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Lucien immediately assumes that Elain needs something, asking if there's anything they should do for her. Azriel, on the other hand, instantly understands that she isn't broken or mad. He makes it clear that she doesn't need saving, they need her. She's a Seer.

Right after that, Lucien is described as looking at Elain almost as if he's seeing her for the first time, shocked by this revelation. Meanwhile, Azriel is explicitly described as the only one who listened to her, the male who could hear things others could not and who understood what she was going through.

And to make the contrast even stronger, when the possibility that the Cauldron gave something to Elain is brought up, Lucien is once again stunned, while Azriel simply nods, already understanding.He's the one who recognizes her gift, validates her experiences, and helps everyone else understand her as well. And Feyre even notes that this understanding, their understanding, is what finally frees Elain from that "murky realm" she had been trapped in.

Elriel month day 21 Intimate

They’ve been starving for each other in silence — and tonight, silence was no longer enough.

Commission by me, @theseersgarden and @saraannereads

Gorgeous art by @trxxvon_ on instagram

MY FIRST COMMISSION BY NONE OTHER THAN MAEDOETIS ON INSTA!!!!!

One of my favorite scenes from the series, Elain gifting Feyre the cake based on the dresser drawers. There's so much to this scene, and this piece, that I adore. The sisterly bonding, Elain trying her best to make up for everything to Feyre, Feyre getting a proper birthday celebration from a family member, the expressions on Elain and Feyres faces, the details and framing of the cake, it's just so perfect.

If you repost, please ask maedoetis on insta first and TAG AND CREDIT HER! She put a lot of time and effort into this piece and it's absolutely gorgeous and she deserves recognition for it if it is shared. She's my friend first and foremost and I will not be okay with people trying to steal even a crumb of credit from her.

I do not care if you tag or credit me I'm a tiny random blog and all I did was pay money the scene is sjms and the art is maes I'm just a happy little guy that has dreamt of being able to support their friend and see their favorite scene come to life in said friends style 💜

You can find Maedoetis here:

1-) ​Gwyn isn't an Archeron. She’s Nesta’s friend. She doesn’t belong in the core Feyre-Nesta-Elain trio. Like, are you seriously trying to tell me that Gwyn could ever be as important as this trio? Realistically?

2-) ​Bryce and Hunt’s love story was built up over three books. Are people seriously suggesting she’s going to leave Hunt for Azriel in a totally different series, forcing CC readers to track another book just to see their main romance get ruined? It makes no sense.

But it wasn’t enough.

I feel as if I’ve been living out an actual hallucinogenic fever dream with the way all these people are so mulishly convinced that the narrative has been set up for GA - then going as far as belittling others who don’t share their delusion.

Their version of Gwyn and her relation to Azriel reads like a fanfiction - none of it even comes close to what is actually written in the books. I don’t debate GA because there really isn’t anything with them to debate - there’s literally nothing there.

Seeburg Castle, Kreuzlingen, Canton of Thurgau, Switzerland,

But when Rhysand starts roasting the hell out of Elucien's interactions like "shit, worst thirty minutes of my life" "chemistry not found" "Lainey was cringing the entire time" "We're definitely supporting her if she rejects the mating bond"

We suddenly ignore Rhysand?? THE GUY IS READY TO GET ELAIN'S SIDE IF SHE DECIDES TO REJECT LUCIEN.

Which btw, he was the first to tell Feyre that the bond can pick poorly sometimes. SJM's most beloved character, btw.

Cass says he will turn up when he’s ready but … the previous quest ended a week ago. Az never even showed for the debriefing.

Nesta is worried. Rosehall is empty. Rhys tried talking mind-to-mind but his walls were ironclad. No one can trace the Shadowsinger when he doesn’t want to be found—they get it.

But Elain said to hell with it.

She tracks him at the Townhouse.

It takes her five frantic minutes of solitude. And another fifteen to get to him without alerting the others. What she finds, however …

It’s not a sight many get to see—Azriel curled up in a fetal position on her bed, her old bed, sporting a terrible fever and clutching onto her jasmine-scented blankets with a pale, death-grip. He looks so child-like, so fragile that he’s almost unrecognizable.

Her heart squeezes painfully.

She notices the dull rise and fall of his chest. His unseeing eyes. No doubt it’s one of those rare days when he’s pushed himself so far past his limits that even sleep evades him, demons hounding. All he can do is lie there, unmoving. Take their assault, mental and physical both.

She knows because it’s like looking in a mirror.

Elain steps closer, skirts shuffling.

He remains unresponsive.

He couldn’t have taken any medicine. Majda never saw him.

Sweet ephemeral sounds ring through the silence. Her anklets. The ones he gave her.

No movement.

“Azriel.”

Her voice is soft. Soothing. Yet there’s this kernel of helplessness she couldn’t conceal. She’s almost sure he won’t answer until—he slowly brings his hollow gaze to her.

Breath ceases in her throat, and she whispers, “Can I lie down with you?”

Azriel stares at her, unblinking. He stares and stares and stares. The emptiness in them is startling.

How long has he been like that—unable to talk or move? Did he eat?

Elain opens her mouth again—to say what, God only knows—but wordlessly, Az lies flat on his back.

An invitation.

Slippers are immediately abandoned by the bed as Elain slides under the covers. Her fingers clench by her sides. It’s an effort to not reach for him, to not slide in and hold him against her chest, but she’ll go at his pace. Mother only knows how sensitive she is on her own down days.

So they lie there in silence, staring at the ceiling.

Minutes go by. Perhaps, hours. No one says anything. Elain doesn’t ask where he’s been, what he’s seen. Nor does Azriel pulls her close. But little by little, she can feel him relax by her side.

A finger brushes against hers under the covers. Time slows to a trickle, and Elain tries not to let relief tremble her breath, to pull his hand in hers. Instead, she opts for nudging her pinky right back, a featherlight touch. As if to say you have me.

Restraint stumbles when Azriel, slowly but surely, links their pinkies together. The slow glide of his skin against hers … torture. Control teeters its edge when he tightens his hold, and it completely shatters when he tugs.

Towards him.

As if brittle bones falling into their destined gravity, Elain leans over, sliding a palm up his chiseled chest into his hair. Just like she wanted to. Azriel caves into her side, resting his head on her chest, hands banding around her waist to anchor him further, and just like that, they take their first full breath.