down to his side. The words are certainly a blow, but all Cassian cares about is that the fire has returned to Nesta’s eyes, the blue of them practically blazing up at him. He’ll take it. He doesn’t care if he’s on the other end of her ire, as long as he can keep stoking that fire, as long as he can finally make that lifeless expression vanish, as long as she gives him something.

So, Cassian scoffs and shakes his head. “Just what every gentleman wants to hear on his wedding day.”

“You brought this upon yourself. Or have you already forgotten your utter stupidity?”

“I wish you would just understand that I did this for you.”

“How dare you lie to me,” Nesta seethes, shoving him hard for extra good measure. “You did this for yourself, you selfish, insufferable idiot.”

“Careful, Nes,” Cassian taunts, catching her wrists and tugging her closer still while he dips his head down toward her. “Is that any way to speak to your soon-to-be husband?”

“I hate you.”

Cassian drops Nesta’s wrists and takes a step back from her at her words. For a moment, he swears he sees something flicker across her face, but she quickly turns her head away before he can begin to decipher it. Closing his eyes, Cassian takes a moment to breathe deeply. He holds out his arm for Nesta to take, and pointedly pushes down the hurt when she hesitates.

Arm in arm, they make their way through the church and to where the Rector is standing and waiting for them. The Rector has them turn to face one another and then the ceremony begins. Cassian can still see the exhaustion that clings to Nesta’s frame, but with the light spilling through the stained glass, she’s still the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, still takes his breath away. Still has his heart beating in time with her name, Nesta Nesta Nesta.

By the time Cassian is taking Nesta’s hand in his, sliding the band on her finger, his own is trembling. “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.”

Following the Rector’s instruction, Nesta takes Cassian’s hand in hers, sliding his own ring on as she repeats the same words. Something unlocks deep in Cassian’s chest, deep in his soul, in that moment. It’s a final piece falling into a place, a key turning in a lock, a golden thread binding them together just as surely as the rings on their fingers. It fills Cassian with warmth, with a sense of rightness, with a sense of home.

With the rings exchanged, Cassian and Nesta step forward to sign the parish registry. The wedding guests in attendance rise to do the same, but with so few of them, it doesn’t take particularly long. The ink has barely dried from Feyre signing her name before Eleanor is striding toward the doors to exit the church, shooting an expectant look over her shoulder to her youngest daughters.

“I’ll have the footmen move Mrs MacLeod’s trunk to your carriage,” she finally addresses Cassian. “I’m sure it’s quite the long journey back to Glasgow.”

Cassian has to grit his teeth, has to bite back and swallow down the harsh words he wants to fire back at her blatant dismissal. No longer is she Nesta, no longer her daughter, but Mrs MacLeod, the factory rat’s wife. And there would be no celebrating this fact, no wedding breakfast to honor the newly married couple. It has Cassian’s blood boiling, his fists clenching at his side until Nesta’s palm slides along his wrist. It’s the first contact she’s initiated, the touch soothing, but just as soon as it’s there, it’s gone again.

“Thank you, Mama,” Nesta offers politely.

Nesta side steps around Cassian, and he can do nothing but follow behind her, nothing but watch as her trunk is secured to his carriage, her whole life seemingly packed away in that one box. At least, Nesta’s sisters each give her a hug goodbye, but her mother still offers only contempt. It takes all of Cassian’s willpower to keep his face neutral, not to glare at the Lady Archeron, instead focusing on offering a hand and helping Nesta to step inside the carriage. He turns back to give a final nod to Rhys and Azriel, his chosen brothers offering a wave and a salute respectively, before Cassian steps inside and takes the seat opposite Nesta.

“Nesta,” Cassian begins once the carriage jerks into motion.

He reaches forward to take Nesta’s hands in his, but she flinches back, holding her hands close to her chest and turning her head to peer out the window, to watch as London fades away. Cassian sighs softly, dropping his hand to the skirts of her dress, his fingers curling against the fabric.

The rest of the carriage ride is painfully quiet, Nesta’s attention never straying from the carriage window. Cassian’s always loved her stubbornness, the way she never backs down from what she wants, but just once, Cassian wishes she would look at him. He wishes they could properly talk now that it’s just the two of them.

Hell, as the hours and miles continue to tick by, as the sun continues its stretching path across the sky, Cassian would give anything for Nesta to yell at him. To fight with him. For anything other than the suffocating silence. It chokes him from the inside out, his heart twisting and squeezing until he presses his free hand against his chest, rubbing like that will somehow alleviate the ache.

He feels like he’s going insane. After the first hour of stilted silence, Cassian had tried again to talk to her, to draw her attention back to him, but he’d only earned a quiet harrumph for his troubles. After the second hour, he had tried to tease her, tried to spark a reaction from her the way he had earlier, but he had even less success with that. It has Cassian wondering if Nesta really did mean it when she said she’d never forgive him. When she said she hated him.

By the time they're pulling into a coaching inn just outside of Birmingham, Cassian has never been more grateful. He clambers out of the carriage and takes a deep, heaving breath of the cool, evening air, relishing in what little soothing balm he can get. He turns back toward the carriage and holds out his hand in offering, but Nesta pointedly ignores it, stepping down on her own. She hikes up the skirts of her dress and strides forward toward the door of the inn without even a glance back, so Cassian tilts his head up toward the sky, sending a mental plea to the Mother for strength before he jogs after his wife.

“Should I expect silence for the rest of our marriage then?” Cassian mutters as he holds the door open for her.

That comment at least earns him a sharp look from Nesta before she walks through the door and inside the inn, Cassian stepping in behind her. He goes to speak with the landlord, who hands over the key and directs him up the stairs, and Cassian tries not to grimace at the fact they’ll only have the one room.

Thankfully, Nesta doesn’t say anything when Cassian unlocks the door for them to both step inside. Although, he half wonders after the hours of silence if a reaction would have been preferred. Instead, Nesta grabs the pitcher of water for their room and heads straight for the bathing chamber, closing the door behind her. With a soft huff, Cassian sits down on the bed, taking the time to peel his boots off and toss them aside. He rests his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands. The exhaustion of the day’s travel, of the past few weeks, burrows beneath his skin, carving space into his bones until he feels completely weighed down by it.

The soft snick of a door opening has Cassian practically leaping to his feet. He whips around just as Nesta steps back into the room, dressed now in only her shift. For a moment, Cassian is struck dumb. She’s wearing her hair down, the soft, golden brown waves falling around her shoulders and down her back. His fingers twitch at his sides with the urge to run through those strands, to tangle there as he holds her close. She’s beautiful, just like this, hair down, the faintest dusting of pink smattered high on her cheekbones.

“Where do you want me?” Nesta asks, fidgeting almost nervously with the cotton fabric of her shift.

“What?” Cassian somehow chokes out, shaking himself out of his staring.

“I presume on the bed. Perhaps a better question would be how do you want me?”

Cassian blinks a few times, his mind finally following what she’s asking. “Nes…”

Nesta lets out a frustrated huff, crossing her arms across her chest. “I’m not one of those simpering girls. I know what happens on a wedding night.”

“Do you still hate me?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Because I won’t touch you until you ask me to, until you want me to.”

“You’ll be waiting forever then.”

“I suppose I will,” Cassian shrugs, grabbing one of the pillows and tossing it to the floor at the foot of the bed, intent on sleeping on the floor.

“That makes our marriage a sham then. I’ll go back to London and tell all of society.”

Cassian doesn’t bother biting back his taunting smirk as he lifts his attention back to her. “Did you forget that they already think I’ve had you? Everyone knows and believes that. But go ahead and try.”

That fire is a full blaze in Nesta’s eyes now, her mouth twisting into a scowl. She storms over to the bed, and Cassian half wonders if she intends to clamber over the mattress just to get to him, just to shove him and sink her claws into his chest. But she merely stops on the other side, hands clenched into fists at her side as she continues to glare at him.

“You’ll never have heirs.”

Cassian laughs dryly, cocking his head. “You think I care about that?”

“All men care about that.”

“I guess I’m not like most men, sweetheart.”

Nesta rolls her eyes at that, her tone dripping with derision when she says, “what do you care about then?”

“You,” Cassian practically shouts. “Haven’t you figured that out yet? I care about you, unlike that man you were going to marry before I stepped in.”

“Stop doing that. Stop speaking to me as if I’m stupid. As if I did not know exactly the type of man Tomas Mandray is.”

“Yet you were going to marry him anyways? What, better to marry a cruel man with a title than some factory brute?”

The silence hangs in the air between them, clearly answer enough. Cassian tries not to let it sting, but his chest already feels cut and splayed open, his nerve endings already raw and exposed. He swallows hard and turns away from her, extinguishing the candle and plunging the room into darkness. He settles down onto the floor, knocking his fist against his pillow for extra good measure, but the gesture doesn’t help the cold ache that gnaws at him the way he had hoped.

“Cassian…”

“Go to sleep, Nesta.”

—

Updated Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @girl-of-many-floods @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head

#nessian #CassianAppreciationWeek2023 #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acosf #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nesta x cassian #regency au #my fic

121 notes · View notes

elucienweekofficial · 1 year ago

Text

AO3 Collection・Instagram・Twitter・Masterlist

Thank you so much to everyone who participated in Elucien Week 2023! We are so grateful to everyone who took the time to create content and engage with the week!

We'll be keeping an eye on any stragglers in the tags and updating the masterlists accordingly. Also stay tuned for one final surprise from the moderators before we finish out the week officially 👀

📝Fics:

Lead Me Into the Light by @velidewrites

A Blaze in the Dark by @the-lonelybarricade

Meet Me at Midnight by @starfall-spirit

Ars Amatoria by @fieldofdaisiies

DILF Daydreamin' by @labellefleur-sauvage

Elucien hate sex by @darklove9314-blog

I'll Take You To The Boba Shop by @areyoudreaminof

I Was Enchanted To Meet You by @c-e-d-dreamer

The Fire Won't Burn Me by @separatist-apologist

I can't face reinvention (I haven't met the new me yet) by @midnightmasterpiece

Weightless by @asnowfern

put your lips close to mine (as long as they don't touch) by @belabellissima

Both Forever and Rather Die by @foundress0fnothing

Love on Water Lillies by @vulpes-fennec

The Fox in the Garden by @writtenonreceipts

Across the Stars by @velidewrites

The Highland Fox and The English Rose by @labellefleur-sauvage

lost in your current (like a priceless wine) by @a-novel-blog

Modern AU Spicy Prompt Fill by @aldbooks

Frost and Fire by @aldbooks

🎨Art:

Flyboy Lucien and Naboo Senator Elain by @stickyelectrons

"Oh~there you are...♡" by @witchlingsandwyverns

Elucien embracing by @fieldofdaisiies

Elucien sleeping beauty AU by @devilsnightz

fluff!Elucien by @brielyasmin

The Boba Shop AU - comissioned by @separatist-apologist from artist @zolyna_

The Great Elucien - comissioned by @iambutmortal from artist @/vinc_ry

Las Vegas Wedding AU by @cursebrkr

Elain and Lucien | Outlander Inspired - comissioned by @acourtdelaluna from artist @/artcraawl

Modern Rio de Janeiro and Cyberpunk São Paulo by @westrangecollectionkoalaposts

Domestic Elucien sketch by @corcracrow

Anakin and Padme Elucien by @wittyrejoinder

Elucien secret garden vibes by @dopeartisanprincess

sleepy by @laxibbeb

Elain Archeron and Lucien Vanserra by @afoliveira

Furry AU by @mei_lfong

Elucien WIP by @mossytrashcan

Sith Elain and Jedi Lucien - comissioned by @separatist-apologist and @the-lonelybarricade from @witchlingsandwyverns

Elucien 80s fashion - commissioned by @sanktadu and artist @lib-arts

Lucien VanBowser and Princess Elain - comissioned by @kingofsummer93 from artist @carasalexandra

Golden Hour - comissioned by @foreverinelysian from artist @tropicoola

🎶Misc:

ELAIN & LUCIEN: MODERN AU moodboard by @octobers-veryown

Court of Ties and Destinies tiktok in English and in Portuguese by @lloorryy

Her Burning Light moodboard and drabble by @sunshinebingo

Reasons why Elucien is happening by @elucienhasmywholeheart

Elucien quotes: 1, 2, 3, and 4 by @ofduskanddreams

If we missed one of your contributions, kindly reach out to one of our event runners!

🎨: mallorydraws

#Elucienweek2023 #Elucien #Elucien fanart #Elucien art #Elucien fanfiction #Elucien fic #Elain Archeron #Lucien Vanserra #Elain x Lucien #Lucien x Elain

84 notes · View notes

faeprincesswarrior · 2 months ago

Note

Look, I love so much Elriel art (I’m not a big fan of Elain as a warrior, vibe, but girl KNOWS how to listen, so she’s gotta be a spy or a courtier, right???)

I just think, regarding your maths post, that I must have seen every single Elriel art piece of there were only 38 of them. That just doesn’t make sense. I love people making art and mood boards and the like, but I saw so many beautiful pieces that should’ve been more than 38.

Maybe only 38 were reblogged by the official blog?

Hello anon!

Thanks for sending this in! Here’s some more notes that I hope help to add some clarity to how I pulled these numbers.

I used an IG account that was not blocked by anyone because they are fully outside the fandom and counted everything on the Instagram grid for Elain Archeron Week. I included all collages, edits and cosplays and looked at them to try to identify if they leaned towards a ship.

I looked at the Tumblr posts that I could see, while bearing in mind that there are some Tumblrs I can’t see, in particular Elucien blogs. Bearing in mind that it looks like there are more Tumblr posts trickling in as well.

I did not count any fics or word edits. You’re right that there are a handful of Tumblr submissions that are Elriel leaning that I didn’t count because across the board, I decided to focus on visual arts like fan art, collages and cosplays. If I were to go back and count the fic posts I see, all of the numbers for each ship would increase because they all seem to be aligned with a ship.

I also want to reiterate that if a submission was not obviously on the Elain Archeron week grid, it most likely didn’t get counted. This includes story only shares.

Seeing as the Elain week Tumblr is still sharing out posts, I plan on doing a recount sometime in the next few days to see how that affects the counts.

The ultimate point is that the week was not majority Elriel content, though that ship did participate significantly more than Elucien art (at a 3X amount as of now). Additionally, the Elriel art numbers in Elain’s week are comparable to what we saw for Gwyn week.

Come back on Wednesday for an update to the numbers.

Thanks again for the question! I hope this helps!

#pro elain #elain archeron #acotar #pro elain archeron #elain week 2024 #elainarcheron #elain archeron week 2024 #acotar fandom #ship art

6 notes · View notes

kingofsummer93 · 1 year ago

Text

Ex Luna Scientia

Summary:

Lucien Vanserra, seventh son of the Minister for Magic, is as loved by his peers as he is hated by his family. But behind the charm and irreverence hides a secret, as dark and menacing as the scar on his face.

Elain Archeron, middle sister in a trio of muggle-born witches, has only one wish: for someone to truly see her. Because when she sleeps at night, she can see it all.

Or- an Elucien at Hogwarts AU.

Chapter 20: The Final Trial

Ao3 Masterlist

Ex Luna Scientia : from the moon, knowledge

Elain had never seen the Hogwarts castle as empty as it was in the weeks following the Headmaster’s escape.

As soon as the news of Koschei’s death had been printed in the Daily Prophet (stating both the Ministry’s version of events, and the school’s), there had been a mass exodus at Hogwarts as worried parents pulled their children out of school early. The Slytherin table in the Great Hall was now mostly empty at meal times, with the exception of some seventh years, and, of course, the Slytherin Tri-Trials Champion. Half the Ravenclaws and some Hufflepuffs had left, while the Gryffindor table was mostly intact.

In a covert, whispered conversation, Elain and her sisters had agreed that what their father didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt him. And seeing as he didn’t exactly have access to news of the magical world other than through them, it was unlikely that he would somehow hear the rumors and demand that they come home at once.

In light of the situation, and given that only about half the students were left at the school, the end of year exams had officially been canceled for all students. Professor Amren had refused to dismiss all students early- in a show of solidarity to Helion, or in a refusal to let the Ministry take control of the school, Elain wasn’t sure, but she didn’t mind. Given that most students left were largely Helion supporters (and by extension, ministry critics) and that nobody had to be stuck indoors to study for tests, the atmosphere at school was almost cheerful.

That is, if it weren’t for the giants, stationed on permanent patrol of the school grounds.

The larger, fiercer ones had been assigned to guard the front gates leading towards Hogsmeade, as well as the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Meanwhile some of the younger, less menacing giants had been stationed near the castle and grounds.

A young giant named Grawp had soon become a favorite amongst the students, given his propensity for sitting near the edge of the lake and dangling his feet in the water. His frame, though he was half the size of the adult giants, was still large enough that he created a large patch of shade near the water’s edge, where students liked to lounge.

Immediately following Professor Spell-Cleaver’s almost arrest, Professor Amren and the other staff had locked down the castle in solidarity to their wronged Headmaster. Students who were called home by outraged parents were allowed to leave- but nobody was allowed in. Though the Ministry had placed Aurors at the school gates, and had officially claimed the school to be under their control, they couldn’t very well do anything from outside the school grounds.

Elain had wondered on more than one occasion if that was partly why Amren hadn’t decided to send everyone home at once. Perhaps she thought the presence of students inside the school would prevent the Aurors outside the gates from engaging in outright combat with the giants in order to push their way into the school.

So far it had worked, though Elain didn’t like to think of what would happen once the rest of the students had gone home and the school stood empty. What would Hogwarts look like next year, under ministry control? More importantly, would muggle-borns even be allowed to attend, under the new regime? For some reason she had a bad feeling she knew the answer to that.

On the morning of her penultimate day at Hogwarts, Elain dropped into a seat next to Lucien at breakfast and loosed a heavy sigh.

“I can’t believe we still actually have to compete,” she grumbled.

“I can’t believe they’re letting us compete,” he murmured back, pressing a reassuring hand to her knee.

Since there were so few students left at school, Professor Tarquin had vanished two of the House tables, and the students now sat where they liked, houses mingling together. It added to the air of camaraderie, though the essential wrongness of it was a constant reminder that things weren’t as they should be.

A shadow passed over the Great Hall as a large figure moving outside passed by the windows, casting them in shadow. The other reminder that things weren’t normal.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Lucien continued in a low voice. There were deep bags under his eyes, even though the full moon was weeks away. The fact that the Minister’s own son had allegedly “helped” the Hogwarts staff to concoct a story regarding Koschei’s death was a constant source of gossip in the papers these days, and the strain was wearing on him. Not for himself she knew, but for how it might be affecting his mother. “The school is under siege, and they’re letting us finish this tournament? It’s a joke.”

They’d discussed it countless times before, in whispered conversations with their friends, out of earshot of the staff who now permanently patrolled the hallways at all hours. Why allow them to continue with this tournament, when it was for all intents and purposes meant to be a fun, morale-boosting event?

“Maybe it’s their way of trying to get in the students’ good graces?” Feyre suggested, gloomily stirring her scrambled eggs around her plate. Mor’s father was a die-hard traditionalist and ministry supporter, and her best friend had been on the first train out of Hogsmeade, though reluctantly so.

“It’s going to take more than a scavenger hunt and two-thousand galleons prize money,” Elain said darkly.

Nesta appeared at her side like a storm, dropping onto the bench and exuding violence. “I cannot believe this is my last day at Hogwarts and I have to spend it on this charade.”

Elain peered curiously at Cassian, settling into a seat on Nesta’s other side- closer than should have been acceptable for an acquaintance. Nobody said anything, though Lucien smirked slightly as he glanced down the table at them.

“What would you rather spend the day doing?” he asked innocently.

Elain snorted into her pumpkin juice, but Nesta was unfazed.

“Making memories,” she said simply.

Feyre gagged loudly while the rest of them erupted in laughter. Elain busied herself with buttering a piece of toast, suddenly hyper-aware of Lucien’s hand casually resting on her knee.

They had gone as far as some under-the-shirt petting during a particularly heated makeout session, but no further. The feel of his sculpted abdomen and chest had nearly melted her brains out of her head, and since then Elain hadn’t been able to stop picturing herself ripping his shirt off- and maybe making a few memories of their own. Especially if she wouldn’t be allowed back at Hogwarts next year. At least she would have this, one last bright memory amongst the darkness.

The problem, though, was where. The hallway where the Room of Requirements was located was now constantly monitored. Lucien had explained that there was rumoured to be a secret passageway that led to the Hog’s Head, though he and his friends had never been able to find it. This also meant that she hadn’t been able to go back to the room to look at the stolen prophecy more closely- not that she was particularly inclined to do so, given Helion’s parting warning.

“What about the prize money, though?” Feyre asked. “Who cares why they’re letting you compete- you could still go home with all that cash.”

Her eyes glazed over for a second, and Elain knew what her sister was picturing- not clothing or luxuries, or fancy modern technology, but basic things they had gone without for a long time. Two thousand galleons translated to a large sum in muggle currency. It would be enough for a few months’ rent on a bigger apartment, perhaps one with AC. Maybe they could even get a new car.

“It would be poetic justice for the prize money to go to a muggle-born family,” said a voice out of nowhere. Elain nearly spilled her pumpkin juice as Nearly-Headless Nick appeared at the center of the table, his head hovering over a bowl of fruit. “You should try to win, girls.”

“Excuse me!” Lucien exclaimed, though without much gusto.

The Gryffindor ghost haughtily adjusted the ruffle that kept his head upright, and huffed. “We already lost the Quidditch cup, what’s one more loss to the noble House of Gryffindor?”

Elain snickered, but before she could hear Lucien’s retort she felt someone tap her on the shoulder.

“Elain?”

It was Azriel, smiling shyly. He was one of the few Slytherins to have stayed behind, along with Rhysand. From what Elain knew his family was as ancient and despicable as the Vanserras, and his decision to stay at Hogwarts would not have been taken lightly.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Lucien had gone preternaturally still beside her- the only indication that he had heard. He wisely kept taunting Nick and didn’t react when she slid from the bench and followed Azriel into the Entrance Hall.

The front doors were thrown open to let in the late spring breeze- though the shape of the giant parked at the bottom of the front steps cast the Entrance Hall in shadow.

Azriel glanced at the giant uneasily. “That will never not be strange.”

Elain shrugged. “I like Grawp. He gave me some flowers the other day. Although, it looked more like a small bush.”

Azriel laughed quietly and brushed the floppy hair out of his eyes. “I wanted to give you something. It’s not a whole flower bush, but…”

He reached into his pocket and took out a small vial filled with golden liquid. The substance inside seemed to glitter and swirl, reflecting the rays of sunshine streaming in through the open door. The vial was three-quarters full, and Azriel blushed slightly as he saw Elain notice.

“Your liquid luck?”

“I wanted you to have it. For the tournament. Not that I think you need it,” he added quickly, blushing even deeper. “Just in case it’s rigged, or something. It should be you.”

Elain’s stomach plummeted. “You think it might be rigged? Even though there’s no ministry judges coming for the third task?”

The deputy headmistress had not budged on this- the third trial would be judged by Hogwarts staff only, or not at all. Elain couldn’t blame her for not wanting to let any ministry employees inside the castle. Even an ally like Eris would raise too many eyebrows.

Azriel shrugged, his hazel eyes going slightly icy. “I don’t know, but it wouldn’t surprise me. It should be you,” he said again, pressing the vial into her palm. “Imagine how much it’ll piss them off.”

“Don’t let Rhysand hear that you’re supporting the enemy,” Elain joked, unnerved by the quiet wrath in Azriel’s eyes. She wondered suddenly if he and Lucien didn’t have more in common than they thought, in regards to how they felt about their families.

“We all have a common enemy now. If we let them divide us further it’ll only be easier for them to swoop in and tear life as we know it apart.”

Elain wrapped her fingers around the vial of Felix Felicis, chilled by his words, and what they entailed. The potion was warm in her fingers, glowing bright like a ray of hope.

---

A scavenger hunt. It had seemed too easy when Amren had announced it a week earlier- childish, even, compared to the first two Trials.

The rules were simple- each champion would have to solve a series of riddles that would eventually lead them to a certain artifact, hidden somewhere in the castle. The first to find this object, and bring it back to the Entrance Hall, would win the Trial. Points would be tallied at the end, and whoever ended up with the most points would win the prize money- and the title of champion.

Not that anyone left at Hogwarts actually cared about that title anymore. The only good thing that could possibly still come from this farce was for Elain or Nesta to win that prize money- something Lucien had sworn to them he’d do everything he could to make happen, even if he had to sabotage Rhysand himself.

However, as Tarquin blew his whistle and the four champions opened the slip of paper on which their first clues were written, he realized maybe he wouldn’t have to do any sabotage after all.

Your second clue lies amongst those whose voices cannot be heard on land.

Lucien blinked, and reread the clue a second time. And then a third.

those whose voices cannot be heard on land…

Could that mean…

He looked up at the open doorway to the Entrance Hall and towards the dark surface of the lake on the grounds, glittering as it reflected the sunlight. There were legends that merpeople (and other, even more menacing beings) lived in the lake, but Lucien had never seen one, nor did he know anyone who had.

There was a cheer from the assembled students in the Entrance Hall as Elain rushed by him and towards the marble stairs. She shot him a grin and a thumbs up as she passed. The smile on her face was almost silly with excitement, her steps radiating confidence as she broke into a jog up the stairs.

Lucien breathed a sigh of relief. No lake for her, then. Nesta and Rhysand both set off soon after- Rhysand disappearing into the dungeons, and Nesta following Elain up the marble staircase.

Lucien looked back at his clue, aware of the many eyes trained on him, waiting for him to do something.

“Sometime today, Vanserra!” Vassa taunted from the edge of the crowd.

There was a ripple of laughter around the hall. Lucien flipped her the finger, and then hurried through the front doors before a teacher could tell him off.

The lake seemed to get bigger as he approached it, and infinitely more menacing than it had ever appeared. Walking into the Forbidden Forest, where he’d gone so many times before, was one thing, but this was something else entirely. There were things down there- not to mention the giant squid. For a moment he considered simply wandering around the grounds until somebody won, but there was always the risk that the prize money would go to Rhysand. He had to at least try, so he could give Elain the money if he won.

He halted at the edge of the water. It looked darker from this close up, no longer a glittering reflection of the summer sky but a dark, cold abyss.

“Right,” he said, to no one in particular.

Grawp the giant peered at him curiously from the other side of the lake, where he was sitting with his legs kicking in the water. Lucien snickered at the sight. Grawp was the size of a three-story building but most of the time he was as menacing as a dog.

“Grawp!” he called out.

The giant titled his boulder-sized head at him. Lucien beckoned, and Grawp flashed him a crooked, toothy grin. He stood, wading knee-deep in the lake towards Lucien. His steps sent waves of icy water flooding over the banks, soaking his shoes. The prospect of going into the lake suddenly seemed even less enticing.

When he was a few steps away the giant halted, bending down so he could peer at Lucien.

“Have you ever seen any Merpeople in the lake?” Lucien asked.

The giant blinked at him, his expression good-natured but uncomprehending.

“Umm…” Lucien was suddenly aware of the students gathered around the lake, and sitting in clumps throughout the grounds. He wasn’t sure what the other students had been told about the Trial, but it seemed they had been instructed to spread out throughout the grounds in order to catch a glimpse of the champions.

“Merpeople,” he said again, gesturing to the middle of the lake. He mimed wielding a trident, and then pretended to snarl and flash pointed claws, all the while feeling supremely idiotic.

Grawp’s beady eyes widened in fear, and he hurriedly backed away from Lucien, pointing with a tree-sized arm towards the very center of the lake.

“Bad,” the giant rumbled. “Bad.”

Lucien took that as answer enough. A swim with Merpeople it was, then. He shucked his shoes and robes, rolling up the hem of the pants he wore underneath. A twirl of his wand around his head later, he was surrounded by a halo of cool, crisp oxygen. He had never tested this charm underwater, but he supposed he was about to find out the hard way if he had mastered it enough.

He waded into the lake, Grawp still peering at him closely. The lake was icy despite the heat of the day, and by the time the water reached his shoulders he was shivering. Maybe his biggest problem here wouldn’t be the Merpeople or lack of oxygen, but the frigid temperature of the water.

With one last deep breath he filled his lungs with oxygen, and then dove below the surface.

The water was murky, and even this close to the surface he could barely see a few feet in front of him. He took a tentative breath, and to his relief his lungs filled with crisp air. At least that much had worked.

“Lumos!”

The tip of his wand lit with a thin, golden beam of light that only served to make the water look even more green and murky. Thankfully there didn’t seem to be any sign of movement, squid or merpeople alike. Lucien stuck his wand between his teeth and dove deeper into the water.

The lake seemed to go on forever. As he dove deeper and deeper into the murky depths the weak light filtering in from the surface faded to a faint greenish glow, and then disappeared altogether. The light from his wand illuminated reeds filled with fish- and possibly other things he didn’t care to look at too closely.

Deeper and deeper into the water he went, until he started to worry about his bubble of oxygen. Surely it would hold up as long as he willed it to?

Eventually shapes started to take form in the distance. Blocky, harsh slabs jutting out of the bottom of the lake, like some kind of underground burial ground. As he got closer he realized they weren’t tombs, but crude stone dwellings. The houses were almost entirely covered in algae, and from the windows… Lucien shuddered as he spotted the eyes peering out at him, countless faces contorted in feral grins. He was starting to think that this might have been a very, very bad mistake.

He had just made up his mind to turn around after spotting what was definitely a trident leaning against the side of a house nearby, when he spotted what appeared to be the town square. Or, what would have been a town square had this been a human dwelling. There was a circular open space, with a raised platform in the center. And on that platform stood the ugliest, strangest looking being Lucien had ever seen.

There was a painting of a mermaid in the Prefects bathroom, the occupant of which often flirted with him when he went to take baths. She had the torso of a woman, with long, glistening blond hair that she draped precariously over luscious breasts, and a glittering, scaled tail that she flipped flirtatiously from the rock on which she perched.

What stood in front of Lucien, beckoning him forward with a finger, could not be more different from the pretty mermaid in that painting. Its skin was a sickly shade of greenish-gray, with green hair that looked disgustingly similar to the vegetation that clung to the sides of the buildings around the square. Its teeth were pointy and sharp, and the finger that beckoned to him was tipped in a long black claw. Lucien almost turned around and bolted, but then he spotted the capsule in the merperson’s hand. The figures peering at him hadn’t made a move towards him, and neither had the one standing in the square. They beckoned to Lucien again, and he swam closer, wishing he had thought of a spell to somehow give himself webbed hands and feet so he could move faster through the water.

The merperson dipped his chin and inch, his eyes never leaving Lucien’s, and extended the capsule. It was made of smooth, polished rock, with a groove in the center where Lucien guessed it must open.

Lucien grinned back. “Thank you!” His voice came out sounding like a garbled jumble of words, but the merperson inclined his chin an inch again.

Lucien took that as his cue to leave. He flipped around and pushed off the slimy bottom of the lake, aiming for the surface.

Screw his father and the ministry. It didn’t matter why they were letting the school host this tournament- this was fun. And if the school wouldn’t reopen next year, or at the very least not as the school he had known for six years….he wouldn’t think about that now. He couldn’t think about his father’s werewolf registry, and whether Lucien would be put on it, or if he’d be allowed to come back for his seventh year. He’d think about that later- for now he’d just have this last bit of fun. And if he could win and give the Archerons the prize money, then even better.

Swimming back to the surface proved to be more difficult than swimming down had been, with long weeds constantly tangling around him and Grindylows shaking their fists at him from every angle. He was so focused on getting back to the surface that he didn’t notice the dark, massive presence looming towards him until it was directly above him, blocking his path to the surface.

Lucien twisted around, adrenaline propelling him back down the way he came. His mind suddenly filled with images of the giant squid, opening it’s gaping maw-

Something wrapped around his middle, and he thrashed, though whatever was holding him only held him harder. He still held his lit wand between his teeth, but his arms were pinned to his sides uselessly by his captor. Surely it was the squid’s tentacles- perhaps it would suffocate him before devouring him…

He managed to wriggle an arm free, and whipped his wand towards the vice holding him. “RELASHIO!”

His voice was garbled again, a trail of bubbles escaping his halo of oxygen. Red sparks went shooting out of his wand, followed by what seemed to be a jet of scalding water. There was a horrible noise from somewhere behind and above him, like an angry, surprised exclamation of pain. Whatever was holding him didn’t release him, however, and Lucien realized with horror that he was being heaved towards the surface.

Where were the teachers? Surely they should be watching, making sure that he didn’t drown or get eaten down here…

His bubble-head charm vanished as he broke the surface, and he gasped in a breath of warm air. He was still thrashing against his captor, and had just lifted his wand for a second attack when a familiar voice made him pause.

“Bad!”

Lucien glanced down, and immediately stopped fighting. It wasn’t tentacles wrapped around his middle, but wide, tree-branch sized fingers. He twisted around and was met by Grawp’s rough, boulder-shaped face twisted into a worried frown.

“Bad,” the giant repeated, glancing towards the middle of the lake. “Grawp no like.” Grawp seemed to shudder then, the motion making Lucien sway in midair.

“Yeah, Lucien no like, either,” he agreed. “Hey, Grawp, can you put me down now?”

Grawp wadded through the water and slowly deposited Lucien on the edge of the lake. “Grawpy keep student safe,” the giant said solemnly, and then slumped back on the ground, sending a wave of icy water crashing over the shore.

“Yeah, good job, mate.”

Lucien could have done without the impromptu rescue, but the giant grinned and leaned back on his hands, apparently satisfied with his efforts.

“Tik tok, Lucien!” someone yelled from the other side of the lake. It seemed he wasn’t the only one who had given in to the competitive atmosphere.

He took the stone capsule out of his pocket, and pried the two halves apart. A slip of parchment lay inside, and Lucien dropped the empty capsule to the ground and quickly read his second clue.

Though we are made to fly, here is where we rest.

“What?”

A few students snickered nearby. Grawp angled his head at him in confusion.

Though we are made to fly…

Lucien quickly ran through a list of things that were made to fly. Birds, ghosts, hippogriffs…he looked towards the groundskeeper’s cottage, and the pen at the edge of the Forbidden Forest where the Hippogriffs were kept. Surely his second clue wouldn’t be hidden amongst a bunch of Hippogriffs? He’d had his fill of magical creatures for the day, and would have much preferred to run around the castle.

Though we are made to fly…

The realization hit him like a brick. “See you, Grawp!” he called over his shoulder, and then he broke into a sprint in the direction of the Quidditch pitch.

He might actually be able to win this whole thing. How he’d love to see the sneer on his father’s face when he found out. Although, considering he was letting the school finish the tournament, Lucien doubted his father cared at all. Perhaps it was his way of lulling them into a sense of security.

The Quidditch pitch was deserted as he approached it. He slowed to a jog, and then yanked open the door to the shed where the brooms and Quidditch equipment were kept. It was unusually dark inside, as if the bright sunshine from outside had been blocked by curtains- though no curtains hung from the windows. Maybe it was part of the challenge, and another capsule lay hidden somewhere in the dark.

“Lumos!”

A beam of light illuminated the inside of the shed, as familiar to Lucien as his dormitory. Trunks of Quidditch robes and equipment, and rows and rows of brooms of various ages and quality lined up against the wall. His own Nimbus three-thousand and four hung from a rack on a nearby wall, along with the rest of the Gryffindor team’s brooms.

Lucien went still as he sensed a presence behind him, though whoever (or whatever) it was hadn’t made a sound. And then he saw the shadow, stretching along the dusty floor next to his own. His hand tightened on his wand but before he could so much as react he felt the tip of a wand press to the back of his neck.

“Very good, Vanserra,” a deep, leering voice drawled. The voice was familiar enough that the hair rose on the back of his neck. “That took you no time at all.”

Footsteps sounded as the person behind him walked around to face him. Lucien saw the wand first, trained on his face. And then a grin, feral and devoid of humor or good-will. His stomach plummeted as he took in the familiar face, lit by the glow of his wand.

“Tell me where the prophecy is,” Professor Hybern whispered urgently. “And we can pretend this little encounter never happened.”

Lucien’s mind was blank with shock. His mouth opened and closed in surprise, and for a moment he couldn’t think of what to say.

“What.” Somehow it came out sounding more like a statement than a question.

“Yes, yes,” Hybern said, waving his wand around impatiently, “shock and surprise, all of that. You can agonize about it later. Now tell me where the prophecy is, before I make you.”

“The…how do you know about that?” Lucien took an involuntary step backwards, but Hybern followed him. Turning on his heel and running would be foolish, but surely Hybern wouldn’t actually attack him? He was a teacher at the school, he was…

He was somehow in his father’s employ, in one way or another. The realization sent a chill down his spine that had nothing to do with his clothes still drenched in lake water.

Professor Hybern smiled again, as if he had read the realization on his face. He took a slow step closer, like a hyena closing in on its prey.

“I’m going to ask you one more time, and then things will get ugly.”

Lucien clamped his mouth shut. Whatever that prophecy showed, it was important enough that his father was desperate to get it. Desperate enough to have his mole inside Hogwarts reveal himself.

Hybern sighed. “Very well. I’d prefer the Cruciatus curse, but I wouldn’t want your screams to attract half the school here. The Imperius curse was always more Koschei’s style, you see- at least, until he went soft in his old age-”

Lucien didn’t care to hear the rest. He lunged, throwing his wand out at the same time. “Expelliarmus!”

“Imperio!”

The teacher’s spell missed him by a hair’s breadth, while his own hit a nearby trunk full of robes, sending a cloud of splinters and fabric exploding around them. Lucien used the momentary distraction to extinguish his wand, sending the shed once more into whatever unnatural darkness Hybern had cast. He blindly dove behind a chest full of Bludgers just as another spell zoomed so close to his head that it singed the top of his ear.

Hybern was blocking his path to the door, but if he could just distract him enough, he could outrun him, or even physically disable him. The potions master was hardly fit, Lucien could easily take him out.

There was a low chuckle uncomfortably close to the chest where he crouched. “Oh, ickle Lucien. Your father will laugh when he hears how you cowered from me. He’s always been so disappointed in you, but to hide like this- what a disappointment to the House of Gryffindor.”

Let him talk. Let him talk, do not react.

Lucien felt around the trunk as quietly as he could, blindly feeling for the lid and praying that the hinges wouldn’t squeak. Hybern wanted to rile him up by bringing up his father, but he wouldn’t let him.

“Did you know, he once told me that he only considered himself to have six legitimate sons-”

Lucien jumped to his feet, letting the trunk snap shut as he threw a Bludger as hard as he could at the mass of shadows in front of him. There was a grunt of pain, and a loud thud, but Lucien didn’t stick around to see what kind of damage he had inflicted. He turned and ran towards the door- but Hybern was faster.

“Legilimens!”

This time the spell found its mark. Lucien fell to his knees from the force of it, the breath knocked clean from his lungs. It felt like something sharp and dark was worming its way into his mind, talons poking in the recesses of his memories. Images flashed in front of him, as clearly as if they were photographs. He and Elain walking through the Hall of Prophecy, in disguise. He and Elain in the greenhouses, her hand timidly snaking beneath his t-shirt. Lucien growled, realizing what Hybern was doing even as he was powerless to stop it. He tried to shut down his mind, to fight against that force poking around his mind, but there was no stopping it.

Elain, cheeks pink as he scooted closer next to her in Divination class.

Elain, face ashen as she read Briallyn Scooter’s article.

Elain, tilting her face up to him in the Room of Requirements, after their Patronus lesson.

Lucien’s stomach dropped. He couldn’t move, couldn’t stop Hybern from seeing what he wanted to see.

Elain, sweaty and exhausted looking, slipping a shimmering crystal ball into a chest full of moldy robes inside the Room of Requirements.

The dark presence left his mind as swiftly as it had entered, but before Lucien could regain control of himself something hit him on the side of the head.

And then there was nothing but sweet, blessed darkness.

---

Elain had never felt so utterly confident. She felt almost drunk with it- powerful, in an unstoppable way. There was nothing she couldn’t do. This tournament was a cakewalk. She wasn’t sure why she’d ever been afraid of it at all. She could win this thing in her sleep.

There was a small, rational part of her brain that was aware it was the Felix Felicis talking, but she didn’t mind. Nor did she mind that using liquid luck in official competitions was illegal.

It should also have been illegal to unjustly accuse a man of murder and force him to flee from his school, but that hadn’t stopped the Minister for Magic. Let this be her private way of rebelling, however small and insignificant her rebellion was.

It felt good. Elain had never considered herself to be timid or unsure of herself, but she’d never had the kind of unfaltering confidence that her sisters possessed. Nesta, in her calculating, cool way, and Feyre in her slightly brash, audacious way. But with Felix guiding her movements, she could do anything. Her clues were easily solved, the obstacles blocking her path too easily breached. Her second clue had been blocked by a Boggart, and she had merely scoffed and dismissed it with a flick of her wand.

She had almost laughed out loud when she had reached her last clue.

A stone to help if all else fails.

A bezoar. The answer had appeared in her mind, as if she’d simply conjured it by will alone. The fact that she was terrible at potions heightened her sense of hilarity. Azriel would laugh when she told him. Azriel. He was sweet, if a bit odd- she should really tell Lucien to be kinder to him.

She was walking (not even running- that’s how confident she felt that the other champions weren’t even close to finishing) towards the potions dungeon when something made her stop in her tracks. Unbidden, the room of lost objects in the Room of Requirements flashed through her mind. She felt an inexplicable, urgent need to go there. Now.

She hesitated, fighting with her warring instincts, but only for a moment. Felix knew best. She’d been lucky so far, who was she to argue with it now? With that she spun on her heel and hurried back out of the dungeons, and back up the marble staircase. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Professor Alis give her a strange look, but she ignored her. It would all make sense in the end. Clearly she had missed something, or perhaps she’d misinterpreted the last clue. Either way, she had to get to that room, and quickly.

It dimly occurred to her that the room might be guarded even now. But surely the Professors wouldn’t block access during the tournament? She’d figure that out when she got there.

Sir Cadogan was oddly quiet when she approached the stretch of wall he faced, his usual barbs or taunts replaced by an uncharacteristic silence. Even his trolls were silent, standing still in their tutus and watching her approach warily.

“Oy,” the knight finally said as she faced the blank wall. “On guard, there.” There was a strange edge to his tone, but Elain dismissed it.

“Yes, yes,” she said impatiently.

The hall was dark, even though the sun shone brightly just outside the windows. That struck as odd, also, but she shrugged it off. Perhaps the Felix Felicis was clouding her vision.

She walked back and forth in front of the stone wall, picturing that room that Lucien had shown her. After her third pass a door appeared, and she walked through it.

It was just as she remembered it. A cavernous room, filled floor to ceiling with detritus of decades (or likely, centuries) past. Magical and muggle artifacts alike, mixed with furniture and all kinds of bits and bobs.

Right. Why had she come here? She couldn’t remember, other than she had felt a nagging urge to be here at this precise moment. No matter. She’d simply look around until she figured it out. All in good time.

She sighed and grinned, her posture loose and easy as she ambled slowly through the stacks of lost objects. There was something melancholy about all these lost possessions. Everything here had meant something to someone, once. It was like a graveyard of memories.

Once again something made her pause. There was a whispering, something nagging at her, other than the Felix. The Felix had urged her to come here, but hadn’t told her why.

Come see....

Look....

The whispers made the hair on the back of her neck rise, and she shivered, feeling suddenly much more sober. Maybe the liquid luck was wearing off. She’d only taken half of what was left- she felt bad taking all of it for this, even though Azriel had given it to her.

See…

Elain had turned and started walking before she even processed what she was doing. Her feet moved of their own accord, and then she was standing in front of a familiar trunk. She knew what she would find inside before she even opened it- and dimly, she recognized that she shouldn’t be doing this. Professor Spell-Cleaver had specifically asked for it to remain hidden, and she hadn’t dared to go against his wishes. And yet, her luck hadn’t led her astray yet.

She pushed aside the smelly robes trimmed in moldy lace, and there it was. Shining as if lit with an inner light, the vapor inside swirling around and around.

See, it urged her. Look.

Her hands had wrapped around the prophecy before she could talk herself out of it. It felt warm, alive in her fingers.

“Well done, Ms Archeron.”

Elain nearly sent the prophecy smashing to the ground in shock. She whirled, clutching the orb to her chest.

There was a brief, idiotic moment in which she felt relieved at the sight of the familiar, if not exactly friendly, face. And then she noticed the wand pointed directly at her head- along with the sinister smile on her teacher’s face.

“Professor Hybern?” Her voice came out high and squeaky.

“You can imagine my dismay when I came in here and saw all this junk. But then in you walked. And I didn’t even have to ask.”

Elain had no idea what he was talking about, her focus solely on the wand he kept trained to the middle of her forehead.

“What…what do you mean? Is this part of the Trial?”

Professor Hybern let out a bark of laughter. “You always were a sweet girl. More so than that disgusting brute you chose to date.”

Elain felt her hackles rise. “What did you just say?”

“He didn’t talk easily,” the teacher continued, ignoring her. “He put up quite a fight, actually. But you shouldn’t blame him, dear. It wasn’t his fault.”

Her heart rate sped up as dread and adrenaline gripped her like a vice. Whatever confidence she’d had from the Felix Felicis was gone- or nearly. Lucien. Her mind was struggling to keep up with what Hybern was telling her. He had somehow gotten to Lucien, and forced him to reveal the location of the prophecy.

“What did you do to him?” she blurted.

He was ok. He had to be. She would know- she told herself that somehow she would know if he wasn’t.

Hybern laughed. “Oh, he’ll be alright. Unfortunately.”

Elain’s shoulders sagged in relief, but then Hybern was advancing on her. She tried to back away from him, but the back of her knees hit the trunk behind her. Her luck had finally run out, it seemed. She was trapped here.

“Now hand me that prophecy, unless you want things to get ugly.”

“Why do you want it so badly?” She was stalling, but she didn’t know what else to do. She couldn’t very well fight him, and there was nowhere for her to run but deeper into the stacks of lost objects.

“Let me worry about that. Give it to me before I make you.”

“It’s mine.” She clutched the prophecy tighter to her chest, edging around the trunk and backing away from the teacher still slowly inching his way towards her. Any second now he was going to lunge at her (or worse) and there’d be nothing she could do to stop it. “I made this prophecy in the first place. It doesn’t belong to you.”

Hybern let out a frustrated growl. Elain wondered if he was reluctant to attack her because she was a girl, or because he was afraid of accidentally smashing the prophecy.

“It belongs to the person about whom the prophecy is about,” he spat.

Elain froze. “What does that mean?” Hybern winced, as if realizing what he had just unwittingly revealed. “The prophecy is about the Minister? Is that why he stole it?”

“Enough of this. I didn’t want to have to hurt you, girl, but I will if I have to.”

Elain turned on her heel and ran just as the professor was raising his wand. The room was a labyrinth of twisted passageways through mountains of junk, and she took turns at random as Hybern thundered after her. It seemed to go on forever as Elain zigzagged deeper into the room. Hybern’s frustrated shouts echoed behind her, wood splintering as curses hit piles of broken furniture.

“Accio Prophecy!”

The orb slipped out of her fingers, and Elain lunged, grappling madly for it. Another curse went flying besides her and hit a stack of thick leather bound books. Elain ducked to avoid the exploding tomes, losing her grasp on the orb. It fell to the floor and shattered, and before she could react dense mist was swirling in front of her, whispering to her.

And then her vision went dark entirely.

She recognized the man immediately, though the look of terror in his water blue eyes was in direct contrast to his usual jovial, if slightly haughty demeanor.

“What will you do with us?” The muggle Prime Minister’s voice quivered as he cowered from the advancing figures in front of him.

A dry laugh, if such a mirthless sound could be considered laughter. “For starters, I’m going to let my dogs here have a bite of you. They’re very hungry, you see, and they’ve developed a taste for muggle flesh.”

The muggle blanched as the two men flanking the Minister for Magic bared their canines.

“And then,” Beron continued, “the wizarding world will hide no longer.”

Elain gasped in a breath as the vision faded and the room came back into focus. Her heart was pounding so fast that she tasted bile. Beron hadn’t simply been building an army as some sick experiment, after all.

She jumped to her feet and whirled before she remembered where she was, and who had been chasing her.

Hybern stood behind her, his face contorted with fury. “You stupid girl. You’ve left me no choice but to kill you.”

“Why?” she blurted. “Why would he do this?”

Hybern’s laugh was low and wicked. “We’ve hidden in the shadows for too long. It’s high time for muggles to serve us, as they should have been doing all along.”

His wand was rising again. He was going to kill her and dump her body somewhere in this graveyard of detritus where nobody would ever find it. Or perhaps they’d come up with a tragic story of how she died in a freak accident during the tournament. Either way, she wasn’t walking away, and there would be nobody to sound the alarm about the Minister’s sinister plans.

“I really am very sorry about this, you know,” Hybern said, almost conversationally. “I wasn’t planning on having to kill you at all.”

“Then don’t,” Elain squeaked. To her horror her throat was closing up in a sob. She didn’t want to die like this, cowering and sobbing, but she couldn’t help it. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Hybern laughed again. Elain used the split second of distraction to scan the path behind him for anything she could use to her advantage. She couldn’t duel him, but perhaps if she could cause a big enough explosion, as he had done with the books, she could-

Her breath caught in her chest. Hybern mistook it for a gasp of fear, and didn’t turn around to see what she had seen. A shadow, growing longer as whoever it was approached on silent feet.

“But you would, wouldn’t you? And then the whole plan would be ruined.”

“People won’t stand for this,” Elain retorted. “The Minister can’t actually think this will work.”

“Bah!” Hybern waved a hand dismissively. “Some will be opposed at first, of course. There’s always two sides to any revolution. But by then the damage will be done.”

“No, it won’t.” Elain would have recognized that deep voice anywhere, and she could have wept with relief as Lucien crept up behind Hybern.

The professor whirled, but Lucien’s wand was already trained on him.

“Expelliarmus!”

Hybern’s wand went flying before he could block the spell, and a split second later the teacher was lunging for Lucien.

“Petrificus Totalus!”

Professor Hybern froze mid-step and hit the floor with a sickening crunch. Blood oozed from his face and what was surely a broken nose, but Elain didn’t bother feeling bad before taking Lucien’s outstretched hand and running for the door.

“Your father!” she gasped as soon as the door snapped shut behind them. “He’s going to kill the muggle Prime Minister.”

Lucien blanched. “I figured that’s what he meant.”

“Today,” Elain continued. “He’s doing it today.” She couldn’t explain where the certainty came from, but she knew it was true down in her bones. Perhaps it was Felix, guiding her with one last bit of luck.

Lucien, to his credit, didn’t question her. “Maybe that’s why he was so keen on Hogwarts hosting the tournament this year. It kept people distracted from what he was up to. I bet he thinks the Headmaster is hiding somewhere near the school to keep an eye on the tournament, and won’t get in his way.”

“We need to find Professor Spell-Cleaver. He has people working with him within the ministry- they can put a stop to this before it goes too far.”

“Go to the owlery, send Andras. Write down everything you know. I‘ll go find professor Amren.”

Elain turned on her heel, but Lucien clamped a hand on her upper arm and dragged her in for a fierce kiss.

“Ugh!” Sir Cadogan exclaimed. “Children, please!”

Elain smiled against his lips, despite it all.

“He won’t get away with this,” Lucien whispered, pressing his forehead to hers for a heartbeat. “And when it’s all over, I’ll make sure everyone knows that it was you who saved the day.”

Elain giggled. “And I’ll deny it.”

“I know. It’s part of what I love about you.” And with that he turned and ran down the hall.

Elain hesitated for a beat, his words echoing around her brain.

“I daresay that boy’s just declared he loves you!” Sir Cadogan quipped from behind her.

Elain felt her face grow hot- and then she remembered where she was. Right. She’d analyze that later.

She broke into a run, and didn't stop until she reached the owlery. The mingled scents of animal droppings and hay hit her like a brick wall as she stepped into the circular room. Owls of all colors and description dozed around the room, but she found Lucien’s snowy owl immediately where he perched next to two barn owls. The owl opened a bleary eye as she approached him, clicking his beak in irritation.

“Don’t look at me like that. I have a job for you. It’s important.”

The bird sat up straighter at that, ruffling his feathers and blinking at her with his mismatched eyes. Elain found some stray parchment and quickly scratched out a letter to Professor Spell-Cleaver, telling him what she had seen and what Professor Hybern had tried to do. When she was done she rolled it into a tight scroll and closed with a piece of string.

“Find Professor Spell-Cleaver,” Elain told the snowy owl. “As fast as you can, Andras.”

The owl clicked his beak importantly and held out a leg for her to attach the note. Before she could do so, however, there was a flurry of movement around her as owls fluttered their wings and woke from their slumber. Andras’ eyes went slightly wide and he seemed to go very still.

Elain whirled, heart pounding, and gasped at the sight of a magnificent phoenix sitting on the ledge of one of the many windows cut into the circular tower. She had never seen Professor Spell-Cleaver’s phoenix, but they were such rare animals that she had little doubt to whom this one belonged to. The bird looked at her for a beat, and there was such intelligence in its eyes that Elain felt like the bird could somehow read her mind.

And then he stretched out his brilliant ruby and gold wings, swooped through the air, and snatched the scroll of parchment from her fingers. Another flap of his ruby wings and the phoenix had flown out of the owlery and disappeared into the late afternoon sunshine.

---

He should have listened to his wife all those times she had urged him to retire.

The Prime Minister couldn’t stop thinking about it as the door to the safe room slammed shut, and the lock clicked into place. If he had only listened to her he could be with her in their country house at this very moment, far away from whatever disaster was currently taking place in the streets of London. And more importantly, it would be someone else’s responsibility to clean up the mess afterwards.

Drugs. That had been the last report he’d been given before getting sequestered to safety. A coup, led by a rogue militia in some type of drug-induced hysteria.

It was, of course, all wrong, but he couldn’t exactly explain to anyone how he knew this. Tear gas and barricades would do nothing against this particular enemy. And neither, he thought uncomfortably as he looked at the solid iron door to the safe room, would locks.

It was them. The others, as he referred to them in the privacy of his own mind. The minister had known something was wrong when that Headmaster had kept showing up to placate him about the odd goings-on in London during the past few months. Attacks, disappearances, not to mention that unnatural fog. He might be getting on in age, and his health might not be what it used to be, but his mind still worked fine, thank you very much.

And now this. He’d have a word with that other Minister once this was all over. He’d warn him to keep his people under control, or else-

A loud pop echoed through the room, and the minister gasped in fright and fell off his chair as three figures appeared in front of him. He recognized the man in the center of the trio immediately, though he had met him only once. The minister would never forget that day, nor would he ever forget the face of the man who had shattered everything he had ever known about the world he lived in. The Minister for magic was a short, stocky man, with cold eyes and a smile that was a little too asp-like for comfort. Flanking him were two men he had never seen before, but their appearance sent a chill down his spine. They looked at him with savage, leering expressions, and their eyes appeared to be slightly glazed.

“You!” The minister hauled himself to standing with as much dignity as he could muster, suddenly enraged. How dare he just show up like this! He was so enraged he didn’t even bother to wonder at the fact that the man had just appeared out of nowhere. The Headmaster at least always sent a letter first, though seeing him walk out of bright-green flames in his fireplace was no less disconcerting.

“I know your people are behind this,” he continued. “I don’t know what they think they’re doing, but you need to go out there and put a stop to this madness.”

“Minister,” the wizard said, “How good to see you.”

The muggle spluttered in indignation. “In case you haven’t noticed, a band of degenerates are attempting a coup against my government, and I know for a fact that they are your people.”

Minister Vanserra waved a hand in apparent boredom. The muggle froze at the sight of the wand held casually between his fingers. At least the other one had the decency of not waving that thing around in his presence.

“Mine they are, though people is not exactly the term I’d use for them.”

“What does that-”

“Let me spell it out for you, Minister. You have two choices. You can yield your government to me now, and we can continue to work together peacefully as we’ve always done. Except, from now on, I’m relieving you from the heavy burden of carrying this secret all by yourself.”

“You… what does that-”

“Or,” the wizard interrupted, “you can resist, in which case I’ll be forced to kill you. I’d rather not go to the trouble of appointing a replacement who suits my needs, so I really would much prefer the first option.”

The muggle clasped his hands behind his back to hide their trembling, though he knew the wizard would see through his false bravado. His words weren’t making sense, and yet he had a vague, and horrible idea that he knew precisely what was going on here.

He glanced behind him at the locked door, and at the cameras mounted into the ceiling. Perhaps he just had to keep him talking long enough. Pretend to yield, until the threat could be neutralized.

But by whom? It would take hours to assemble the military might necessary to take on even a few wizards.

“And before you take too long to decide,” the wizard drawled, “please know that the degenerates, as you called them, are actually a host of highly trained werewolves and vampires. They’re under orders to stay relatively civil for now, but that can change very quickly.”

Terror shot through his veins, rendering him momentarily mute. “What do you plan on doing to us?”

The wizard smiled, though there was nothing but cold menace in the gesture.

“For starters, I’m going to let my dogs here have a bite of you. They’re very hungry, you see, and they’ve developed a taste for muggle flesh.”

The muggle blanched as the two men flanking the Minister for Magic bared their canines.

“And then,” Beron continued, “the wizarding world will hide no longer.”

The muggle fell to his knees. “Please- please, you said you didn’t want to kill me. I’ll work with you, I’ll do anything-“

“You will do no such thing.”

He was so blinded by terror that at first he couldn’t tell where the deep voice had come from. And then another man (another wizard) stepped out of the shadows.

It was the oddest sight the minister had ever seen, and that was saying something, all things considered. The Headmaster wore robes of deepest blue, edged in golden sunbursts. He looked a little unkempt, at least more so than usual, and on his shoulder sat the most magnificent bird he’d ever seen. Its plumage was a mixture of fire red and vivid gold, with tail feathers that dropped all the way to the floor. Like some kind odd peacock.

The door slammed open, and the minister scrambled to his feet and backed away towards the wall as wizards flooded the small space. Their wands were all raised- but not towards him.

“What is the meaning of this?” Minister Vanserra spat.

The floor seemed to tremble as the Headmaster stepped forward, and the minister noted with some satisfaction that Vanserra seemed to recoil slightly.

“Please know that it brings me great joy to say this. Beron Vanserra, you are under arrest for the following crimes: the attempted violation of the International Statute of Secrecy, the unauthorized and unregulated use of the Imperius charm, and the unjust detainment of the following individuals. Bartemius Koschei, Silas Crump, Chiara Lobosa, Scarlet Sparks…

The Minister for Magic continued to rage as the list of names went on and on. Wizards surrounded him on all sides, wands raised.

“He is a WANTED FUGITIVE!” the minister bellowed, gesturing towards the Headmaster. “Arrest him!”

“That’s not going to happen,” Helion said smoothly. “It’s over, Beron. We have the evidence we need to let you rot in Azkaban forever.”

The Prime Minister did not have any idea what Azkaban meant, but from the look on the Minister for Magic’s face he didn’t think he wanted to find out, either. A kind-looking wizard was guiding him towards a chair, and he was suddenly so exhausted that he didn’t protest. He wasn’t sure how his legs were still functioning properly.

“It’s all right, Sir,” the man was saying. “Our team of Obliviators are already hard at work to contain the situation. The injured are being dealt with as we speak.”

“Quite right.”

The Minister didn’t have the energy to tell the man he had no idea what he was talking about. He sighed heavily as he considered the shitstorm he would be facing with the media. “I need to telephone my wife.”

The wizard brightened. “I know what that is! It’s like the visitors’ entrance to the Ministry for Magic!”

“The…” The minister racked a hand over his face. “Sure. If you say so.”

---

Lucien had barely slept. He and Elain had spent the entire evening and part of the night in the Headmaster’s office, going over the events of the night before over and over again. First to Professor Amren, then to various ministry members, then to Professor Spell-Cleaver. The Headmaster had reappeared around midnight, and though he looked nothing short of murderous he had simply sat down at his desk as if he had never left.

And then, finally, they had recounted the story to his mother. Lucien was so wrung out by then that he had almost wept as she had appeared in the Headmaster’s hearth alongside Eris. Whatever adrenaline had kept him functioning finally gave out, and he let his mother cradle him like a child as the full implication of what had happened hit him like a brick.

His father had been arrested. Arrested, and taken to Azkaban, where he would await a trial that most likely would not end up being kind to him.

“It’s over,” his mother had whispered, as she held him in a vice grip. He wasn’t sure if it was more to reassure him, or her.

It wasn’t over, of course. There would be a trial, which would most likely get dragged out into a long and very public spectacle. The newspapers would have a field day with it, and it would be while yet before his family could get any sort of peace.

In the end Madam Madja had clucked her way into the Headmaster’s office and demanded he and Elain be allowed to get some rest. She had practically forced a sleeping tonic down their throats, and though sleep had claimed him the second his head hit the pillow, nightmares had plagued him the whole night.

As soon as dawn broke he gave up trying to sleep and silently crept out of the dormitory. The castle was still slumbering, unsurprising given the early hour, but it almost felt as if all its inhabitants had breathed a sigh of relief, and could finally sleep easily. Lucien wondered how long it would take for him to sleep without his treacherous mind immediately conjuring up the image of Professor Hybern threatening Elain. Or of those cells in Azkaban, filled with people who weren’t so different from him. He needed to finish packing, but there was one last question he needed answered that he hadn’t dared ask last night in front of everyone.

The stone gargoyle guarding the Headmaster’s office looked at him coolly as he approached.

“Cockroach clusters.”

The gargoyle blinked at him insolently, but didn’t move. Shit. Of course he would have changed the password, after everything. Lucien sighed and turned to leave. He was halfway down the hallway when a pointed cough behind him made him turn around again. The gargoyle had moved, though it looked offended to have been asked to do so.

“Thank you!” Lucien hurried past it and up the spiral stairs. The double doors to Helion’s office were ajar, but he knocked before poking his head in.

“Mr Vanserra. Come in.”

The Headmaster had his back to him as he stood at the window, looking out at the rising sun. When he turned there was a warm smile on his face, and though Lucien doubted the Headmaster had slept at all, he looked as upbeat as ever.

“There’s nothing like a sunrise over the lake, wouldn’t you say?”

Lucien glanced out the window, to the candy-colored sky reflected in the mirror-still lake. There was a lone figure sitting on the banks, also looking in the direction of the sunrise.

“I’m not usually awake to see it,” he replied truthfully.

Helion chuckled, and turned towards the window again. They watched as Grawp stretched his arms wide, and then curled up on his side underneath a large oak.

“Where will they go?” Lucien asked curiously.

“They are on their way back to their home in the mountains. With the eternal gratitude and friendship of the wizarding community, something they haven’t had in centuries. And as for Grawp,” the Headmaster shook his head fondly, “he has requested to remain at Hogwarts. Our groundskeeper is training him as an apprentice.”

It was Lucien’s turn to laugh. “He might be a match for the Blast-Ended Skrewts.”

“Indeed.”

Lucien glanced at the lake again, and shivered as he remembered the grey faces of the merpeople, peering at him curiously from their windows. There was another sight that he wouldn’t soon forget.

Bad, Grawp had warned him.

“Are the merpeople evil?” he blurted. “I never knew there were so many of them.”

Helion blinked in apparent surprise, and Lucien immediately felt idiotic. “Not more or less evil than anything residing within the Forbidden Forest.” The Headmaster gave him a long, steely look, as if reminding him that he was well aware of much time Lucien had spent in that very forest.

Lucien coughed awkwardly. “Right. Like the giants.”

“Giants, Acromantulas, Centaurs. They all look out for themselves, in the end. We are all only as evil as our intentions.”

The silence that fell was heavy, as if a shadow had fallen over them- a shadow shaped like the man whose name he bore, and whose intentions had never been anything but evil.

Helion sighed heavily. “Cup of tea?” He waved a hand lazily and a tea set appeared on his desk.

Lucien sat in one of the chairs facing the desk, steeling his nerves for the question he truly wanted to ask.

Helion leaned back in his chair, cradling his cup of tea. “It’s going to take a while before life starts feeling normal again. But it will, eventually.”

To his horror Lucien felt his throat start to close up. What was wrong with him? He gulped some tea and coughed as the hot liquid burned down his throat.

“It’s just- how could he think this could work? Why would he even want it to?”

The Headmaster shrugged. “Power is a heady thing. Some people can never get enough. We might never know the full reason behind his motivations.” He seemed to hesitate a beat, and then leaned forward, his gaze serious. “There are some who would think it insensitive of me to tell you this, but you’re an adult, and you deserve the truth.”

Lucien’s stomach dropped. He wasn’t sure how many more secrets or revelations he could handle today. “What?”

“Your father will be found guilty, there’s no question about it. And when that happens, it will be up to the Head of Magical Law Enforcement to decide his fate.”

“Ok…”

The Headmaster hesitated another beat. “The new Head of Magical Law Enforcement is…how do I say this? Quite ruthlessly without mercy when it comes to the former Minister. Particularly in light of his treatment of Mr Koschei.”

“Good. He doesn’t deserve any mercy.”

“Lucien.” Helion sighed heavily again. “What I’m trying to tell you is that there’s a possibility Beron will be sentenced to the Dementor’s Kiss.”

Somehow that hadn’t even occurred to Lucien. “Oh.”

It was so silent in the office that it seemed even the paintings of the former Headmasters and Headmistresses were holding their breath. Lucien loosed a heavy breath. “Perhaps that might be better for my mother. Knowing he’s truly gone.”

A strange look passed over Helion’s face. “Easier for her, but not for you?”

Lucien snorted. “My father hasn’t been in my life for a long time. It makes no difference to me whether he’s rotting in a cell or dead in the ground.”

Harsh words, perhaps, but no harsher than the treatment he’d received (the treatment they’d all received) at the hands of that man. And perhaps he didn’t truly mean it yet, but eventually, once the dust settled, he would.

“You’re nothing like him, you know. You could never have been. There’s nothing of him in you.”

Lucien blinked. It was an oddly familiar thing to say, even for Helion, and he felt himself flush with embarrassment.

“I knew your mother at school, you know,” Helion continued, seemingly undeterred by Lucien’s embarrassment.

That was news to Lucien. Helion seemed so ageless that he could have declared he was anywhere between thirty-five and a hundred years old and Lucien wouldn’t have questioned him. “I didn’t know that.”

“She was…very special to me.”

It took a moment for his meaning to sink in, and when it did Lucien’s mouth dropped open in shock. He slumped a little in his chair, as if it would help the floor open up and swallow him whole. “You dated my mother?” he blurted.

The Headmaster chuckled softly. “Your mother was my first love. My only love, perhaps.”

He wasn’t sure why Helion was choosing this moment to tell him this, but he suddenly couldn’t meet his gaze. “Why are you telling me this?”

He was silent for so long that Lucien was forced to look up and meet his gaze. “Because I made the mistake of letting her go. Don’t make the same mistake I did.”

Lucien flushed hotly, fiddling with his tea cup. “I don’t plan to.”

“Good.” The Headmaster leaned back, still peering at him intently.

Another long moment passed. Lucien cleared his throat, still unnerved by the odd turn their conversation had taken. “Sir. There’s something I’ve been wondering about.”

“And here I thought you’d simply come here to entertain an old man.”

Lucien huffed a nervous laugh. “Sir. What’s going to happen to them?”

The humor twinkling in Helion’s eyes disappeared. Lucien knew that he was well aware exactly who he was talking about without him having to specify it.

“Many of them have fled,” he started. “Either they developed a liking for violence, or were inclined that way to begin with. You’re not going to like hearing this, but many of them served your father of their own free will.”

“Even though he forced them to report their every move and then arrested them as if they had no rights at all?”

Helion shrugged. “Like I said, I believe a lot of them had developed an inherent love for violence, and it seemed a natural alliance to make. Perhaps they even preferred it to the alternatives- secrecy, or a lifetime of prejudice and struggle.”

“And the others?”

A long pause. “A lot of them carry scars from what they were forced to do that will take a long time to fade. But they will be given the help they need, and will be rehabilitated into wizarding society as full citizens. As they should have been in the first place.”

Lucien’s throat closed up again. He needed to get out of here before he started weeping like a child in front of the headmaster.

“Today’s the first day of a new age,” Helion continued fiercely. “A new regime. Where there is no stigma for being different from others.”

“It won’t be so easy,” Lucien choked out.

“No,” Helion agreed. “But it will be worth it.”

There was something else he needed to ask, but Lucien couldn’t quite find the words.

“Your secret is safe,” Helion said gently, guessing exactly what Lucien couldn’t voice. “For as long as you wish it to remain as such. There is no pressure to reveal it to anyone if you don’t wish to.”

Lucien breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you. I…I’m not ready for people to know. Not yet.” Perhaps one day, when the taint of what his father had done had faded.

“And, Sir…” Lucien shuffled awkwardly in his chair. “My friends…I know they broke the law, but they meant no harm by it. They only wanted to help me-“

Helion lifted a palm to silence him. “Lucien. I hope you’re not under the impression that I wish to report my students to the authorities for displaying an impressive amount of magical ability?”

“I-” Lucien didn’t quite know what to say. “Well, when you put it that way…”

Helion chuckled. “I’m not going to stop you, but do be careful, will you?”

“Yes, Sir,” Lucien said quickly. He got to his feet before Helion could change his mind.

“If there is anything you or your family needs,” Helion said gently. “Please let me know. I’m at your service.”

Lucien had to look away again. “Thank you sir. I, uh…I should go finish packing.”

“Of course. Enjoy your summer.” It seemed an odd thing to say, given what they both knew was likely to happen shortly, but Lucien appreciated the sentiment all the same.

“Thanks, Professor.”

He was almost to the door when he paused and turned around again.

“Yes?” the Headmaster asked.

“It’s just, I keep thinking of something my father said, the night you…the night Koschei died.”

Helion frowned. “Go on.”

“He said…he said something about wanting me to remember my father this way. Why would he say that? Why would he want me to remember him like that?”

That same strange look passed over Helion’s features, but it was gone as quickly as it came. “Beron was a hateful man. Perhaps he only meant to rattle you.”

“Yeah…maybe.”

Helion’s words went around and around his mind as he slowly made his way to the Great Hall for breakfast. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice the figure trying to get his attention until they were directly in front of him, blocking his path.

“Lucien! Hey.”

“Rhysand.” Lucien felt a trickle of dislike at the sight of the Slytherin, as he always did.

Rhys ran a hand through his immaculate black hair, looking uncharacteristically awkward.

“I heard what happened.”

Lucien gritted his teeth. “I’m assuming there’s not a single person in the entire wizarding community who hasn’t heard by now.”

Rhys winced, but rallied. “I wanted to give you this.” He reached into his pocket and held out a heavy velvet pouch.

Lucien blinked at him. “What’s that?”

“The winnings from the Tri-Trials Tournament.”

“Oh. Congrats.” Lucien had completely forgotten about the Tournament, and found he couldn’t bring himself to care that Rhysand had won.

Rhys shrugged. “I won by default, nobody else finished the last Trial…” To his credit he managed to look slightly sheepish. “You should have this.”

“Why? Because my father was arrested?” His tone was uncharitable, perhaps, but it felt good to vent for a second.

“No. Because you would probably have won, if you hadn’t…” he trailed off uncomfortably.

Lucien remembered that Hybern had been Rhysand’s Head of House. Rhys may be a prick, but he wasn’t a sociopath.

“Anyway,” Rhysand continued, thrusting the sack of coins at him, “do what you want with it. I just wanted the title, really.” His smug grin lacked some of his usual bravado, but Lucien smirked back nonetheless.

Elain was waiting for him by the doors to the Great Hall, and Lucien almost sagged in relief as he saw her. She grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the marble staircase wordlessly.

“Where are you taking me?”

She threw him a little grin over her shoulder, and something about the gleam in her eyes made his blood heat a few degrees. They were silent until they reached Sir Cadogan’s corridor. The knight was busy leading his trolls in a sequence of pliés and barely glanced at them as Elain walked back and forth across the empty stretch of wall. A door appeared, and she tugged him inside.

Lucien had to glance back at the door to make sure they were actually inside the Room of Requirements. Where there should have been a floor there now stretched a vividly green lawn, rippling with a phantom wind and dotted with patches of wildflowers. The ceiling mimicked the sky outside- less believably than the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall, but still giving the impression of basking in the early morning sunshine. A checked picnic blanket had been laid out, with a variety of breakfast dishes and a pot of tea.

Lucien laughed. “A picnic in a garden.”

Elain smiled shyly. “You really can ask this room anything you want.”

“We could have gone outside, you know, if you wanted a picnic.”

Her cheeks turned deliciously pink. “I wanted to be alone for a bit.”

Lucien pulled her in close, pressing his nose to her sweet-smelling curls. Her body relaxed against him, and she was so soft and warm that he could have happily stood there until the start of next term.

“It’s just…” Her voice was muffled from where her face was pressed against his chest. “Everyone will be looking at us weird and asking questions, and I just-“

He squeezed her tighter. “I know.” He felt such a rush of affection for her then that it knocked the breath clean from his lungs. “Archie?”

She looked up at him, brown eyes warm and trusting. What had he done to deserve this? Perhaps he’d simply gotten lucky.

“I love you.”

Her eyes widened, and then her face split into a grin so wide it looked like it hurt. “I love you too, Lucien.”

His throat was tight again. What was wrong with him today?

“Really?”

Elain laughed. “Yes, silly.”

He kissed her then, sweetly, slowly, and she melted further into him. Lucien would have happily stood there kissing her until it was time to leave for the Hogwarts Express, but Elain tugged him down to the blanket.

She broke the kiss, eyes searching, and bit her lip shyly.

“Yes?” he teased, nudging her hair with his nose.

Elain swallowed thickly. She took in a shaky breath, and then shifted until she was straddling his lap.

“Oh.”

He pressed a kiss to her neck, and then another, until she pushed at his chest to make him look at her.

“I don’t want yesterday to be what we think of when we remember our last day.”

“We’re coming back next year, you know,” he teased, if only to calm his racing pulse.

She fixed him with such a dry look that he nearly whined. “You know what I mean.”

He laughed and pressed his mouth against her ear. “And what would you like to remember instead?”

Her fingers tightened on the hem of his shirt for a beat, and then slipped underneath tentatively.

“If you want to see me without my shirt on you’re going to have to ask.”

She shivered, and Lucien had to shift to avoid her noticing the evidence of the effect she was having on him. Elain chose that moment to look down, and her delicate blush deepened.

“I could just take it off myself.”

Lucien groaned. Merlin she would kill him. He lay back on the grass, admiring the view of Elain straddling him.

“Do your worst, Archie.”

It was only later, once the Hogwarts Express was nearing King’s Cross Station, that Lucien remembered the sack of coins in his trunk. He fished it out and dumped it into Elain’s lap.

She lifted her head blearily from where she’d been dozing against the window. “What’s that?”

“Your payment.”

She blinked at him for a beat, and then threw her head back and laughed. Lucien let the sound wrap around him, like a cloak of sunshine he could take out and wrap around himself in the dark days ahead.

Vassa kicked him in the shin and rolled her eyes. “Pig.”

“What? I meant for doing so great during the Tournament. It's not my fault you all have dirty minds.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Elain fell silent, looking at the bag of money with a mixture of emotions on her face.

“Good things can still come from it, you know,” Lucien said gently. “If they don’t, then the dark side wins.”

“That sounds like something Helion would say,” Jurian drawled from where he sat curled like a cat in Vassa’s lap.

Something about made Lucien pause. It hit him slowly at first, and then all at once, like an avalanche.

You’re nothing like him, you know. You could never have been.

There’s nothing of him in you.

I want you to remember your father this way.

Your mother was…very special to me.

“Oh, Merlin’s saggy tits!”

---

A few years in the not-so-distant future

Lucien was late again.

They’d both been working long hours lately, and it wasn’t unusual for him to go on top-secret missions for his work as an Auror, but Elain had known him long enough to tell when he was lying.

She tried not to overthink it, but she couldn’t help the worry that gnawed away at her nerves. There was something he wasn’t telling her, and it had nothing to do with work.

She paced back and forth in their flat overlooking Diagon Alley, trying and failing not to glance at the door every minute. He was just late. No matter that it was Winter Solstice- their anniversary. He couldn’t help when work called him away.

Still, he could have sent a note.

She was uncorking a bottle of wine (and fuming slightly) when she heard a loud pop! and Lucien Apparated directly into their kitchen.

His expression was sheepish, though his eyes shone with repressed excitement. “Hi love. Sorry I’m late!”

“That’s ok.” Elain tried to sound nonchalant but she knew Lucien could read her as well she could read him.

He crossed the room in three long strides and folded her into his arms. Elain couldn’t help but let him embrace her, even with her lingering annoyance. His nose was cold where he pressed it against her neck, and he smelled like the winter air outside.

“It’s not,” he murmured. “We’ve both been so busy and I know you wanted tonight to be special.”

Elain felt rotten. “It’s fine. You’re here now. I know work has been tough lately...”

Lucien pulled back and gave her another sheepish grin. “I have a confession to make. I haven’t just been busy with work.”

Her stomach dropped. She’d been right. She had known something was wrong but she’d still hoped she had been imagining it.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been working on a secret project. It was meant to be for your birthday- clearly it took me a lot longer than I thought it would…”

“A present?” she asked stupidly.

“Of sorts,” Lucien said cryptically. “More like…setting right a wrong. Vassa’s been helping me, and so has my father. That man truly had contacts everywhere.” He shook his head and chuckled lightly.

Elain smiled at his easy use of the term father, even though she had no idea what he was going on about. It had taken a long time after Beron’s execution for his shadow to finally lift from Lucien’s family, and longer still for him to accept the fact that his former Headmaster was his father.

“Lucien, what in the world are you talking about?”

He chuckled. “Come outside.”

Elain grabbed a blanket from the back of their couch and wrapped it around herself before following him onto their balcony. It overlooked a busy section of Diagon Alley, though the trellises she had put up provided some privacy from the street below. Their flat wasn’t large, but it was cozy. They had chosen it for its location directly above a vacant commercial space, which now housed Elain’s apothecary shop. It wasn’t ideal, but it was convenient for now.

It was a clear night, but the air outside was frigid. Elain’s teeth immediately started chattering. “What are we-”

Her words died in her throat as she spotted what Lucien had wanted to show her. She didn’t believe it at first. A tawny barn owl with large green eyes- and a slightly crooked left leg.

“Crookshanks?!”

The owl squawked in delight and swooped from his perch on top of her trellis to land on her arm. Her throat tightened as her vision became blurry with tears.

“How…where…”

“It took me forever to find him,” Lucien said sheepishly. “I thought it’d be a nice surprise, but I underestimated how hard it would be. Thank god for Vassa, like I said. She made most of the telephone calls- I’ll never get the hang of using one of those…”

Elain laughed through her tears. “I thought…” She shook her head. “Nevermind. I can’t believe you’ve been sneaking around this whole time looking for him.”

She noticed a small velvet pouch tied to his leg, and raised an eyebrow.

Lucien grinned. “Wonder what that could be.”

Elain opened the pouch, and gasped so loud that Crookshanks flew away with an affronted squawk.

Inside the pouch was a ring. It was a simple solitaire, with a thin gold band and the most stunning gem Elain had ever seen. It looked like a diamond at first, but when the silvery moonlight hit it something inside it seemed to glow in shades of yellow and red, as if it held a secret inner fire. Elain cradled it in her palm as Lucien shuffled in front of her, radiating with barely restrained excitement.

“What’s this?” she asked, her voice small and breathless.

Lucien gently took the ring from her, and dropped down to one knee.

“Archie. You’re the love of my life. I’ve loved you since you were a snot-faced kid-“ Elain scoffed, and Lucien’s grin widened. “And I’ll continue to love you every day of my life. I don’t know what I did to deserve you but I’m grateful every single day. Will you make me the happiest man on earth and marry me?”

Elain took him in, from that fiery, mismatched gaze to the hopeful tilt of his grin. He looked so boyishly handsome, his nose tinged pink with cold, eyes shining with mischief. She knew every inch of that face as well as her own. He was hers, as surely as she’d ever been his.

“Yes! Yes, Lucien, of course I’ll marry you!”

He slipped the ring on her finger, and then hauled her into his arms. Elain laughed against his lips as he twirled her, his lips pressed to hers in a kiss.

“I have something for you too,” she murmured against his lips, remembering the small parcel waiting on their kitchen table. “Wait here.”

Her heart pounded as she went inside to retrieve the parcel. She hadn’t told him anything about it yet, though Azriel and his team of potioneers had been working on it for years.

Lucien unwrapped the package and looked at the stoppered bottle labeled Wolfsbane curiously. “What is this?”

“It hasn’t officially been approved by St Mungo’s yet, but Azriel says it’s just a formality at this point. It’s gone through testing and it’s perfectly safe-”

“Ok…” Lucien said slowly, turning the bottle sideways to peer at the contents. “But what is it?”

“Sorry,” Elain said sheepishly. “It’s a potion to tamper the effects of lycanthropy. I was so excited when Azriel reached out. It’s not public knowledge yet, not until he gets final approval from the Ministry and St Mungo’s, but-“

Lucien lifted a hand. “What did you say?”

Elain took his hands gently, forcing herself to calm down though she couldn’t tamper the giddy smile on her face. This would change their life- and a lot of other people’s.

“You take a full dose of it every day the week leading up to the full moon, and you’ll transform into a simple, harmless wolf. You can just curl up in bed next to me and keep me warm!”

Lucien’s mouth dropped open. And then closed. And then opened, and closed again.

Elain laughed. “I’m going to make it available at my shop. Azriel said he would brew a supply for me specially, until I get the hang of it. It sounded terribly complicated, and you know how shit I am at potions…” She was rambling, but the look on Lucien’s face was making her nervous. “Say something.”

Lucien was silent for another moment, and then he threw his head back and laughed. Howled, really, until tears streamed down his face.

“I can’t believe Ass-riel is going to win a fucking Order of Merlin for inventing a lycanthropy potion.”

“Lucien! Don’t call him that!”

But he was laughing again, and Elain couldn’t help but join in. She tilted her head back and breathed in the night air, tinged with the sweet scent of honeysuckle growing on her trellises. The moon was glowing overhead, a merry crescent shining silvery-bright. It had been a source of comfort for her as a child, and then had become a thing she’d grown to hate. And then she thought of all the things that had to happen to lead to this moment- the good, the bad, and the truly terrible.

Elain had never believed in any sort of god, and so it was the moon she looked to when she sent up a silent prayer of thanks- for all she had survived, and all it had taught her.

And she could have sworn the moon twinkled in answer.

a/n: I can't believe it's over! A million smooches to everyone who read, reblogged, and commented. Truly your support made writing this story that much more fun.

This was initially meant to be a silly little Elucien at Hogwarts love story, and it somehow turned into a much longer and MUCH more plot-heavy fic than I had originally planned. I had so much fun weaving together bits of lore from both the HP world and ACOTAR. Honestly when I first started this it was just me indulging in two of my favorites universes, and I wasn't sure if there would be much interest, so THANK YOU THANK YOU for going on this journey with me 💕

Taglist: @labellefleur-sauvage @headcanonheadcase @separatist-apologist @velidewrites @c-e-d-dreamer @queercontrarian @hallway5 @areyoudreaminof @tuzna-pesma-snova @corcracrow @vulpes-fennec @octobers-veryown @autumndreaming7 @sunshinebingo @asnowfern

#IT'S OVER😭#elucien #elucien fanfic #elucien fanfiction #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #Ass-riel redemption? who would have thought

48 notes · View notes