Elriel Month: week four: choice, true mates, and balance (peace version)
They painted her as a frail maiden who would faint upon encountering violence for the first time. Their mistake, not hers. Elain was not a maiden neither an estranger to the cruelty of the world, she saw violence many times.
When they dragged her from bed in the middle of the night. When they hauled her across the room to push her under the cauldron’s dark waters. When her humanity was taken from her as if it was nothing, replaced by this strange new existence. When she was taken prisoner, lured by the illusion of her heart’s desire coming true, submitted to eons of visions she wanted no part in. When she went to war and watched people dying, lost between memory and reality, watching her sister and brave Cassian killed on the battlefield. She saw it all. Countless of times. Whether she closed her eyes or not, the dreams would find her and take away her sanity.
Azriel’s large hand came to rest on her thigh, pulling her further up his lap. They had agreed on entering in a clandestine romance two months ago, becoming basically inseparable since. Elain let herself slouch against his chest, his gentle but firm strokes undoing the knots in her muscles, moving under the hem of her dress with less firmness, changing into an intimate lovers caress. Aware of her wandering mind. Tenderly anchoring her to the present. She breathed in and out, lungs filling with pure air, watching the stars sprinkling the night sky like powdered sugar covering a fine desert. Azriel kissed her temple and Elain sighed content, leaving long mellow kisses in his strong jawline. Once, twice, thrice. “Aut inveniam viam aut faciam.” She vowed against his skin, his scent burning a fire in her soul.
His other hand knotted around her hair, turning her face to him. “What does it mean?” he voiced with interest.
Azriel was slightly familiarized with the intonations of the language she was set on learn at the moment, having spent a few nights sharing her with the old book that either rested on her bedside table, or her lap. Elain caressed his cheek, tracing the shape of his round ear, his eyes growing soft and lovely, melting into a beautiful shade of hazel that was almost green. Watching her.
Unable to hold back, she gave him a peck, not caring that they were in Feyre’s garden, their family still lazing around inside, bellies full from dinner, fully trusting his shadows to veil them
“I shall either find a way, or make one.” Elain translated patiently, her words sounding more of a promise than a simple translation.
Azriel bumped his nose on hers.
“Shouldn’t I be the one saying that?”
“So say it,” she challenged.
Azriel cleared his throat, rehearsing the words on his mind. “At vain. Vain vian,” he struggled and stopped, deciding he had better odds to do right from the beginning. “At vain, vain–what?”
Elain giggled at his attempt to pronounce, flattening her palm on his cheek.
“Not ‘at’, my love, is ‘aut’.” She corrected patiently, kissing the tip of his nose. “Aut inveniam viam aut-”
He crashed his lips on hers.
“Curl your tongue like that again.” He challenged, drunk in love. Azriel wasted no time before slipping his tongue in between her plump lips, lapping the roof of her mouth, as if he was trying to learn the words through taste, coaxing a moan out of her. Elain pressed her chest to his, their heartbeats frennetical, synched, turned to one.
The path the gods chosen mattered not;
They were determinate to create a new road;
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