Mehratoun In Persian Land

I've just finished my Ciri and her Zirael fanart and hope you like it.

A very beautiful piece of art by lamonyo 🦊🌷

Trading this bracelet with you for a list of 3 Elucien fics that you think every Elucien should read and leave kudos!

I would like to share my fan-fiction about Elucien :) I hope you enjoy it:

Elain had learned that distance was safer.

Safer than the flashes of possibility that threatened to overwhelm her whenever Lucien was near. During the months she had spent in Velaris, living among Rhysand’s court, she had buried herself in ancient books and forgotten knowledge. Amren, though often impatient, had answered some of her questions. Others she had discovered herself.

A mating bond was not merely affection.

It was not desire.

It was not even love.

It was something older. Deeper. A thread woven into the fabric of magic itself.

And whenever Lucien stood too close, something inside her stirred in response.

Something she could not control.So Elain had learned to hide.

Azriel had never taught her directly, but she had watched him enough to understand. The shadowsinger revealed only what he wished others to see. Elain had practiced the same discipline until her smile became a shield and her silence a fortress.

Yet none of it made the bond easier to bear.

Sometimes she pitied Lucien.

More often, she feared what might happen if she stopped resisting.

What might happen if she allowed herself to feel everything the bond demanded.

So she kept her distance.

Even now.

Rhysand had summoned her mate to the River House to discuss a new mission, and Elain was grateful for any distraction.

She turned her attention to Nyx instead.

Her beautiful nephew sat on the carpet, absorbed in his toys, blissfully unaware of the tensions surrounding him. Affection softened Elain’s features as she watched him. Being near him always quieted the noise in her mind.

Across the room, Lucien appeared equally determined to avoid looking at her.His attention rested on Feyre’s newest painting.Nesta and Cassian.Hands joined together by a ribbon of blue and silver. A mating bond ceremony.A choice.A promise.

The sight made something ache in Elain’s chest.And when she glanced toward Lucien, she caught the shadow of sadness in his amber eye.The expression struck her harder than she cared to admit.Her heart tightened.But she looked away.

Rhysand entered the room a moment later, carrying the easy confidence that seemed to follow him everywhere. His violet eyes immediately found Nyx and then Elain.A warm smile touched his face.He knew how much she loved his son.Perhaps more than anyone.He knew it was often Elain who answered Nyx’s cries in the middle of the night before Feyre could even rise from bed. Elain who carried him through the gardens, naming every flower and blossom for him. Elain who quietly stepped into the exhausting spaces motherhood sometimes left behind, offering help without ever being asked. Not because anyone expected it.But because loving people came as naturally to her as breathing.Rhysand had noticed.And though he rarely spoke of it, Elain knew he cherished her for it.Loved her as family.As the sister fate had taken from him.The realization warmed her.At least until she felt the familiar pull of the bond again.Until she became painfully aware of Lucien standing only a few feet away.

“Spring Court.”The words had barely left Rhysand’s mouth when Lucien stiffened.Rhys leaned casually against the fireplace.“Azriel returned this morning. He intercepted movement along the southern borders. The remaining queens are mobilizing forces.”

The room immediately sharpened. Cassian’s relaxed posture vanished.Nesta lifted her head from where she sat beside him.

“What kind of movement?” Cassian asked.

“The kind that suggests preparation,” Rhys replied grimly. “Not an attack. Not yet. But they’re gathering resources. Soldiers. Weapons.” Silence settled.Lucien shifted.A subtle movement.A hesitation.Rhys noticed immediately.His violet gaze slid toward him.“Something you want to add?” Lucien’s jaw tightened.“No.” A flicker of irritation crossed Lucien’s face. Then he sighed.“If you’re sending me to Spring, I’d prefer not to go now.”Rhys raised a brow.“Why?”

Lucien opened his mouth and closed it.Elain watched the discomfort spread across his features.For perhaps the first time since she’d known him, he seemed genuinely embarrassed.Cassian immediately grinned.“Oh, gods.” The general started laughing before Lucien could stop him. “Calanmai.” Feyre blinked. Then understanding dawned. Even Rhys looked amused.

Lucien pinched the bridge of his nose.“Can we not?”

Cassian laughed harder. “You don’t want to be there during the Great Rite?”

Lucien looked ready to throw him out a window. “I am merely suggesting the timing is inconvenient.”

“Inconvenient?” Cassian repeated.

-“Very.”

-“Because?”

Lucien’s eye narrowed. “Because some traditions are better observed from a considerable distance.”

That earned another round of laughter. Even Feyre smiled. Only Elain remained silent. Because she knew enough about Calanmai to understand why Lucien was uncomfortable discussing it. And because every mention of mating rituals made the bond between them stir unpleasantly beneath her skin.

Rhys finally waved a hand. “As entertaining as this is, we don’t have the luxury of waiting.” The amusement faded from the room.

Azriel stepped forward from the shadows near the doorway. His hazel eyes were hard. “The queens are moving faster than expected. Immediately, all attention shifted. Azriel unfolded a map across the table. “Their forces have been spotted near multiple crossing points.” His finger traced several routes. “If they’re planning an invasion, Spring Court is exposed.”

Tamlin’s lands sat between potential threats and much of Prythian. A first line of defense. A shield. Whether anyone liked it or not.

Rhys nodded. “Which is why Spring needs warning.”

Lucien’s expression darkened.He knew it. Knew there was no argument left.

“Fine,” he said quietly. “I’ll go.”

And then... The world vanished. Elain’s breath caught. The room disappeared. Darkness swallowed everything. A vision. Not again. Not now.

She saw Velaris but not the Velaris she knew. The Sidra ran black beneath a sky stained with smoke. Buildings burned. Ancient bridges lay shattered in the river. The smell of ash choked the air. Screams echoed through ruined streets.

Blood.

Fire.

Death.

Everywhere.

Elain staggered inside the vision.Searching. Looking.For what?For who?Then she saw him. Nyx.Small.Terrified.Running. Alone.

“No,” she whispered.

The vision ignored her. An army flooded the mountains surrounding Velaris. Thousands upon thousands of soldiers. Banners she recognized. The queens. And among them... A towering figure wrapped in darkness. Ancient.Terrible. Impossible. Koschei.

The death-lord moved like a shadow across the battlefield. And everywhere he passed, destruction followed.

Nyx stumbled. A scream tore from his throat. A creature lunged toward him.

Claws.

Teeth.

Death.

Elain reached for him. And the vision shattered.

Reality slammed back into place. The sitting room reappeared. The map. The fireplace. The others. Someone was calling her name. Distantly. Urgently. Her knees hit the floor. Hands caught her before she fell completely.Strong hands. Warm hands.

Lucien.

“Elain.” Fear filled his voice. Real fear. The room had gone silent. Everyone stared.Waiting. Elain’s heart hammered wildly against her ribs.

Nyx.

Where was Nyx? She searched frantically until she found him standing safely beside Feyre. Alive. Breathing. Unharmed. Relief nearly broke her. Then she looked toward Rhysand. Toward Feyre. And spoke the words that turned the warmth of the room to ice. “The queens are coming.” Silence. “I saw Velaris burning.” Her voice shook. “I saw armies crossing the mountains.” Rhys had gone utterly still. The High Lord’s face emptied of all expression. The most dangerous look Elain had ever seen. And then she whispered the part she could barely force herself to say. “They weren’t alone.”

Azriel learned forward. "Koschei?" Elain nodded.

Terror crawled down her spine. Because even now she could still hear Nyx screaming in her vision. And she knew. The future she had seen was not a possibility. It was a warning.

The silence that followed Elain’s warning felt suffocating. No one spoke. No one moved. Rhysand’s face remained unreadable, though power flickered beneath his skin like distant lightning.

Elain slowly pushed herself to her feet. Her hands trembled. Not from the vision. From what she had not said. From the small boy currently sitting safely beside Feyre. For now. She forced herself to look away from Nyx. If she looked too long, she might break. “We need Spring Court prepared,” she said quietly. “I’ll go with Lucien.”

The declaration landed in the room like a stone dropped into still water. For a heartbeat, no one spoke.

“No.” Nesta's answer came immediately.

Elain’s jaw tightened.

Across the room, Nesta Feyre crossed her arms “Absolutely not.”

Cassian sighed, rubbing a hand down his face “Can we at least pretend to discuss this before volunteering for dangerous missions?”

Elain looked from one face to the next. The concern was genuine. The protectiveness, too. But suddenly it felt suffocating. The same way it always did. The Seer. The gentle sister. The gardener. The one who needed protecting. The one who needed permission. She was tired of it.

Rhys studied her carefully. “Elain.” That calm voice was worse than outright refusal. “We don’t know what we’re walking into.”

“No,” she replied evenly. “Which is exactly why you need me there.”

Azriel stepped forward from the shadows. His expression wasn’t unkind. Which somehow made it worse. “You just had a vision.”

- “And?”

His brow furrowed. “You need time to recover.”

A laugh almost escaped her. Recover. As though she were made of glass. As though she’d spent the last few years hiding behind everyone else while they fought her battles. “I’ve been recovering for years.”

The room fell silent. Lucien finally spoke. “I appreciate the offer.” Elain looked at him. “But I can handle Tamlin.” The words were careful. Measured. Which somehow irritated her more.

“You think this is about Tamlin?” Elain said and Lucien blinked.

- “You literally said...”

- “I said Spring Court is vulnerable.”

She took a step forward. “And Tamlin is a High Lord whose court is falling apart around him. Another step. “The queens know that.”

Lucien’s face hardened. “I’ve known Tamlin for centuries.”

“And that’s exactly the problem.” A flicker of surprise crossed his features.

The others watched silently.Elain continued “You’re still looking at him as your friend.” The words hit harder than she’d intended.

“And you’re not?” Lucien said carefully.

“No.” The answer came instantly. Because she wasn’t. Tamlin wasn’t a friend. He wasn’t family. He wasn’t history. He was a ruler. A wounded one. A dangerous one. And sometimes wounded creatures were the most unpredictable of all.

“I’ll see things you won’t.” The room went quiet again.

“You have abilities and I believe that .”Lucien stared at her. Something in his expression softened. “I know you’re powerful.” The words surprised everyone. Including her because nobody had seen her in this way.

“But power isn’t the same thing as training.” The softness vanished. “You’ve never been properly trained.” There it was. The thing she had heard over and over again. Too fragile. Too sheltered. Too inexperienced.

Elain felt something cold settle beneath her skin. Not anger. Something sharper. Something older. The part of her that had survived Hybern. That had put Truth-Teller through a king’s throat. That had spent years seeing horrors no one else could imagine. “You think I don’t know that?”

Lucien frowned. “That’s not what I...”

“I know exactly what I haven’t learned.” The room’s attention sharpened.

Even Azriel was watching now. Carefully. Elain folded her hands behind her back. A deceptively calm gesture. “I know I can’t fight like Nesta and Feyre.”

Feyre shifted uncomfortably.

“I know I don’t have centuries of experience.”Her gaze settled on Lucien. “But don’t mistake lack of training for lack of readiness.”

Silence. Complete silence.

The room seemed to hold its breath. Because something had changed. Not in her words. In the way she carried them.

For years Elain had hidden behind softness. Behind smiles. Behind gardens and flowers. Now, for a brief moment, they saw something underneath. Steel wrapped in velvet. “I have lived with visions that would have broken other people.” Her voice remained quiet. Steady. “I have spent years sorting through fragments of futures that don’t belong to me.”

Lucien didn’t interrupt. Didn’t look away.

“I walk into nightmares every time my abilities decide to show me something.” A pause. “And I come back.” The words echoed through the room.

Elain met Lucien’s gaze directly. “You think I’m not prepared?” The mating bond stirred. Tightening painfully between them. For the first time, neither looked away. “I think,” Lucien said carefully, “that you’re brave enough.” Her heart skipped. “But bravery isn’t the same thing as being safe.” There was genuine concern in his voice now. Not condescension. Concern. Which somehow made this harder.

Elain swallowed. Then lifted her chin.“I don’t need to be safe.”

A shadow crossed her face. A memory of burning streets. Of smoke. Of a small boy running alone.

“I need usefulness.”The room went utterly still.

Because every person present understood the distinction. Safe was what they’d been trying to make Elain. Useful was what she had decided to become.

Rhys finally broke the silence. His violet eyes lingered on her. Longer than necessary. As though remembering something only the two of them knew.Slowly, carefully, she lowered a section of her shields.Only for him.Only enough.

The inside of Elain Archeron’s mind was nothing like Rhys expected.No marble walls.No iron fortresses.No endless darkness, instead a vast garden unfolded. Moonlit roses stretched in every direction. Silver blossoms swayed beneath unseen winds. Vines climbed impossible heights.

Beautiful.

Peaceful.

Deadly.

Because every path was lined with thorns. Countless thorns. Sharp enough to draw blood. Ancient enough to wound even daemati. The garden watched. Protected. Guarded. Nothing entered without permission. Nothing left without choice.

Rhys felt the warning woven through every stem and blossom. And understood immediately why no one had ever managed to pry into Elain’s mind. She had not built walls.She had grown them. Living defenses. Rooted deeply enough to become part of her. At the center of the garden stood Elain. For the first time since the vision, she allowed Rhys to see it. Not the queens.Not Koschei. Not the burning city.

Only Nyx.

Running.

Alone.

A child’s scream echoing through smoke.

Rhys recoiled as though struck. Pure horror flashed through the mental bond.

"Protect him." The plea rippled through the garden.

Protect him.

Protect him.

Protect him.

Elain’s roses trembled. Their petals falling like tears. Rhys stared at the memory. At the desperation she had hidden from everyone else. Then his gaze lifted to hers. In the center of that thorn-covered garden. And he understood. She wasn’t showing him a possibility. She was showing him the reason she had agreed to leave.

Then he looked toward Lucien. “She’s going.”

Azriel groaned.

Nesta muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Of course she is.”

Feyre still looked unhappy.But she didn’t argue. Because they all saw it now. This wasn’t the frightened girl who had first arrived in Velaris. Nor was it the quiet sister they’d spent years trying to shield. This was Elain Archeron making a choice.

And once she made one...Even High Lords struggled to move her.

The decision had been made.No one looked particularly happy about it.

Cassian appeared as though he was already preparing half a dozen contingency plans. Feyre’s worry was impossible to miss. Nesta’s expression suggested she was debating whether to lock Elain in her room until the mission ended.

Only Rhys remained unreadable.

And Lucien... Lucien looked concerned. Not for himself. For her. The realization settled strangely in Elain’s chest. The conversation had moved on. Azriel was outlining routes into Spring Court. Rhys was discussing supply lines and possible troop movements.

Yet Elain could feel Lucien’s attention.‌ Could feel him watching her. The mating bond hummed softly between them. Not demanding. Not pulling. Simply present. A thread of golden warmth stretched through the room.Lucien’s gaze found hers. For only a moment but it was enough that she saw the tension in his shoulders. The doubt he was trying so hard to hide.Not doubt in her. In himself.In the mission. In Tamlin. In Koschei and In what awaited them in Spring Court.

His mechanical eye gleamed in the firelight. And suddenly Elain understood. He was worried that he would fail. Not as an emissary. But as the person responsible for bringing her home safely.

Something inside her softened. Before she could second-guess herself, she reached for the bond. The way one might brush fingertips across silk. Gentle. Careful.

The golden thread brightened. Lucien froze. His eyes widened slightly. No one else noticed. To everyone else, Elain remained perfectly still. Only Lucien felt it. Felt her presence moving through the bond for perhaps the first time willingly.

Not a shove.

Not resistance.

Not avoidance.

A simple soft touch.Like warm sunlight over spring flowers. The scent of roses after rain.A garden opening beneath dawn light.

Surprise flashed across his face. Then came her words.Not spoken aloud.Not quite thoughts. Something deeper.

“We’ll be fine

Lucien stared at her. The connection trembled. As if neither of them quite knew how to do this. How to speak through a bridge they’d spent years pretending wasn’t there. Elain held his gaze.

“We’ll complete the mission.”

For a moment, she considered telling him everything.The armies.The smoke.The screams. The fear that still sat like ice beneath her ribs.But she didn’t. Because fear wasn’t what he needed from her.

Not now.

Instead she sent him something else.A feeling. The certainty that had settled over her after the vision. The strange conviction that their path led through Spring Court. That this journey mattered. That they were meant to go.

Lucien inhaled sharply. The emotion reached him before the meaning did. The realization seemed to strike harder than any words could have. Because very few people placed their faith in Lucien Vanserra. And perhaps no one ever had quite like this. The tension in his shoulders eased. Only slightly. But enough. Enough for Elain to see. Enough for him to finally look away from her and back toward the map. Yet a faint warmth remained between them.