#ttyltoyd

Prelude: The Whims of Fate, The Wills of Fae

This fic can also be read as a prelude to The Things You Like, The Ones You Don't. The opening act was polished with the help of this gem ;) Hope you guys enjoy the ride, you can let me know your thoughts anytime ;)

Summary:  His life is harsh, his job is strenuous, his responsibilities are endless. His relief is one and only.

Warnings: explicit language, violence. Set during ACOFAS.

Word Count: 3853

Velaris. Two months after Solstice.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The slow rhythmic drip of water brought Leon back to conscious. He wheezed, the coppery stench in the air making he realize it wasn’t water that dripped. Blood. Blood dripped down his nose, splattering on the cold stone. His former chains were discharged a couple feet from his mangled body, for Leon was slowly dying on the unfamiliar floor. His lungs expanded, trying to collect air, and Leon moaned painfully, the shattered ribs radiating pain all over his torso with every little amount of air that he managed to pull in. He tried to move, but all he could do was wheeze a painful breath. Everything hurt. He couldn’t feel one of his arms.

His face was a mess, his cheekbones sunk into the muscles, his nose a pulp of blood, his eyes so swelled, it took him a moment to manage to see through the blood coagulating in his eyeballs, the glimpse of white bone poking thought his left arm sucking another painful whimper out of him, his loose teeth flooding his mouth with blood. Leon didn’t even have enough strength left to spit it. He gagged on it, a silent pray for the gods dying between his useless unmovable lips. Mother, spare your child. Cauldron, have mercy on your son. They would not hear him. The subterrain cells buried deep down the confines of Hewn Mountain was not a place the gods could reach. No. Only the scum earned that privilege.

The events of the day blurred in his feeble mind. It seemed like a life time ago when Leon was captured within the borders of Night Court after making his trade in Day. Getting caught wasn’t an ideal situation, but Leon was your usual thief. He was a master of his craft, and escape was an art he had perfected along the centuries. He went as far as escaping from the infamous Illyrian general during the last war, avoiding the military draft as the rest of the losers in his village.

The Mother knew Leon was a big male, meant for a big destiny. Dying as a nobody, in the middle of a war that had nothing to do with him, was not in his plans. So what if they had him in hold for now? He would escape anyways. Leon was a tall male, but he wasn’t a burly tug who couldn’t go by unnoticed, solving his problems with his fist. His body was slender with finely build muscles, his brown eyes and black hair granting him the perfect common features to be dismissed in a crowd without a second glance, the adversities on the way being solved with the help of his cunning intellect. That, and the bit of coercive magic he was born with.

Blink once, he slashed the pocket of coins from your breeches. Blink twice, he was gone among the mass of bodies. Despite the fact he could steal without attracting attention, Leon had no desire to remain as a measly pocket picker. He built a fame for himself, accepted jobs not even the sliest of thieves would dare to attempt, he even robbed from the vaults of the High Lord of Spring. In time, his fame rendered him a few apprentices, they formed a little group, which later on grow into a massive band of thieves, tricksters, traders, messengers, mercenaries and killers. Whatever you needed, the Hel Raising Faes could got you, and Leon was their leader. The master of all crafts.

He remembered laughing earlier that evening, dumbfounded at the insult of being put in regular iron chains, the same material one would use to bound a lesser fae. How dare these assholes think such a primitive holder would keep him down? They would need magic-restrictive chains to hold a high rank male like him, even then Leon would not be going down without a fight. As every good thief, Leon took notice of all the details while being dragged down the dungeon. He counted two exits placed on opposite end of the corridor, ten holding cells displayed on each side of his block, all of them awfully silent as if there wasn't a single prisoner behind those doors. Which couldn't be true since Leon could hear them breathing, even catching a pair of golden eyes caged by an open hatch.

The Illyrian guard in charge of him pushed Leon through an open door. He bid his time, looking around the badly lit cell, taking in the four dark damp stone walls covered slick mold. Despite having heard the guards talking about his interrogation, Leon noted the lack of structure and torturing devices in the room. No hooks on the wall or the ceiling to hang a prisoner, no metal table displaying sadistic gear, no roaring fire with metal spikes to burn him. In fact, the only things in the cell were Leon, the guard, and two simple chairs. He scorned at them.

The guard shoved him down the wood chair and left. Leon watched him close the metal door, judging the quadrangular hatch big enough to stick a head. Fucking idiots. If you could stick a head, the rest of the body goes with ease. He waited for the familiar sound of a key turning, a lock being put in place. He heard nothing but the steps of his jailor getting farther.

Inching forward on his chair, Leon noticed two things. 1) The chair wasn't fixed on the stone floor, but simply put there, as one would place a piece of run-down furniture in a tavern; 2) He wasn't bound to the meek chair, his arms were only wrapped around the back, his wrists trapped together. With a furious snarl he snatched the chains, kicking the chair with rage, the thing coming apart as it collapsed against the back wall. Leon spit on it. How dare them threat him as if he was just a common thief caught in Night soil. He was the fucking leader of Hel Raising Faes, for fucks sakes, he–

"I see you renounced your privilege of sitting." Leon whirled back to see the other chair was no longer empty, a male sat there. He squinted at him. The cell was dark, but he should have been able to see his features from this distance, yet, he could see nothing except for the vague shape of a male, as if darkness itself molded around him. “Pity.”

Leon’s upper lip peeling over his teeth, a warning growl directed at the unknow male.

“Who the fuck you supposed to be? The headsmale?” he laughed at his own joke.

The male didn’t respond. Instead, he reached inside his jacket to pull out an object Leon knew well. The solid gold brass knuckles, with sharp spikes on the edges, glinted in his hands, the letters HRF, with flames burning behind it, inscripted on the side were carved by him.

"That's mine," he growled in warning.

"Is it?" The male twirled the brass. "I see you are a talker, then,” he threw the brass up and caught it in the air. “Tsk. That’s no fun.”

“I’m not a fucking talker.” Leon rebuked offended, puffing his chest.

He knew what this male was doing, trying to rill him up, scare him with the possibility of torture. Leon wasn’t stupid, they need him lucid and willing if they wanted to find the human whores, they would not lay a finger on him. “I’m not saying shit.”

“I’m counting on it,” the other sneered darkly.

The male inched forward, darkness bending and molding to revel a big pair of wings unfurling on his back, talons scratching the ceiling in their wake, denouncing him as another Illyrian, but not any Illyrian. A glow of blue flickered at the height of his chest, Leon’s eyes growing wild. Shit, fuck, shit. It wasn’t darkness he was willing, it were shadows. Shit!

A drop of cold sweat ran down his face watching the Shadowsinger’s face emerging in front of him, his eyes promising anything but mercy, holding Leon’s gaze as he slid his gold brass knuckles over his bronzed scarred fingers. Leon did not even had time to take a step back before he moved, his massive frame blurring as his fist collapsed with Leon’s jaw so strongly, he felt the bone disjointing. His mouth sagged open as he watched his jailor in shock. A rattling noise shook the cavernous cell, Leon emitting a strangled sound as a swarm of shadow began to descend from the walls, infiltrating from under the door cracks, the open hatch. Suddenly, the air staled, all light consumed from the cell while darkness embraced his piercing screams.

Outside the room, prisoners recoiled within their cells listening to Leon shouts for mercy, each one of them remembering what it meant to receive a personal visit from the Shadowsinger. He’d play with his pray. Put them in weak chains, feeding their wet dreams about an easy escape, let them bluff and puff your chest thinking they could outsmart Night Court’s intelligence. Sometimes he even let them wander around the labyrinth of dark corridors under the mountain. In the end there was no escaping this place, there was only him; The Shadowsinger. His cursed frame emerging from the dark, his devious shadow-hounds doing his bidding, his centuries of experience feeding from fae souls

Leon cried louder.

A prisoner shuddered.

No.

It was never a good thing to be a newcomer received by the Shadowsinger.

+

Azriel was morose and silent as he touched the town house door handle, waiting spelled-door recognized him. He’d been tracking every step of that insufferable band of thieves for months, his intelligence network working to eliminate every wicked branch of it. Tonight, he had finally come face to face with the slave traders, their leader slipping through Night border, in a messy attempt to escape, as he planned. Azriel left his spies taking care of the arrests, dedicating his time to locate the human victims hidden.

It wasn’t unusual for Children of the Blessed to fall into fae traps, their love for the race leading them to believe in promises that would never be fulfilled, happy ever after in the arms of a prince or princess. Learning their weakness, and counting on the easier access to the Human Lands without the barrier of the wall, the despicable leader of HRF created a network to smuggle humans. He’d lure the believers with pretty vows, bounding them into a life of misery and slavery. Only after he found the remaining humans, freed them and place in a proper shelter, did he return for Leon. If he closed his eyes, Azriel could still see them. Smell them. Dozens of humans kept in deplorable conditions, pressed together in a small pension room, malnourished children crying in their own filth, hopelessness and hunger bleeding from their gazes.

To be filthy, hungry and locked in a cell. Azriel knew what it was like, knew the mark it leaves on you. Maybe that’s why he chose to spend an especial evening with Leon, or maybe he was just a bigger of a monster as him. A monster who fed from pain. Azriel ran a hand throw his hair and crossed the foyer, doing his best to forget the memories trying to resurface, his shadows crooning for to sleep as they usually did. Sleeeeep. Sleeeeep. He would do just that once he reached the spared room on the second floor. He and Cassian stayed mostly in the house of wind now that the sister moved down here, but tonight Azriel was too tired to fly all the way back to there, his wings heavy and his muscles strained from days of flying nonstop –and if he was lucky, he could get a glimpse of Elain during breakfast. Yes, shadow-walking here had been a good choice. He was still thinking about he when he felt her.

Elain.

He usually felt her before he saw her. The scent of jasmine assaulting him quicker than Cassian’s jab during a sparring. It was unmistakably hers. Not the suave aroma one could scent the flower, but a deep lingering fragrance only carried by her, pleasant sugary notes of honey blending with it, the delicious mix arousing a variety of emotions within. Azriel found her sitting on top of the stairs with the faelights off. The dark did nothing to hide her from him, tho. That’s how he saw Elain was wearing pants, pajama pants, but pants nonetheless. His stiffness gave place to verve as he climbed the stairs, watching her. She was covered in a fluff grey wool pajama, hugging her knees, her feet guarded by a pair of polka dotted socks, her cheek pressed to the wall, honey colored tresses partially veiling sleepy doe eyes that blinked in and out of conscious. How could a female look so delicious and so adorable at same time?

Azriel chuckled quietly attracting her attention. Elain blinked at the sight of him, the softest of breaths escaping her parted lips, her head almost hitting the rail in her hurry to sit straight. She scanned him from head to toe, wild brown eyes cataloging every piece of him. He reached her in no time, retuning the small smile she gave him, extended his silent shield towards her, keeping their voices from the rest of the house. “You are up late.”

“So are you.”

The way she looked up to him was so innocent, her intentions so clear and honest, Azriel found himself reaching for her hand, Elain accepting his without a second of hesitation. For a moment he forgot how deeply covered in blood they’ve been moments ago, how truthfully he had to scrub himself to feel clean. When he remembered, he felt no urge to push back and hide his hands as he so often did in the pass. No, Azriel held her tighter, making sure she was real and not just a product of his sleep deprived imagination.

As if she felt his need for reassurance, Elain squeezed him back. She was real. She was here. Had she known he would come? Was she waiting for him? His mind spun with questions, yet he asked none of them, patiently waiting for her to finish cleaning her bottom.  

“Come. Let me walk you.” a stupid request to make, since her room was a couple of steps away, and he had to pass by it to get into the guest one. He just wanted to touch her all the way there. He could make twelve steps last for an eternity if he put his mind to it.

Except Elain didn’t share the sentiment.

“No,” she replied simply. Azriel tensed, his hand hanged loose, horrific confusion bathing his face as he tried to withdraw his fingers, which were laced with her. Elain held back. “Because I will walk you.”

Azriel placed his free hand on his chest, his tension dissolving in a nervous laugh. He almost cursed. Almost. “0x1, Archeron.”

Elain gave him a shit eating grin, the mischief in her brown orbs lightening the space between them. Her contagious joy emanated to him, so obvious he could feel it blooming in his own chest, happy and bright as her smiles. The rich sensation spread further along his body as they walk the short walk to the end of the hall, their feet almost dragging on the carpet, his shadows disappearing on his trail, leaving him and his sweet flower alone –save for the rest of their family, sleeping in their respective bedrooms, not that Azriel cared for any of them at the moment.

Once they reached the bedroom, Elain was the one to open the door in a single swipe, letting him pry to what was inside. To his utter surprise, the room was tidy despite the fact that it been a while since anyone slept in it. The window was ajar, letting the moonlight in, the floor was shiny, the bed had clean sheets, a suave fragrance perfuming the air. His eyes darted to the bedside table, noting the two items on top of it. A small crystal vase replete with tiny blue flowers, and mug of tea, steam rising above the rim. Still warm. Azriel eyed the flowers again. His throat bobbed. He had spent enough hours in Elain’s company as she piped about flowers and theirs meaning, to recognize those particular cobalt blossoms. Forget-me-nots.  

This was not the view of a barely visited guest bedroom, this was the view of a room ready for use. A room for someone who was expected. Wanted. Elain was watching him carefully, waiting for him to say something. When he didn’t, she spoke for him.

“I wasn’t sure,” she wetted her lips, feeling nervous for the first time tonight, her tone getting serious. “I just…I had this feeling,”

“That I needed to crash here?” he lifted a brow playfully, trying to lighten the crease in hers.

Elain shook her head, determinate to not let him downplay the urgency of her gut feeling.

“That you needed to rest.” Words came and die in the tip of his tongue.

Elain hadn’t been able to sleep properly tonight. She tossed and turned in bed the whole time, strange shapeless creatures chasing smoke and mirrors. She felt tired to the bone. She got up after a while, deciding a warm drink might help her to slumber. Instead of going down, to the kitchen, her feet guided her to the side, the empty bedroom calling to her. Angst heaved in her chest when she pushed the door open. The place felt abandon. Her heart ache looking at it. There was no way one could have a pleasant rest inside. This would not do.

A sudden necessity to warm the place assaulted her, and before she knew it, Elain was spreading the windows wide open, letting the night breeze sweep the cold creeping in the corners. She replaced the dusty brown bedding with one of her freshly-washed ones, a cozy cream-colored combination that smelled like roses and felt like clouds. She even brewed passionflower, pouring the soothing tea in an especial mug created to keep the temperature perfect for hours. Once she was done, Elain sat on the top of the stairs and waited. Deep down she knew who she was doing this for, knew who she was waiting.

Azriel eyed Elain. Back on the house of wind, the headache powder was placed on his nightstand with the reverence of a trophy. Whenever he slept there, Azriel would glance at vial in the wee hours of night, memories of her flooding his mind as they constantly did. Now here she was, presenting him a cozy room that smelled like home. Once again, she rendered him vulnerable without warning. One word from her being enough to disarm him. This type of vulnerability could be exploited by his enemies, could cost his life and countless others in a battlefield. Yet, he didn’t feel the need to pretend not being shaken, nor the need to hide behind his shadows. Being unraveled by Elain Archeron was unlike anything he had ever experienced. From her, he had no need to hide the cracks of his armor, from her, he had no wish to shield his mind and never let her pry to his insecurities.

For the first time in many centuries of being a spymaster, Azriel felt something other than anger at the possibility of being exposed. He felt relief. Behind his back, his wings sagged in exhaustion, imperceptible for untrained eyes, but another Illyrian would notice from a good yard. Being seen by Elain lighten his shoulders in a level that could not be describe by words, her gentleness sent his barriers careening down, her particular way of displaying affection ignited something deep inside of him.

They stood there for a minute. An hour. A day. Time was irrelevant. Each one of them was rooted to the spot by their own thoughts. Azriel should have stayed quiet. He should have thanked her and bid her goodnight. Elain already did more than he would ever deserve allowing him to bathe in the same warmth she presented to others, indulging in every spec of liberty he took with her. It should be enough. It would never be enough. Although he suspected the answer, he couldn’t help it, he had to know, he needed to know. Needed to hear her say it.

"Would you be here if you knew where I came from?” his voice was raw, vulnerable. Anxiety coming through. “Would you be here if you knew what I done tonight?”

“Yes.” Sometimes a single word can change everything. Sometimes a single word can full your courage in a way a warrior speech, in the peril of battle, would not be able to. “You want to tell me?” The soft squeeze in his hand was comforting weight, a symbol companionship, a prove of confidence.

“Not tonight.”

“Okay.”

Her unquestionable trust swelled on his chest. She made it look easy. To accept who he was, to understand the lengths he had to go, the damage he had to cause. He looked down at their hands, Elain following his gaze, gently running her thumb against his skin. His mangled skin coated in scars, and blood, and gore, and death. Would he taint her if he held for too long? Or would she infect him with her radiant self?

She pulled him in the direction of the inviting bed. “Rest,” she said again.

Rest. His shadows crooned like parrots, her voice mimicked with perfection. Rest. Rest. Rest.

Reluctantly, Elain let go of him, slowly, as if she would rather stand there all night than leave. Giving him one last sunny smile, she closed the door behind herself.

And that was it.

The point of no return.

The whole curse of his life changed by a four-letter word.

From that day on their clandestine flirting evolved. A dangerous dance that could not be stopped by the presence of other fae in the vicinity. Lingering touches that electrified his skin, sparkling chocolate eyes that never seemed to stray, feet touching under the table, pinkies hooked behind their backs, playful winks and beautiful shy smiles, the permanent scent of jasmine that always seemed to linger on his clothes, denouncing how much he spent seeking after her. From that day on he considered himself hers.

Absence Makes the Heart Grow fonder Restless

This is kind of a continuation from my TTYLTOYD two-shot.  Actually, all my shots can be associated (except the au) so I'm thinking of multichapting it...

Set: post ACOSF, post Nessian’s Wedding.

Words: 3306

Part 3: Absence Makes the Heart Grow Restless

Going to Windhaven wasn’t how Azriel planned to start his day, especially when he could still feel the lump on his back from the stake out in Miann. The royalty residing in the heart of Hybern would present no concern to Prythian any time soon, since the remaining spawn of the former king were too busy trying to size his throne. The power had manifest itself in the 4th son, a spoiled youth who thrusted too much on the royal adviser, which made the conspirational first born livid. A civil war was brewing, and Azriel could already feel the headache of constant reports to be made in a near future.

It didn't help that he had been feeling uneasy in the last couple of days, an eerie sensation he couldn’t point the origin making him anxious and tense. His boots crunched the piled-up snow, the shadows scurrying away from the early mid-morning rays that did nothing to warm the frozen hell camp. It was no secret that Azriel despised to waste his time dealing with Illyria, the duty usually falling under Cassian jurisdiction, yet here he was, having every aspect of his patience tested by the hardhead war lord.

His eyes roamed around, cataloging the young males practicing different routines all over the camp. Stretching, working with weapons, with shields, flying, running laps, sparing in cockpits, all exhaling puffed breaths under the duress of a typical morning session. The females, however, were sweating for very different reasons. They ran around the camp like servants, polishing boots, mending uniforms, sharpening blades, moving weapons, removing snow from the courses, dressed in raged clothes that were a far cry from the especial leather uniforms provided by Rhys. His fist curled, a dark shadow coating his hand and swallowing the incandescent cobalt stone that flicked.

“The girls are not training.”

Devlon’s attention was fixed on a sparring, screaming inputs to the males. “Lift your shield boy! Lift that fucking shield and rotate! Godsdam, up, up, UP! That’s only 120 pounds! You can’t lift that, you get the fuck out of my pit and let someone with balls train!” He didn’t move his attention from them, didn’t thought he needed to. “The girls have chores to complete.”

“The High Lord was clear.” Azriel said.

His eyes turned to Azriel with disdain.

“This is my camp, boy. Not his.”

“The females train, or no one trains.” Azriel declared, his lack of expression leading others to believe he didn’t have the slightest ounce of interest in the matter.

Devlon snickered, unimpressed with the conversation that happened every other week.

The half-breed lord loved to send his bastards to meddle in his camp. The boys were talented in the battle field, Devlon wouldn’t deny that, they trained in his camp after all, and the half-breed even found a way to become a High Lord, kudos for him. But this was Illyria, not a playground for bored High Fae. Here they have lineage and culture and traditions. Despite Rhysand’s lineage being tarnished, Devlon was one of the few lords who would allow half-breeds and bastards in his camp. His reason was simple,

They were males.

They were males with illyrian blood running in their veins, even if it was washed down. And Illyrian males were born to have their wings spread, a blade in one hand, a shield on the other and a shot at proving themselves as the Mother intended. Females were a different story. As the Mother created the males for thriving in the battlefield, she also created the females for housing and breeding. He had stopped the clipping and allowed them in the camp to appease the prissy prince, but training was unnecessary for them. Imagine having them sharing the field with the real warriors in a daily basis? Bullshit. They would only slow the males down, tempt them, steal their focus to not even amount to good warriors in the end. Having functional wings was privilege enough. Illyrians were and will always be an elite warrior race, therefore mixing them with meek females was stupidity, Devlon knew that. The girls were much more useful like this, tending to the camp chores for the males to achieve their full potential like tradition dictated.

Tradition existed for a reason.

Tradition is fail-proof, timeless, universal.

Noting the shadowsinger’s blank stare still fixed at him, Devlon spat on the ground, the chewed tabaco sinking in the snow in front of Azriel’s boots. The shadowsinger said nothing. He did not move or react to the insult. His shadows were a different story. The devilish things swarmed like a hive of angry bees – dispersing everywhere – syphons flaring to life with the challenge, a cobalt aura engulfing the camp in a spam of seconds.

“What are you doing, boy?!!” he exclaimed with anger, eyes bloodshot red as he beheld his camp. Devlon could barely keep up with the mayhem that came next.

The work-out sounds stopped, replaced by shrieks and gasping and crashing. The racing track froze completely before erupting, chunks of stone flying off the floor. Panic and chaos spreading like a wild fire. With a symphony of screams, dozens of illyrians were falling from the sky, grunting and cursing as they hit barracks, trees, each other. Others had their running and sparing interrupted by the loss of balance, falling face flat on the ground when Azriel bounded every male in the perimeter, straps of shadow trapping a hundred pair of wings. More shrieks followed by whoever held a weapon, for they were now covered with a blue-hot halo, blazing like a new forged blade, burning the hands attached to the handles. More males fell on their knees, burring their hands in snow to sooth the burnings. The ones closest to Azriel ran with terrified faces, which wasn’t sufficient to escape the shadow-binding on their feet and wings. The males began to pair up, trying to free their wings with no success.

The females, who were untouched by magic or binds, stopped their chores to come together, watching the scene with a mix of shock and amusement, their giggles growing into laughter the more the more the males struggled. Azriel watched them for a moment. Their innocent glee reminding him of someone. She flashed in his mind. Her lightly tanned skin, the freckles across her nose, her piercing brown eyes and the radiant smile that had no business being directed at him. He blinked the memory away.

“What are you laughing at, girl?” the war-lord snapped at tthem. “Don’t just stand there, help them to unbid their wings, your brats! Move, move! You!” he pointed at Azriel, “Release my warriors now, shadowsinger!”

“The females train or no one trains.” he repeated with boredom, face blank as a white sheet.

The war lord was still cursing fiercely when the spymaster left, ignoring his tantrum and shadow-walking to the outer shield protecting the cabin. Azriel wasn’t Cassian, he had no patience to deal with the traditions of this forsaken mountain, if Devlon wanted to train his precious warriors, he could come and beg for it. He pushed the snow of his shoulder with irritation, Feyre’s paintings following his every step as he made way to the office. The space was crowded with paperwork, endless piles of new information waiting to be sorted by him. What a headache.

Azriel pinched the bridge of his nose trying to focus his thoughts.Tired. He was too tired to deal with that. When was the last time he slept? A shadow drift to the fresh report appearing on top the never-ending pile. ‘Read it. Read it.’ Another crooned in his ear.

“Not now.” He answered out loud, freeing the curtains to cover the window. Azriel paused, glancing at the elastic tie escaping from the cuff of his uniform, the yellow color bright and painful amidst the black of everything else. The adornment had become attached to his wrist since he had found her one too many times with her unbound hair clinging to her sweat face, getting in the way of her vision, his hands ably pulling the rebel strands in a pony tail. Now the unused hair tie mocked the intimacy he was no longer allow to display.

Azriel slouched on a chair and closed his eyes, groaning. There he was again, thinking of her.

Thinking of Elain.

His mind cooking an absurd amount of risqué ideas, indulging in plotting shading escapades.

It had been a while since he last heard her voice outside the echoes of his mind. Three weeks, four days and twenty-four hours. Since Cassian’s mating celebration, if one was counting. Which he wasn’t. Gods, he missed her. He missed the soothing atmosphere that only Elain’s presence could bring to him. Recently, Azriel had become quite accustomed to replay the memories of her, drowning in regret, wishing he had done different, martyrizing himself with the weight of cowardice. That’s what he was. A coward. A coward who hide behind his brother’s order to avoid the mess he created.

Azriel uncovered many secrets in his lifetime, but there was one that didn't matter how hard he tried, he could not unravel, and that was his relationship with Elain, his fondness, his desire, his obsession for the girl who rooted herself in his darkened heart. If he had a soul, it would be hers too. Azriel could not pinpoint exactly how they became friends. Worse, he could not define when the friendship became something more intimate either. How he went from numb to his surroundings, to obsessing over a twenty-five years old and her view of the world. She was breathtaking, there was no denying that, but beauty wasn’t the feature who made Elain Archeron so irresistible.

There was a fire inside her. A flame that burn bright and strong enticing him with every flicker. Elain played the demure persona quite well for someone with such strong opinions of the world. “People don’t really listen to me,” she told him once. “They look at me, and that’s it, my value is defined. That’s the only sense I can stimulate, vision. Like a curse.” He could relate to it better than he would like. Shackled to his appearance, to the horrendous scars on his hands, to the ever-present shadows draped over his body.

When Azriel saw the worst of what life had to offer he decided to be worse, to become the night that once symbolized his terrors, to be feared instead of afraid. When Elain saw the worst of what life had to offer she took a harsh blow, but she came back. As the light in her eyes began to shine again, her kindness bloomed in full, her positivity was contagious, her smiles infectious. There was no sensation that could rival being in the receiving end of her smiles. Understanding the bravery of her kindness was like a punch to his gut, making him gag, expelling, little by little, the foulness collected along centuries, allowing clear air to make way into his lungs. Azriel had never felt proud of anyone as he felt of Elain, and one day he simple caught himself longing for her. Her burning presence, her bright voice, her sunny smiles. Before he even realized it, her mere presence began to mold him anew, changing his habits, brightening his days.

When he could join her for breakfast, after being away for days, she would inquire every little detail of the cities he been to, filling him in with what he lost while away, and he didn’t have the heart to tell her he knew what was happening in Velaris no matter where he were because he like to sip his coffee listening to the melody of her. “No” was not a word in his vocabulary when Elain shyly invited him for her usual walks along the Sidra, both quiet in companion silence enjoying the late night breeze, or her twice-a-week visits to the food market, where his hands would relieve hers from anything he judged heavy –which was anything she bought.

Azriel had lost count of how many times he shamelessly brought his reports to the town house, one eye on the words stretching in the paper, another in Elain humming while working in the garden, shadows escaping from him to lurk near her, shading her when they judged her floppy hats were not enough. And how many times had they not slipped away in shadows after a chaotic family dinner? Leaving their loud family behind to watch plays and recitals, attend a festival she had interest in knowing, her curious mind working furiously to ask him about fae customs, Azriel patiently explaining everything she desired to know, nights ending in cozy flights across the coast, dancing and drinking and laughter.

Being with Elain was easy, simple as breathing. Then things changed. In a slip of his tongue, Azriel flirted with her, and to his absolute delight and horror, Elain flirted back. And continued to do so. Her pink stained cheeks, the eyes that followed him everywhere, the subtle touches and brushes. Azriel knew why she was acting like that, cautious of the others noticing their interactions, careful of the gods-dammed bond that was always mention to her. The bond he didn’t give a fuck about. Their clandestine interactions grow bolder, his lust grow out of control, and it became impossible to be near her without barely stopping himself to worship every inch of her body. An spirit Elain seemed to appreciate.

Until he fucked it all up.

‘Master! Wake up!’

Azriel was brought from his reverie by an insistent shadow puling his eyelids, demanding his attention. Snarling, he tried to chase it away.  

‘Wake up, master. Read it, read it!’ It crooned in his ear.

A report materialized on his lap. With a sigh he surrendered, his eyes scanning the letter once, twice, before crunching the paper, his face finally exposing a feeling:

Anger.

“Fuck.”

.

.

.

Elain’s scent was scant, no longer bleeding out the walls and furniture, perfuming every corner of the house as it did once. The place was quiet, lifeless without her running around, indulging Nyx’s caprices while Feyre taught her classes. The River House was not as bright as it once was. At least, not for him. Azriel stood in the farther corner of the office, arms crossed, face blank, shadow vexing out and about, veiling his frame in such dark mist his brother could barely see his body.

"You cannot release them from duty, Rhysand."

Azriel gave his brother an icy stare.  Unbelievable. Did Rhys honestly believed he could control Azriel now because he was staying away from Elain? Control his spies? He wanted to laugh. The only reason he was following the idiotic command was his oath, his loyalty binding him to the High Lord’s command. Truth be told, the order alone was not strong enough to keep him from seeing Elain, the order could be interpreted in many ways, ways that allowed him to breach it. It was a simple game of literal meaning and loophole and telling Rhys to fuck himself. The only reason he had entertained his brother so far was because of Elain, he had hurt her deeply that night, broke her trust. Sometimes sleep would not come to him when the memory of her sad eyes did. Azriel didn’t know how to turn back, to fix his stupid mistake. He should had kissed her and to hell with it.

Rhys flicked an invisible fleck of dust from his shoulder. "I have no use for those who don't follow my orders."

"They are my spies. Not yours. Mine."

He almost laughed at the irony of the words so similar to the ones Devlon spat at him earlier. His brother glared at him.

"And you are my spymaster. Serving in my court."

Azriel was fuming. First his brother interfered in his relation with Elain, now he tried to fire the twins because they refused to spy on her, making Azriel realize that Rhys was really growing old, old and insane! Thinking too high of himself. Drunk on power.

Azriel followed a set of rules in his life, not fully trusting High Lords being one of them, way high on the list. The problem was he didn’t think his brother would be in the middle of the untrustworthy. His mistake. He should have known better than trust family.

"You're not sovereign.” Azriel scoffed. “I serve a High Lady. Shall I petition to her? Ask for an audience and deliver my worries in letterhead? Maybe just come to family dinner will do the trick."

"You think you're funny?"

"I think you are a dick." shadows coated his knuckles, sliding between his hands, squeezing. "They are allowed to refuse a mission that involves personal targets."

"Will you report in their place, then?”

“Fuck you!” The words were angry, harsh, siphons atop of his hands flared, the shelfs rattled. Rhys merely shrugged.

"I can forget this incident if you take their place. I need someone I can trust on this. Someone who cannot be bribed."

"Why would she bribe your measly roaches?"

"Not her. Someone more intimidating. Someone interest in keeping her business private."

"She has the right to her privacy."

"Not if she put my court in danger. She doesn't."

"Do you hear yourself?"

"I do. My problem is that you don't listen to me."

Azriel tried to keep calm, be reasonable, keep Rhys calm, away from the madness eating his brain. When did his brother turned into an asshole? Azriel took a deep breath, fighting to keep his shadows in check, feeling the fucking Shadowsinger clawing to be free and challenge his brother, wipe the idiotic fake smile from his face.

"All of this because she is moving out? Really, Ryshand?” His brother relaxed further on the chair, crossing his hands. "You only have one child, a male one. If you have so much fucking free time to be thinking bullshit, think about him, and leave Elain alone, let her live her life.”

Azriel whirled around, crunching the doorknob under his flaring palm, almost pulling the door out of the hinges. He would not shadow-walk away like a little boy throwing a tantrum. He would leave by the door and spit in Rhys’ doorsteps on the way out, like a grown male.

"What of you Az. Are you leaving her alone?"

He stopped.

"That's what you asked me to do, isn't it? No. You ordered me to do it."

"You think I don't know why she is moving out? Dare I say, for who."

"Elain is her own woman, her life doesn't revolve around anyone but herself."

"You expect me to believe that Elain moving out have nothing to do with you trying to sneak her out on Cassian’s mating party?"

Azriel huffed, shadows dispersing in the room. "The tales are true, then, is never late to learn something. I, for instance, am learning that having I child means your brain pass on to the next generation."

His brother sighed.

"Az,"

"Rhysand." He scorned. "Let her be. Let her live her life. Elain is not your nanny."

Rhys adjusted himself, shaken.

"I'm never said that."

"You didn't have too. Did you think she stayed in this house to nurse your child forever? She saw her sister die, she stayed behind for her, to nurse her back to health, to make sure Nyx was okay, watch his mother be back on her feet. She’s back."

"Are you her messenger now?"

"If Elain has a message for you, she will relay herself. In the meantime; Leave. Her. Alone. Or I will make you."

"Are you threatening me? My own brother?"

Set: post ACOSF, during Nessian’s Wedding. 

Words: 2305

Sneak a peak

Part 1: The Things You Like

The wedding ceremony was intimate per Nesta’s request.

Her family, her Valkyrie friends, some of Cassian’s closest friends, the inner circle, Varian. And that’s about it.

The reception was a different story.

The first time she saw the ballroom in the river house, Elain thought Rhys had gone mad. There was no occasion to require such large space, no party that could possible receive so many guests. Elain was wrong. The place was crowed, barely any space left with all the guests and servants circulating. Apparently, the whole Velaris decided to pay respect and wish good fortune to their favorite cheerful General and his not so jolly bride.

Rhys promised Nesta the greatest party of the century, and Elain did not doubt he was holding up his end of the bargain.

The ballroom had been decorated with shades of silver and red. Big chandeliers with diamonds cascading down. Lavish centerpieces filled with red roses sitting on top of dozens of tables, a mix of round and square ones. All scattered around the perimeter creating an inviting dance floor in the center. On the back, a temporary platform was built, big enough to fit a full-scale orchestra.

Nesta cried when she first saw them.

It was his especial gift for her. A hundred musicians, dressed in elegant black, that played everything. From intricated waltz to bawdy ballads, from drinking songs to romantic hymn, making the dance floor permanently occupied, like a happy void trapping drunk dancer. Not even Elain could escape from it.

The second Mor spotted her chatting with Mr. Thomas, she cried her name with joy, smacking Elain on both cheeks and smearing her with dark lipstick. Mor had forgone her usual red for an off-shoulder blue dress, the bodice peppered with small sapphires, the sheer fabric hugging her body like a second skin, her golden hair styled with two braids morphing in a low ponytail.

“All my partners had two left feet. Come dance with me.”

She glanced the dancers diving in groups of six as a new song began to play.

“I don’t know this one.” Elain admitted sipping her wine.

“I can teach you!

She slipped her arm under Elain's and hauled her forward.

They joined in the second chorus, the melody cheerful and rhythmic. The dance consisting in a pattern of handclaps, twirls and steps strong enough to shake the wooden floor. Mor helped her to find the right pace before spinning her to the male beside her. She changed partners four times and returned Mor, who dipped her in a cheesy maneuver. Elain laughed so hard her ribs hurt.

Once on the dance floor it was hard to leave. Not only Mor was feeling extra energetic, but dance requests never stop coming. Every time she tried to take a break, another fae appeared from thin air. She danced with all the males and females she recognized, mostly neighborhood friends, politely declining some eager young males.

By the time she succeed in returning to the safety of her table, Elain's legs felt like jelly. She massaged her aching calves searching for Nesta on the crowd. She would dance one more time with her sister and be done for the night. Elain located the happy couple on the other side of the parlor. Dozens of guests surrounding them.

She munched on a juicy lamb dish, watching the exchanges, Cassian grinning and howling, Nesta joined in conversation from time to time. To her sister credit, she didn’t roll her eyes once, well, except at Cassian. She even smiled here and there receiving hugs from elderly that showered Cassian with love. But even Nesta’s good sense appeared to have a limit. After an hour of cozy greetings, she spotted Elain. Nesta waved at her frenetically, her eyes glowing with a new hope as mouthed; “Save me.”

Oblivious to his wife’s wishes to run away, Cassian turned around, grabbing a passing Azriel by the sleeve, dragging him to his side, before returning to chat with a male she didn’t know. Azriel was deadly handsome in a tux.

Elain spied him in a trance.

He wore a white boutonniere on his navy jacket. The buttons undone to reveal a grey waistcoat and white shirt, the attire completed by a merlot tie and merlot pocket square. Your lips taste like merlot too? She mused with interest. Probably not. So far, he had drunk bourbon, cognac, whiskey, more bourbon. All neat. No wine.

His aloof mask did little to hide mood. He had that I-am-bored-to-death look on. She would have laugh if he didn't look so sexy with his hair swept back. Azriel cracked his neck, his patience worning out. Whoever that male was, he was clearly absurd, because Azriel forehead creased, his mouth curled in distaste, shadows fidgeting from his torso to his wings. His eyes darted around, calculating the right time to slip into the night.

The most boring man alive slapped Cassian’s shoulder, and Azriel almost scoffed. Almost. This time she did laugh. The whole thing was just too funny to hold back. Cassian in his own world while his wife and brother died on the inside. She was impressed they lasted so long. Her laugh was cut short when churning hazel eyes found their way to her.

The rest of the room blurred.

There was only him

His steady heartbeat.

His unwavering attention.

And that look.

She stopped breathing because she knew that look too. The same one that made her think he wanted to kiss her on solstice. His gaze so intense, the hairs in her arms stood up. Teeth sinking into her lip. Azriel scanned her unhurried, quietly drowning the rest of the amber liquid in his glass. Eyes lingering on her exposed collarbone. Her neck. Her lips.

She saw the image clear as day. His precise fingers unlacing the straps in her shoulder, his tongue tracing the path beneath, wet lip closing over her heated skin, rough finger pads sliding against her jaw, releasing her trapped lip, his teeth replacing hers.

Elain crossed her legs. Her throat dry. She couldn't remember the last time he looked at her like that. Completely unabashed. Her Azriel did it all the time, shameless. Teasing her to acknowledge it, daring her to say something about it. The new Azriel didn’t share his passions. He had only one agenda when it came to Elain, and that was Avoiding her.

Her heart galloped.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

This was not the new, distant, Azriel. No. This was his old self slipping to the surface. Shattering the cold façade he had put on for months. He placed the empty glass in a passing servant' tray, running his thumb across his lips. Inviting. A shiver ran down her spine.

Elain tried to remember that he rejected her, that he wanted nothing to do with her. She really did. But that was a hard thing to do with him burning a hole in her face. His desire bleeding all over her. Had he changed his mind? Was she pathetic for hoping the answer was “yes”? A movement caught her attention.

Elain peeked down, watching the table-cloth shadow move. The skittish thing snaking over her heel, unnoticeable on the black sandal. Sliding under the straps, caressing the arch of her foot, curling around her ankle amorously. Tugging. Calling.

Come.

Come with me.

Her skin prickled.  

She fidgeted.

Maybe she should go. Maybe she should go over there and help her poor sister. Not because Azriel was there. Because Nesta needed her. Yes. She would go there and help Nesta. After that she might linger around. In case someone else wanted to escape with her. Someone who was beguiling her for several minutes now. Begging her to come closer.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Elain smoothed the fabric of her dress, fixing some loose curls back in place.

His eyes following her every move.

Encouraging her.

His mouth shaped into the tinniest smile of world.

Her insides quivered with expectation.

She pushed her chair back. Soundless. Confidence.

‘Elain.’

The world unblurred.

Everything came rushing back.

Hundreds of people buzzing, thousands of sounds returning in a crushing wave. Voices, laughter, cheers, music, choices. So many people. So many fates. Live and death and rebirth. Lovers, enemies, warriors, cowards. Overwhelming. The tides tried to pulled her in. Images flashing like a thunderstorm, too fast to follow. 

She gripped her chair. The skittish anklet a comfortable anchor to the present. Breath. Oh, this is a strong one. Elain breathed in and out, shutting the sounds, blinking the unwanted visions away, naming the things around, tying herself in the present.

Not a beach. Not a prison. Not a battlefield. Simple Nesta’s wedding. Breath, breath, breath. Think of the ballroom. And Az. The hard chair. And Az. The crystal chandeliers. And Az. The red roses and silver table cloth. And Az. Az is here. It’s fine. I’m fine.

‘Elain?’

Elain looked at her brother-in-law, having forgot he was there. Sitting beside her. Honestly, she had forgot he existed all together, forgot where she was. Ease prey to her power. Her mistake. The visions weren’t so unruled as long as she anchored herself in the present, as long as she let them pass by without dwelling. If her mind dispersed for too long, others fates flooded her endlessly.

Rhys intrusive insistent inner voice had startled her, almost tossing her in a loop. Almost.

‘Yes?’

‘Can you watch Nyx for a minute? I want to dance your sister.’

‘Actually, I was going–’

‘I’ll be quick! One dance and I come back for him. This song is her favorite.’

Rhys pleaded, cradling a fully awake Nyx with one arm, his free hand holding Feyre’s feet on his lap. She looked back at Nesta. Her sister now alone with her husband. No guests. No Azriel. Her cue, gone. She offered Rhys a yellow smile.

‘Take as long as you need.’

Elain bent, Nyx squealing, more than happy to jump into his aunt’s open arms. Beside him, Feyre eyed the interaction with suspicion.

“Where are you going?”

He placed the flats back on her feet, setting them on the floor.

“We are going to dance,” he corrected.

Rhys throw his jacket on the back of the chair, rolling his sleeves, her sister practically drooling in her sit. Elain covered Nyx eyes. Disgusting. He bowed dramatically, waiting for Feyre to accept his hand.

Elain smiled. Feyre rolled her eyes. Nyx sucked his finger watching his dad.

“I’m tired Rhys. I’ll end up stepping on your feet.”

“Then it will not be different from all of our previous dances, will it Feyre darling.” He said with a smug.

Feyre punched his gut, cursing as he lifted her from the chair, caring her away. Elain waited for him to set her down. He didn’t. Rhys danced with Feyre in his arms, not caring for decorum or etiquette, their foreheads resting together, equal smiles plastered on their faces. She swallowed her jealousy, turning to her nephew.

“This close, Nyx,” she joined her index and thumb, “this close”

“Just you and me now,” she cooed, “I would ask you for a dance but I need to get out for a bit. Care to join me in a stroll, my little lord?

Elain secured the baby in her arms, sneaking between the mass of bodies to the safety of the empty hallway leading to the west wing. The one with big glass windows pointing to the backyard. The voices died down, replaced by the gentle sound of nature, her mind calming. She hugged Nyx tighter, admiring the starlight sky, searching for the moon.

“It’s a new moon night, Nyx. Intended for reflection and new beginnings. This is the perfect time to plant good seed for the future, a good omen for aunt Nest and her married life, but” she smiled down at Nyx, “I think Nesta would rather shove the seed down Cassian’s throat than plant them.”

Nyx giggled, flapping his arms with gusto as Elain kept talking. She talked about nothing in particular, her soothing tone being interrupted by his blabbers and hair tugs from time to time, his only form of participating in conversation.

“…ten months. I was shocked too. Mother only carried me for seven…Ouch, don’t put your hand in my mouth. I do know so, aunt Nesta told me…Yes, it is why aunt Nesta worries for me so much. You are so clever, that’s why you are my favorite nephew…What? You’re the only one? Hmmm, knowing you parents I don’t think that will stand true for much longer.”

Elain’s poor ears were testimony for their attempt to bridge the only child gap. Although, she doubted that a child was the only intuit of their favorite recreational activity. Her cheeks heated. She had chosen the farther room possible, in the opposite wing of the master’s, and some days the distance still wasn’t enough. Are married couples all like this? She missed the quietude of the town house. Lately she thought about the same thing over and over. Moving out. Nyx was bigger now, almost 8 full months, and Feyre was nursed back to health for good, no more sudden weaknesses and bedridden days.

Nyx whimpered grabbing her face, little mouth quaking, a cry ready to burst.

“No, no, no. Don’t cry my handsome boy.” She kissed his head, “I’ll come visit.”

She lifted her head and her body froze. Nyx fist curling around her hair, tugging hard. Elain didn’t move. Taking in his wrinkled cloths, red hair spilled over his shoulder, hands in his pockets, his attention on his muddied boot tapping on the marble floor. The last person she expected to see in a party for Nesta.

Her stare lured him to turn around, his shoulders tensing.

Lucien’s eyes widened at the sight of her.

.........

Rated: 🐥blocking

I remember jamming to Peter Gundry’s Lady of the Dawn a lot during some point of this.  

Word Count: 4643

Enjoy. Comments are welcome and cherished :) 

Part 6: Be Careful What You Wish For

Elain loved love.

She loved the spirit of life, the soul of nature, her strong sisters, her absolutely adorable nephew, her brilliant friends, the colorful members of her new odd family, and among those, there was one who beguiled her love in ways the others didn’t. Who made her heart beat faster and blood rush to her cheek, who a was permanent resident of her dreams but never her visions –except once.

They way he touched her had always been different. Not that touch from his calloused fingers against her blistered hands, but the touch of his hazel eyes, breathing warmth into her. The patience of his presence standing by her when she could not stand herself, the brightness of his smile at the smallest sign of her happiness. Elain loved love, yet, it was her first time experiencing a love like that, effortless, blissful, genuine, hers. Until it wasn’t. The feelings, which used to have the privilege of dancing under the sun, were now shoved into an iron box, buried deep inside, damned to never see the light again. Because Elain loved love, but love should be given freely, not forced.

To keep them in check, Elain vowed not to beg for love, vowed not to invest her feelings in a man who did not want her. Her plan was quite simple, easy to follow since he avoided her like the plague, the problem laid in moments like this. Moments where he stayed by her, appearing to have nothing but time, time to give her his undivided attention, attention which Elain hadn’t the faintest idea of what to do with it anymore.

They reappeared on the beach, leaving behind the eeriness of the woods. Gone was the colorful aura, the place now felt black and white, and even though conversations floated left and right, a tense silence buzzed in her ears. Elain brushed her new dark skirt to mask her anxiety, the material wiggling between her fingers as sand wiggled between her toes. She shivered, praying they didn’t whisper it to him. Elain took deep breaths to calm her nerves, once, twice... The second time she exhaled, the music began to change, slowly, voices chanting a sultry melody.

She looked around trying to understand what was happening, gasping at the carnal displays she found. Faes were kissing and grinding, stopping briefly to throw a piece of cloth or another in the air, reuniting with renew enthusiasm soon after. With the music’s tempo changed, drums grow heavy in the air, goosebumps trailing down her arms as the song build and build. Females separated themselves from their partners, moving toward the bonfires, lifting a variation of flower and seaweed crows high in the sky, hips moving back and forth, chants getting louder, prouder, the view captivating Elain. ‘What are they doing?’ She thought to herself.

“They are presenting their crowns to the goddess,” amidst such lechery, Azriel’s voice was like a sensual inviting caress, dark as the night, skimming the shell of her ear like satin. “They want her blessing to conceive.” Elain glued her legs together, his presence looming like a furnace behind her. Wide-eyed, Elain heaved at the erotic vibrations thrumming in the air, transfixed by the magnetic ritual, bodies of every shape and color bared to the night, mouths wandering without shame, howls of pleasure echoing all the way to her lower belly.

“I suggest you move, if you don’t intend on getting swept in the wave.” Elain looked up to Azriel, pitch black eyes returning her gaze, the corner of his mouth turning up to what he found in her face. “Or not.” Her short nails sunk on his forearm, that she somehow found a hold of. The offer was so low she wasn’t if she heard or imagined it. Elain cursed herself for feeling tempted. After months of avoiding her, Azriel was right back where he left, flirting with dangerous paths he would not walk. The audacity of him.

Elain opened her mouth. If she was going to curse him or accept the offer was never known, for an intruded interrupted her.

“There you are! I don’t see our drinks.” Nuala’s cheery voice turned to confused, the inebriated wraith returning to her corporeal state in her face, noticing Azriel a second later. “Oh,” she hiccupped, “look who’s out of his cave.”

She grinned at him. “You see that, Cece? Ayala made a miracle!”

Cerridwen become visible, her sister immediately draping an arm over her shoulder. She greeted Azriel, noticing Elain’s empty hands. “You couldn’t find it?”

“Find what?” she asked.

Cerridwen frowned. “You left for a drink.”

“She left the beach entirely.” Azriel intervened, shadows slithering towards her, his stern tone purging the carefree friendly atmosphere between the girls. Cursing the alcohol in her system, Cerridwen straighten her spine, pushing her sister away.

“That’s not possible, I was watching her the whole time. We came to fetch her since the offering was beginning.” Cerridwen said.

Nuala, who had had one drink too many to care about the sudden serious atmosphere, perched herself on Elain, grabbing the middle Archeron by her cheeks. “Look how red you are.”

Elain, who had been ogling a particular couple against a bark, went a shade redder for being caught, Nuala mistaking her reaction with discomfort. “Don’t worry my friend, I’ll save your honor! Let me take you to a safer place… You know what would help you to feel better? Another drink. There is an inn with marvelous dark cider…”

Nuala went on about the drink, Elain peeking one last time at the couple, none of them noticing the other two remaining behind, nor the harsh, “explain,” being uttered with deadly authority.  

.

.

.

It smelled like jasmine.

The petals tickled her nose, teasing her lips, trailing down from her chin to her neck to the valley of her breasts. The sun poked through her eyelids, making her frown. Her window was left open during the night, a suave morning breeze swaying the cream curtains. A slender body molded itself to her back, nails rasping her hip. Half asleep, Elain hooked her leg higher on the pillow, burring her face in the sheets, she felt too comfortable to wake up. Butterfly kisses on her shoulder, hands caressing her hip, her thigh, her belly. Elain sighed softly under the ministrations, eyes fluttering when she was pulled to her back, the body moving to top hers.  

Smooth skin blessed by immortality covered her body –the shape of her legs, the curve of her breasts, the round of her belly. Elongated ears pointed from between glossy tresses, sharp nose and high cheekbones sprinkled with freckles darkened under the sun, full lips spreading in a wicked smile. Her perfect copy, except for the eyes. Oh gods. Realization dawned on Elain, dread filling her lungs. The eyes gazing back at Elain were older, cunning, dangerous, the white irises carrying the weight of knowledge, holding answers to questions untold. It was like looking at a mirror, except the mirror was sitting on top of her, hands around her neck.

“Relax, marlena,” the Seer purred, “it’s only me.”

Elain gasped when the Seer gave her a peck, hair tickling her face. She pushed the other by her shoulders, very solid, very real shoulders. Unfazed, the Seer turned her attention to Elain’s belly, traced the shape, drawing spirals and hearts. Elain’s mind worked furiously to understand what was happening.

“A warning.” Announced her clone, eyes backing up to Elain’s face. She traced the bridge of her nose, distracted. “We are so beautiful. This is my favorite body. Perfect.” She bent and kissed Elain’s chest, right over her heart. “Keep this beating for us, will you? Don’t be reckless.”

When the other made no move to hurt her, Elain moved her hands tentatively, pushing her soft brown hair away, trying to gather it behind her ears to cup her face. “I’m not trying to die.” Her voice sounded odd, raspy, as if she had been screaming.

"You're trying to challenge. Having stupid impulses again.” The Seer reprimanded severely. “Don’t think, for a second, that I didn’t see what was on your mind last night. I see everything."

“I want to be free.” Elain breathed out. “Don’t you want to be free? To choose?” She questioned passionately.

"Not if you die as result, I don't." she snorted.

“…You care for me.”

“There’s no me without you.” She deadpanned “Why do you fight to accept your fate? You’ll have a good life,” she planted her palms on Elain’s belly, “you’ll have children, you’ll be loved. Isn’t that what you wanted?” From the corner of her eye, Elain saw a little girl running. “You can bargain for your life later, but first you have to give in.”

Her children’s laughter ringed around them, the twins high pitch screams echoing as they ran on the sunny green fields their elder brothers riding horses around them, pretending to trap them in a circle. Elain closed her eyes tightly, cursing the images and sounds away. It was useless, she could still see them, feel they little hands grabbing her legs, hugging her skirts, calling her mommy.

“Stop,” she ordered.

“I lived thousands of years, merged my essence with others before, never once seeing the Cauldron take interest in a particular fae, let alone the deepest desires of her heart. It’s fascinating.” The Seer craned her neck, taking in the abundance of images flashing behind her white eyes, forcing them onto Elain. “He’s willing to please you.”

“He’s willing to kill me.” Elain spit in anger.

The seer shrugged. “You, better than anyone, knows that nature demands balance. Everything has a price, even happiness. Especially your happiness.” She gave Elain a smile full of sharp gleaming teeth. “Don’t you prefer your reaming years to be blissful rather than miserable? I certainly do.”

“You can’t make chose what you want. Is not your life, is mine. My life, my happiness, my – ”

“Your choice,” the Seer finished, mimicking her, done with her speech. “Choice, choice, choice. Don’t you know another word?” She took a hold of Elain’s chin, venomous words dripping pointedly. “I never pegged you for stupid, girl. Choice is an illusion, a feeble branch in a tree of possibilities. You saw the roads before, many variations of it, no matter how hard you try to stray, they all lead to where he wants. Your resistance is futile. Don’t make things harder on yourself. Take his hand and live well. Let us not go back to the waters.”

If looks could kill, Elain’s certainly would. She jerked her chin from the Seer’s grasp, shimmering in anger. How many times more she would have to abide her desires to walk the path of other?

“I refuse.” Elain spoke with vehemence, staring herself dead in the eye.

If looks could kill, the Seer would end her as well.

“Then you’ll die,”

“He’s going to kill me either way, he always does.”

“Stupid stubborn girl.”

“I’d rather die,” she blurted, realizing she meant it when the words were out. “I’d rather die fighting for the life I want, than cowering to his whims.”

Elain had learned about the gods, had even become an avid devote of the Mother –the benevolent matron. The Mother was a true goddess, merciful, fair, the creator of world, raiser of faes. The Cauldron, on the other hand, was nothing but her instrument. And the Cauldron could blow her.

“He doesn’t want your vain death, stubborn girl.”

“Then we have no problem at all, since I don’t intend on taking myself.”

The Seer shook her head, disappointment coating her features. “You lie. Because the Cauldron is not the one holding the knife, dear. You are.”

She rolled over, bringing Elain with her, their bodies tangling in the sheets, sinking in the layers of cotton, down, down, down, the depth never ending, the cloth engulfing their limbs, cutting them from the world of the living.

+

They circled each other; wary, bare feet numb to the cold floor, reflecting blown eyes and twisted lips, gaunt faces framed by brown and reddish hair. Their bodies were outlined by sigils, dark blue ink disappearing under matching white dresses that swayed without wind. Their souls were once human, their bodies forever changed by the whims of power-hungry man, their choices ripped from the palm of their hands. Not tonight.

“It’s time.”

Time is the essence. Only the mother can watch over them tonight, not the mother of fae, mother nature herself, guiding Elain with steady hands when by herself she would be shaking. Her hand lands on the woman’s shoulder, lips brushing against her ear to whisper her final omen.

“Death is the only way you can be free.” In a flicker of her wrist, Elain plunges the dagger to Vassa’s chest, twisting it. The firebird painful gasp causing blood to splatter on her face.

Elain staggers, not to avoid the gore, but because unbearable pain blooms in her own chest. She looks down to see the knife lodged there, carmine tinting her dress rapidly. Vassa’s body hits the floor with a loud thump, hers following no longer after.

"What have you done!" His shriek rumbles the room. Livid. Possessed. Nonbelieving.

A male sprint to them, heavy footsteps growing closer. More screaming follows. Elain only has eyes for Vassa, chest heaving up and down one last time, lips mumbling a final word. Elain’s lids drop, the flow of her blood slowing, ending. Dying. She was dying. Someone is violently shaking her awake, hands pressing the wound on her chest, hands moving up to her neck, trying to hold her lolling head. Grief. Guilt. Anger. She feels then mingle with her pain.

"No. Look at me, Elain. Eyes on me." She blinked rapidly, finding it difficult to focus her blurry vision.

"I-I'm sorry," he choked out, a tear landing on her cheek, then another. "I'm so sorry Elain, I should never have asked you – I never – please, oh Cauldron. Please." His desperate plea ringed in her ears, eyes that once held fire now lay lifeless beside her, twin pools of death.

It was done.

Elain could feel it coming for her too, death. She shivered; a cold mantle draped over her bones. Fickle powers pressed down on her, attempting to fix the knots that slipped one by one, her final tether to life. An alarm went off inside her, uninvited fear kissing her as the carmine elixir of life soaked her dress. So much blood. Elain could feel the magic spilling down the floor, the seer desperately clinging to her, dreading her return to nothingness, a rapid succession of countermeasures and choices to made flashing before her eyes as the other tried to find a scenario where she would make it. Elain hugged her. ‘Let it go’. She whispered. ‘It has to be like this.’

"Why Elain, why," he sobbed, trying to reach his healing powers. It was no use. Elain had made sure to poison him properly.

She didn’t think she would cry, but in her dying breath Elain shed a tear, praying he would not hate her for too long.

Behind him, the Seer could not hide her wrath, furious with the outcome she had no power to prevent, her last vision, her ultimate choice. She fucking hated choices. White voids faltered when her vessel died, darkness washing over the room where her lifeless body stayed sprawled on the floor. Then nothing. She could see nothing.

“Fate is coming for you.”

+

Elain pushed herself up, coughing water she’d swallow. The peeled wall from her bathroom begin to take shape, the place humid and chilled, fog hiding the floor. Sobbing, she clutched her chest, ghost pain dwelling, remnants of the vision resonating within. Elain dragged herself from the tub, shaking legs barely supporting her weight.

She’d killed Vassa. She’s killed herself. Why?

“Death is the only way you can be free.” Her vision-self said, not an ounce of doubt in her sentence.

Elain felt miserable, yet, the oval mirror by the sink still reflected nothing but ethereal beauty “graced” by immortality, wet hair highlighting her pointed ears, droplets of water running down her sheen skin, mocking her. Elain punched the mirror. Perfection shattered in dozens of sharp pieces, a hole marred the wall, blood dripped on the sink. Elain embraced the pain, for feeling pain was better than feeling nothing at all.

.

.

.

“Good day.”

“Good day.” With a perfect smile in place, Elain returned the greeting to the young priestess who spotted her.

Tugging her long sleeve down, to conceal the bandage around her wrist, she moved through the deep halls of the library. A target in mind. Elain was aware the place had scarce material about seers, the material assembled between levels thirty-two and thirty-three. Her target occupied another floor. She climbed the stars without hurry, passing through levels and halls, the smell of old books mixed with a variety feminine scents, from the females who filled the place. She nodded at two hooded girls who nodded back, pushing two carts full of volumes to a corridor.

The strong smell of sage and palo santo denounced the right area. Till this day Elain was fascinated with some writer’s ability to embalm images and scents in their pages. She remembered her first time encountering a livid image, her finger brushing over a delicate fern to feel the leaves moving under her touch. Elain eyed the tall bookshelves, stacked with materials, arranged in different corridors. Twenty-five of them being occupied with knowledge about Divination. Here one could find information dating from centuries ago to the present days, from small details kept in journals to full research books, carefully stored parchments, maps and other forms of text were also at reach. Unfortunately, for Elain, most of the information was stored in languages that she didn’t understand, the witches having a strong preference for an ancient forgotten tongue called Latin –which she had been studying diligently.

Elain got rid of her tiara, using her hair to muffle her ears. She needed all the focus she could get. Putting her hand on a random shelf, she took a deep breath, calming her mind. Elain inhaled and exhaled a couple of times, dimming the shapes and sounds around her, banning the scents that drifted to her sharp nose. She blocked the sounds of pages being turned, erased the soft voices of the priestess who restocked a shelf levels below, dimming any life thrumming in the air, gathering every specs of reality and concealing them in a thick metal box, imagining herself closing the lid to it.

When her mind was nothing but a blank space, Elain imagined herself in a white room, alone, all semblance of life gone, only then she called back the turbulent dream of the night before, the dreadful vision that began to fade. Flashes of blood, screams and death answered to her.

“Show me what I’m looking for.” Her soft request resonated across the room, a faint amber light pulsing from where she stood to the rest of the floor. One by one, the bookshelves appeared in the white room.

Outside her mind her body moved. Two ringlets of white circled her pupils –which expanded while she traced books spines, eyes roaming up and down to scan all the volumes. Deciding the corridor had nothing of value for her, Elain moved to the next, humming a quiet melody as she crossed the polished marble floor. When she passed by the seventh corridor her song stopped, her head quirking to the side. Elain felt her lips spreading in a smile when the Seer said, “Hello, hello, mama Thorn. Long time no see.”

She strode along the dead-end corridor with confidence, her prize hidden in the last shelf. With the flick of a wrist she summoned a ladder. Elain climbed the unstable steps to reach a well conserved journal, the green tinted leather still shining, real flowers blooming on the cover. “Look at her fancy grimoire. Pompous bitch.” The Seer mocked before tossing it over her shoulder.

‘No! Don’t do that.’ Elain screamed from within, baffled with the lack of respect. ‘You’ll dent the book.’  

“Don’t care.” She sang.

Humming a new tune with excitement, the Seer moved the stairs to the opposite shelf, fingertips halting on the spine of another book, the sharp contour of the letter jumping from the old leather bind to twirl around her index. “There you are.”

Elain blinked, back in control, the faint glow to vanish as the letters returned to their rightful place, allowing her to read the tittle. Per Somnia de un Errantis, de Ellaria Thorn. The Dreams of a Wanderer, by Ellaria Thorn. She shivered. In another life, Elain named a daughter after this woman. She opened the book, coughing at the fine dust who floated to her nose. Elain managed to glimpse an illustration of a naked woman hovering, over her bed before the pages turned white, blank. She groaned. Of course, of course you had to be a magical book.

Wood wailed under her, the centenary stair where she stood had seen better days. Elain secured the book under her arm and climbed down, carefully, the old wood cracking with every move. Elain was considering where she got such and old ladder when the wood split under her weight.

“Oh!” she exhaled a surprise sound, trying to hold on to the shelf, her sweaty palm slipping. Her body never hit the ground, powerful arms lifting her on the last second, letting the precarious ladder fall alone with a loud thud. Elain held the book tighter, her free hand knotted over a green shirt, the frenetic rhythm of her heart having nothing to do with the scare of nearly falling.  

‘If you wanted to be in my arms, all you had to do was ask.’  With any other female, Lucien would have cracked the joke with ease, but as he held his mate, the last thing he could do was speak.

His eyes were locked on her, who still watched the rotten ladder, probably imagining that she was almost the one on the floor. The book between them dug uncomfortably on his side, but he couldn’t care less, not when he was carrying her. She was wearing a thick white long sleeve paired with a dark red skirt –the color almost black. Lucien had not seen Elain since her sister’s mating, their awkward goodbye making him uncertain if they parted on good terms or not. He hoped they did.

“Where are you going?” Elain’s uncertain question made him stop.

Mismatched eyes stared at her with confusion, the gashes of his scar darkening under the faelights. They were moving away from where he found her. Lucien had left his floor for a bit of fresh her when, without realizing, his bond called to her, following her glowing trail on the halls Now he was in the middle of taking her back with him. Dazed, he put her down, the bond pulsing and thrumming under his skin, highly aware of every place they touch, igniting when her body slid against his. He tried to breath the minimal possible, avoiding her scent, a whiff her cautious blending with his.

“Thank you.”

Her voice had a way of making his inside churn with want. Lucien could never tell if the timbre was appealing to the bond or him. She dusted herself while he cleared his throat.

“Did you pick the oldest ladder available?”

"Of course not."

"Quick tip for the next time. We don't rot, wood still does."

Elain glared at him. “Don't start with me, Lucien."

Lucien held his smile back. He preferred a sharp tongue rather than awkward silences. He placed his arms behind his back, trying to look the least threatening possible. It was the second time he saw his mate in such a short period, it had barely been two months since the mating. The bond shimmered inside of him, excited with the implications of her no longer hiding from him.

“What were you searching for?” She didn’t call him dumb, but her face might as well have. Elain waved the book. Lucien rolled his eyes. “I meant which one.”

Walking side by side with his mate, his chest puffed.

“I don’t know yet. This book is shy.”

“Concealing spell?” he asked.

“Probably.”

Lucien thought about offering to help her, but he didn’t want to push his luck so much.

“You seem acquainted with these halls.”

“Anyone can be,” she pointed at the silver plates naming the sections. “It’s quite intuitive.”

“You defy the stupidity of fae. One can be lost in these halls with easy, unless they use them frequently. And I never saw you here before.”

Elain turned to him. “Keeping tracks on me already?”

Lucien kept walking, putting his best innocent expression to use. “I’m simple observant.”

“Bet you are…”

Elain resumed her walk. Contrary to Lucien, she had seen him a couple of time, not only in the library, but in the city as well. Her meddlesome bond always trying to make her pant after him, wanting to be in his presence, to bath on his attention. It felt wrong. In those moments Elain would quickly change her rout, thinking it was best for them both to avoid their painful interactions.

Nesta’s wedding was the first time she did not fight with the bond, deciding to have a proper conversation with her mate, in her own terms. Turns out Lucien had a few strong opinions to get out of his chest, and so did she. In the end they had a little disagreement, but he did apologized, and Elain might have been a little more cruel than he deserved. Overall, Lucien treated her well, none of the invasive tugs from the last time, nor the infantilizing tone he used to use in their first interactions. Who knew having privacy was good for two people trying to solve a private problem! Meddlesome Archerons.

“I have a room on the seventh floor.” Lucien blurted suddenly, bringing her out of her head.

“Excuse me?”

“If you need a quiet place to read.” He dipped his chin to her book. “You can use it.”

Elain scanned the vacant floor, spotting the multiple empty tables on the reading area. There was no one there besides the two of them, the place so quiet one could hear a feather falling down. He noticed that too, the horror on his face was so evident she smiled. The bond pulled him strong than it did she.

“I won’t be using it for the rest of the day.” Lucien added, trying to save face.

Truth was, Lucien had a fresh batch of unread material pilled against the wall, his table missing, buried in parchments. He had planned to pull another all-nighter today, but he could winnow them quietly, make space for her and go back to the house. He had a lot of material back at as well.

“I’m not staying.” Elain warned him. “Thank you, though, for catching me. And for the offer.”

“No need for that. I’m bound to serve you.” He meant as joke, but her smile vanished as quickly as it came. “I didn’t mean,”

“I know. Don’t worry about it.” Elain gave him a shallow goodbye and turned to leave.

Shit, they were doing so well. Lucien cursed himself. Why was it so hard to part on good term with this one? The farther she walked, the more his bond whined in his chest. How many time more would he watch her walk away and do nothing? When she grabbed the handrail, Lucien did something he had not done before. He called her name.

Words: 5178

Enjoy. Comments are welcome and cherished :)

Part 5: Of Friends, Bonfires and Night Creatures

The Vallaghen residence housed a single person, Mrs. Vallaghen.

Mrs. Vallaghen was a short, brown skin elder, with mud-green hair and light green eyes, who Elain liked very much. They first met when Elain helped her to organize and donate her late son belongings, who had perished in battle just like Elain’s father. At the time, the two women worked in silence for a week, hands busy sorting items, grieving the loss of different loved ones. When the job was done, Mrs. Vallaghen invited Elain for tea.

Tea became lunch.

Lunch became dinner.

Mrs. Vallaghen talked.

Elain listened.

Alicia Vallaghen’s eyes were sad as she talked about war, but they wrinkled with a wistful smile as she recalled cherished memories of the gone. The woman spoke dearly of her son, Danall, an adored only child conceived after 276 years of loving marriage, who grow into a fire-spirited warrior. Strong enough to serve in the Second Fae Battalion, following the footsteps of his father. The woman spoke dearly of her husband, Elden, an ex-swordsmith, who became a soldier during a rebellion against the former High Lord. Elain learned that said rebellion was suppressed quickly, but Elden developed a taste for the job, ending up fighting alongside Rhysand in the war that culminate in the construction of the wall.

Both men never returned from the battlefield.

“We cannot bring back those who left us, dear. We can only keep their memory alive, pass their story forward. Whenever we are ready.” she added the last part with a knowing look, as if she knew that Elain had a heart as heavy as hers. Elain only nodded, her wound still fresh to be touched.

Alicia and Elain continue to meet every other week to share a meal, company or knowledge, a precious friendship blooming between them.

Elain taught Alicia how grow a garden, how to tend to chrysanthemum and carnations, how to mix the correct leaves and brew them to eliminate the ache in her lower back, how to bake a light banana tart that allowed an enjoyable afternoon nap, how to keep bottled vegetables preserved for longer. In return, Alicia taught Elain Prythian’s history. Precious pieces of information learned along centuries of careful study.

Much like Nesta, Alicia was a bookworm. She loved them enough to start working as a Reparateur – a person responsible for reconstructing old books. Elain always smiled noticing how much she loved her job, how fascinated she was by the things she learned. Alicia talked passionately about the meticulous work of transcribing knowledge that have been around for a millennium, the different kinds of damage an archive could suffer, the intricate spells used to reveal spent ink, remove hard smudges and revert burn marks.

A delicate job where one could perpetuate of destroy legacies.

Today, as they enjoyed a calm afternoon chatting over tea and biscuits, Alicia made a comment that jolted Elain.

“My friends call me the forgotten librarian for working in the innermost part of one,” she smiled, fond of the nickname, then her eyes grew distant, heavy. “But I’m more than that. I’m an everlasting open door to the future, I know everything that can happen for the rest of my immortal life – a time portal, if you may.”

Elain tensed in her rocket chair, tea freezing inside her mug. The crackling fire roared slightly, watching, waiting. “Are you,” she cleared her throat, careful to lower her voice, “are you a seer?” Her mind was racing, full of expectation, question buzzing in her brain.

Are you like me?

Are you my companion?

Are you my teacher?

“A seer?” Alicia repeated, surprised by the question. “By the cauldron, no, I’m not a seer. There are no seers alive since the fall of the eight court, darling. The only thing I can see is the past, for I read about it.” She finished emphasizing the words ‘see’ and ‘read’, her green eyes lit with wisdom.

Unnoticed by the elder, the fire diminished to its original form as Elain slouched in her chair, feeling her hope extinguishing as the small flames licking the stone.

Alicia continued. “What I’m trying to tell you, is that the past contains a trace of every possible future. All that we know, all that we learn, is to be used as inspiration or as a warning sign, because time is like a clock coming in full circle to start again where it once was. Know your past and future is unpredictable no more. Have I told you about king Havien, the conqueror? He was a male who took pride in his understanding of time, using the failures of his predecessors to fuel his success. He was the only king of Hybern to–”

Elain tuned out, listening to her words half-heartedly, a single sentence looping in her mind.

There are no seers alive.

There are no seers alive.

There are no seers alive.

Elain left the elder’s house with a heavy heart, loneliness creping in. A loneliness that Elain worked hard to keep at bay. She shook her head, doing her best to not let the bad thoughts take over. After her love life went downhill –again– Elain kept busy, doing her best to move on. She worked to control and understand her dreams and visions, helped in the gardens around town, taught the children at the orphanage, worked in Mellinda’s bakery, she studied natural medicine, history, new languages. But no matter how much she worked, nothing felt quite right as before. Elain felt numb. Void of something that she couldn’t quite place her head around. The hollow in her chest was a constant companion. No matter what she did, it did not go away.

The wind blew cold and heartless, gloom as her mood, tugging her hair in different directions. She was still living with Feyre when Cerridwen found her in front of a mirror with half of her hair mangled, wrestling with a pair of scissors. "Let it go." The Seer growled chopping the strands, Elain snarling and trying to control her hands, watching herself working the scissor on the outside world as if she was trapped inside the mirror. A memory played in her mind. A maid parting her hair, combing each side a hundred times while her mother smile proudly on the side. “A woman’s beauty lies in her hair. You’ll understand it when you are older.” If her mother could see her now, she would faint. Cerridwen had kindly offer to fix the cut, Elain ending up with a bob, her waves curling above her shoulders without the extra length weighting them down.  Since then the hair had grown a little, enough that she could tie it back without the elastic falling down.

Elain stopped and stared at the familiar white gates, surprised to found herself in front of the Townhouse. She wondered how the garden was faring here. It had been months since she last took care of it, and just because no one was occupying the place now, it didn’t mean the house would seat empty for long. She pushed the gate and walked in. Her boots were off the second she stepped into the porch, enjoying the wood temperature swiping through her socks. She turned the doorknob and padded her way through the hallway.

To her surprise, Cerridwen and Nuala were on the floor of the siting room, a mess of papers, parchments, waxes and stamps scattered between them.

“Good evening!” she beamed, happy to see her friends.

Their heads snapped up.

“Good evening, my soft feet friend.” Nuala grinned.

“How did you get in?” Cerridwen questioned.

“The door was open.” Elain answered casually, draping her coat on the back of the sofa. Her eyes fell on the book at the center table. Her book. Valoar Heafther, The Forgotten Tongue Volume 1. She had brought the book here the day the girls went on their mission, thinking the quiet house would be a better place to focus on the new language. Once here, all she could think about were moments shared in the dead of night, the book forgotten in the same page for the rest of the day. “I thought you wouldn’t be back for another month.”

“So did I.” Nuala grumbled. “Nothing but smoke and mirrors, I tell you. Now we’re stuck with a shitload of paper again. Just my luck.”

“Every part of the job is important.” Cerridwen reprimanded her sister.

“But not every part is fun. Pity we hit a dead end.” Nuala stretched, bracing herself on her palms, a mischievous glint taking over her black eyes. “You know, there were two Peregryns near where I was stationed. They trained every day as the sun came up, fully armed and everything. Those magnificent wings of white feathers, chests covered with a golden armor, gleaming under the sunlight, the sword sequences making their veins pop out,” she sighed theatrically, her corporeal body solidifying further, exhibiting a dreamy expression. “There’s just something about winged males, don’t you think?”

Elain averted her eyes, trying to keep her face neutral, a traitorous flush giving her away. “You are evil.”

Nuala snickered, earning a slap from her sister. Elain hugged her friend as a thank you. “I simple jest, my better half, no need for violence.” The mischievous wraith tuned to Elain, knocking her down in a tight embrace, smacking her cheeks loudly. “Did you come to save me from boredom?” Elain laughed at the melodramatics.

The twins similarities ended in their appearance. Like Elain, Cerridwen was friendly in a reserved and contained manner, tending to observe and keeping her analysis to herself unless she was asked about it. Nuala, on the other hand, was a small hurricane of mischief, adept to interruptions, eager to share and propense to lots of physical contact. The girls had never hidden from her. Once Elain decided to learn how to lead her new life, Nuala and Cerridwen were nothing if not genuine and honest, never treating her like a broken doll, making her feel stupid for having questions, making her feel crazy for not understanding what was happening to herself. Their friendship changed her life in dimensions they could not imagine.

“Stop that.” The more Elain tried to wiggle away, the more kisses she won “Gods, you’re strong. I came for the garden, plants also like to receive attention and love.” She gave two affectionate slaps on Nuala’s bum, finishing with another frustrated attempt to be free. Invoking her best puppy eyes, she called for Cerridwen. “Help. Please.”

The other wraith tugged her sister away, who still tried to cling to Elain, panting, “bring me that pile before you leave!” frenetically pointing at the armchair

Elain placed the papers in front of Nuala, curiosity leading her to scan the chaos, trying to judge how classified it was before going outside. If they had no qualms about her touching stuff, those papers were not hidden information, but what she liked to think as in-your-face-information. The type one had to piece together in order to gain advantage. She opened the shed going straight to her gardening boots and the box of tools, still thinking back to the unsorted paperwork. She had spied piles from Day, Dawn and Spring. The faint mark of a black skull on a few paper corners. A map of the border with the continent. A pen engraved with diamonds. Coded letters. She wrinkled her nose smelling her fingertips. The pile from the armchair had faint scent of melted snow and anger washed by the rain.

She rummaged the soil plucking all the exceeding weed, trimmed bushes, cut twigs and fixed the sprinkles where a part of the hose had disconnected. When she was satisfied with her work, Elain cleaned the tools and put everything back to their original places, returning to the house. She took a quick glance at her friends on her way to the kitchen. The twins worked in synchrony, a strong sisterhood transcending to the work field, perfected by centuries of life. Elain admired them a lot. Her lips shaped in a sad smile.

Elain loved her sisters with her whole heart, and they loved her back. The problem was their bond was strained, disrupted by ugly cracks born during poverty, cracks that never fully healed. The Archerons had an implicit family motto: Be strong. No matter what you are going through, be strong. That’s how the sisters had operated since their father’s downfall, doing whatever was necessary to survive, never letting other see how broken you were on the inside, making them distance themselves from the world – and sometimes, from each other. That’s how they end up hurting each other again and again, waiting for a proper time to slowly come back together. Not to apologize and make peace, but to bury the hurtful things said and done, and pretend nothing happened.

Honestly, the dynamic made her tired to the bone.

Elain was over faking and playing pretend.

Her new goal was to be more honest.

Honest with herself and with the people around her.

Elain was searching the cabinets for provisions, planning on making a simple meal for the three of them when Nuala pushed through the double doors.

“What are you doing?”

“Dinner.”

“Where are you going after?”

“Home.” The wraith grinned. “What?”

.

.

.

It felt like someone had gathered a thousand fireflies and released them in the same place. The small colorful creatures zoomed in the air making it seem like she could touch stars, their presence illuminating scant path in the woods.

“Where are we going?” Elain breathed in awe.

Nuala and Cerridwen traded arms with her, guiding her through the sinuous trail.

“You’ll see.”

They walked in pleasant silence, the tranquil sounds of nature accompanying their steps. The twins were fully corporeal tonight, silky black hair flowing straight behind them, glowing dark skin contrasting beautifully with a combination of white. Mini white. The skirt ended along with the curve of their asses, and the blouse – if Elain could even call that piece of fabric a blouse – was a white spaghetti strap crop top completely embroidered with pearls, the look paired with silk golden sandals. Her friends were all toned arms, shaped legs and flat bellies in display. Elain looked down at her covered tummy.

They had dressed her in similar manner, except her skirt length went all the way to her calves, and her blouse had larger straps with just the hint of a V neckline. Still, when Elain saw the outfit, she tried to run from it, Nuala begging her to give it a try, promising she would give her a jacket if Elain felt too uncomfortable. Elain checked herself in the mirror turning to a tomato seeing so much skin exposed, pulling her skirt high enough cover her belly button, the evident contour of belly and hips making her nervous. At least her breasts were small, making them perfectly covered by white and pearls. 

Her ears twitched, capturing the lazy sound of waves crashing.

They emerged on a beach.

“Welcome to Sehyr. Well, Sehyr’s beach.” Elain remembered seeing the name on a map. If memory served, Sehyr was a small city situated in the coast of Night Court.

The first thing Elain notice was the smell. It smelled delicious. A mix of roasted meat and spices mingling with burning fire wood, a whiff of rosemary and garlic butter making her stomach growl. As the scents filled her nose, music filled the air. Guitars, drums, flutes, singers, a mismatched combination that somehow went well together, coaxing the fae to dance and sing along. Long wood tables were set opposite to the water, foods and drinks from every shape and color covering the surfaces, dozens of bonfires extended along the beach, logs and colorful towels spread around them, males and females lazing in the cushion –eating, drinking, talking…making out.

Nuala took her to the food table before easing around one of the bonfires, sitting on a colorful pink towel and pressing their backs against a log. Her cheeks flushed when she spied a particular couple rolling on the sand, the male’s hand having disappeared under the female’s dress, Elain’s keen ears capturing her moans and the soft slap of flesh. She averted her eyes, looking up, finding sparkling little blue flags dangling from the sky.

"You'll crack your neck bending like that, my friend." Nuala sang, entertained by her attempt to gaze away.

“What are they celebrating?”

“We are celebrating Ayala.”  

“Who is that?”

“A small goddess from The Forgotten,” Cerridwen answered appearing beside her holding a suspicious bottle of yellow liquid with a scorpion siting on the bottom.

“Why can’t you get us a normal drink?” her sister complained.

“There’s no fun in that.” Her attention returned to Elain. “Ayala is worshipped by the lesser fae as a river goddess, blesser of sailors, but also a patron of conception.”

“One of those things is not like the others,” Elain commented, interested in the story. “What sailing has to do with conception?” She took a bite of her meat, moaning. It was delicious.

“A Thousand of years ago Ayala fell in love with a fishermale, a simple lesser fae. She started to provide him with extraordinary skills. The fishermale, who had never caught a thing before, turned in to an amazing sailor and an even better fisher in the blink of an eye. He could fish anything, even creatures not native from our coast. He thought he had discovered magic.”

“The kind of magic only they High Fae possess,” Nuala took the lead. “His ego blown. He boasted everywhere he went, calling faes from the whole court to watch him. The tides were never violent if he was on the water. One day, a lord from another court took interest in him, setting the male to marry his daughter, thinking he would be able to bread the power into his family. When Ayala realized he married another, she cried for seven days and seven nights, stopping only because the full mon appeared. The goddess saw her reflection on the moon, and as revenge for the pain he had cause, she decided to give him pain. From that day on the seas turned so turbulent no fishermale was able to go inside, the city started to starve, and when the people begged for mercy, she sent a storm to destroy his village.”

Elain gasped in shock.

“The fishermale, who had been away for years, discovered what happened to his home and returned. There he kneeled in front of the sea, asked what he had to do to calm the waters that still ragged. Ayala appeared to him, said he should deliver his first born in her hands or else no one would ever know peace outside dry land. The problem was the male’s wife could not get pregnant. “Then bring me your wife.” The goddess demanded. When the wife got there, Ayala braided a crown with seaweed, told her to use it before laying with her husband.”

“Did she?” Elain asked curious. Her friend nodded.

“Ayla forbid them from leaving until they payed, so the fishermale built a cabin near the beach, and the goddess watched them live. The thing is, while watching the couple, the goddess fell in love with the female too. When the child was born, the female cried for mercy, and Ayala, now in love, let her keep the child, promising to bless him with protection from water creatures as long as they stayed in cabin. The couple stay, more people came, a village was born, then a city and Ayala never sent another deadly storm. Now they celebrate a festival in her name during the seventh full moon of the year, and lovers come from everywhere to be blessed by her, especially those who are trying for children.”

Elain was to immersed in the tale to stop the wraith from stealing food from her plate. She thought about how fickle the fae were. A jealous goddess tried to steal a child and now she was a symbol of fertility and bless to newborns. What a joke.

“Don’t make that face, you’ll like it. There’s food and dancing all night long, and when the couples feel her presence, they fuck on the spot, where everybody can witness their love being blessed."

Nuala wicked grin was erased by Cerridwen slap.

"Don't scare her."

"It's true!"

"We don't have to stay for the coupling ritual El, don't worry. We can just participate in the offering and drink our sorrows away."

That caught Elain’s attention again.

"What are you sorrowful about?" she asked curiously.

"Danna dumped her." Her sister meddled.

"No!" Elain cried.

“She didn’t dump me, we had a fight.”

Elain didn’t know exactly how the two lovers met, but she knew Cerridwen and Danna had an on and off relationship because the other was soldier from Day and Cerridwen may or may not have been responsible for her brother, a Third General in Command, being dismissed from the force. She hugged her friend. “Don’t worry Cece, you will work it out.”

“She will drink it out. Come on ladies, the night awaits.”

As the hours slipped past then, Elain relaxed more and more. The three of them happily shared a variety of roasted meat, bread, jam and fruit, laughing and clapping at the musician who found himself too inebriated to sing the right rhymes, slurring his lines and constantly slapping the tambourine player. Elain was relaxed, feeling looser from the alcohol, laughter coming in easier. She grabbed the glass beside Cerridwen, who tracked the movement without lifting her eyes from two females kissing.

“That’s mine.”

“Sharing is caring.”

She chugged the whole thing at once, grimacing at the bitter aftertaste. Mother above, why create a drink this bitter? She wondered. Elain liked red wine much better. Cerridwen filled the glass again, Elain politely refusing the offer to share.

“I want to dance!” Nuala screeched already pulling Elain to her feet.

The full moon illuminated the dancing bodies, the music evolving to a happy crescendo. They twisted and twirled to the rhythm, and for the first time in months Elain felt light. Happy. Her sandals were gone. She smiled and laughed, imitating goofy steps, her feet tangling on the complicated ones. Nuala tried to pull her skirt down to her waist, claiming “beauty should not be covered,” and Elain tried to give her a head lock, like Cassian so often did on every who stand near his big arms. The wraith turned to mist on the last second, Elain falling down as result. She laughed louder, sand clinging to her sweaty skin. That’s when she saw it. A glimpse in the woods. A pair of eyes.

+

Elain was back in woods. She had no memory of leaving her friends, leaving the beach, but as she looked around, she could not see or hear the festival. Her body move, feet dragging her to… Where? Where was she going? Her breath quickened, her heart speed up. She tried to stop, to turn back. It was no use. Elain walked until her apparent destination, casually kicking rocks along the way, black night-jasmine blooming around her feet. She stopped, crouched and waited. The wind hollowed, the air crackling with a tense energy, the metallic tang of old powerful magic in the tip of her tongue. A thunder split the sky in two. That’s when he appeared.

A fat white cat sauntered in her direction, the oddest pair of blue eyes fixed on her, the air sizzling in his awake. The weight of his presence pressed down on her, invisible nails scratching her skull from the inside, trying to dissect her. He felt like laughing at his cute attempt, pushing his presence away with the flick of a hand. Her eyes were no longer hers. They had turned white. Her lips where no longer hers. They began to move own their own.

"Hello," she greeted with a knowing smile. "I've been waiting for you."

The cat regarded her with the hostility of an enemy sizing his opponent, pacing from one side to the other, inpatient pawns scratching the earth leaving violent gashes.  

"What is your name?" he meowed, striking blue eyes glinting with challenge, pristine white fur scintillating under the moonlight. “You won’t tell me…or you can’t?” she challenged back. “What’s the matter? The cat got your tongue?”

The cat hissed. Now she laughed at him. Although she should not meddle with the Present, the Seer often tip-toed the line of indiscipline, her competitive vein leading the peculiar creature to be prone to defiance. She gave Elain constant headaches. The Seer cleaned fake tears from her eyes.

"It doesn’t matter. You shouldn't be here, you know.” Not yet. “Go back."

Her relaxed demeaner disappeared with the order. She lifted her index –hand covered in a shimmering white aura, making it look like Elain was wearing tulle gloves –and touched the cat’s forehead, power sizzling from her to the animal who found himself sucked into a void. A flock of crows took flight into the night, the humming displaced energy being extinguished, the clogging presence gone. Crickets chirped unaware of what had just visited the forest.

+

Elain panted feeling exhausted, looking around, not understanding where she was. She blinked the fog away slowly, searching the beach where she had been seconds before, no sign of music or faes or bonfires.

What was she doing here?

Why was she alone?

“Why are you alone?”

Elain yelp covering her head as a reflex, her drumming pulse loud in her ears, making her slow to recognize the voice. The voice… She knew that voice. Elain peeked between her hands, Azriel’s strong body looming over her, enormous onyx wings raised and curved as a crescent moon, his shadow swallowing her shape completely. She breathed in relief, the rich and familiar scent of mist and cedar calming her anxiety.

“You scared me! Why do you move like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like, like,” she stammered trying to think of a word. “Like a wraith!”

Azriel chuckled.

“A wraith?”

“…lurking in the dark without making a noise,” she mumbled dusting of the sand from her arms, trying to fix the skirt which was now covered in natural whatnots, the hem splattered with mud. “Scaring the nightlights out of people…”

Elain stopped moving abruptly, freezing like a deer in the aim of a hunter.

Azriel was here!

Her belly was out, she was barefoot, she was dirty, sweaty, and mildly disorientated, and Azriel was here! She making a fool of herself in front of Azriel. Her eyes lifted quick as a lighting. A shivered ran down her arms when his glorious wings retracted, spreading to their full length before he tucked them tight behind his back. He was really here. No sign of his uniform tonight, no. Azriel was clad in black pants and a white shirt, the fabric strained over his chiseled body, delineating his muscles with the precision of a painting. She had never seen him wearing white before. The color fit him perfectly –not that Elain was a reliable judge, she thought he looked perfect in everything–  the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows exposing a trail of tattoos she once dreamed of touching –with her lips– his hair perfectly combed back, not one curl out of place, the blue stones atop of his hand sitting there quietly.

Her heart drummed for a different reason now, loud as if it was trying to compete with the musicians down the beach. Thump, thump, thump.

Stop it! Stop that!

It didn’t. Elain sighed. She was done with her body not listening to her for the day.

“I can help you.”

“I can help her.” He said to her sisters in a lifetime ago.

She gave him an inquisitive look, watching him jerk his chin to her clothes, her hands still clenched to the dirty skirt. Azriel offered her a hand and Elain stared at it as if it was a mirage, one of her messy visions, except she couldn’t see the two of them. Only once she saw Azriel and herself, a moment of delightful pleasure where they shared a passionate kiss in the dead of the longest night of the year. A kiss that never came to happened. She swallowed nervously an accepted the offer, Azriel lifting her in a swift move, dropping her hand as quick as he took it.

Elain did not even had time to feel offended because shadows instantly surrounded her like bees coming to the hive.

“Mother’s tits,” Elain gasped in shock when the shadows woven themselves over her attire, the former white giving place to a deep black skirt. She ran a hand over it, the skirt smooth as a simple piece of fabric when in reality it was anything but. Elain laughed in delight, twirling to see if they would accompany the movement, feeling excited as a child watching a magic trick when they did.

“Thank you.” Azriel simple smiled, ducking his head. What do you say to the man who broke your heart? “Are you here for the celebration?” He nodded. Elain pushed a rebel curl behind her ear, a small pearl earring catching the moonlight. “Go on then.” She pointed to a vague direction waiting for him to start walking so she could follow, not wanting to say she had lost her way. His eyes dipped to her feet.

“Do you want me to fly you?”

“No.” She wheezed quickly. Gods, was she drunk? She couldn’t be drunk. Elain cleared her throat to sound normal. “No, thank you. I can walk.”

She pointed again, Azriel walking on the opposite direction. She followed. While trailing behind, Elain watched his boots, impressed that he was just as silent in the wild as he was on top of a carpet. She stepped on a pointy rock and winced, Azriel stopping abruptly.

“Let me fly you.” He requested with a worried tone. She twisted her hands nervously. No way she was flying with him. No way. That would be too much of him touching too much of her. “You wandered quite far.” He gave her a look she could not identify. “Outside the city.”

Elain looked around again, not recognizing a thing. There were no colorful fireflies in this part of the woods. She didn’t even know where she was, let alone how to get back to her friends or Velaris.

“Can’t we shadow-walk?” she asked, hopeful.

“We can.”

Again, Azriel offered Elain a hand.

Words: 5399

Enjoy, comments are welcomed and cherished :)

Part 4: The Chaotic Dreams of a Defiant Lady

The knowledge of one’s fate is a tricky thing.

By knowing your fate, you may try to avoid it. By trying to avoid it, you may set in motion the exact events that allow such fate to happen.

.

.

.

“There’s no one here.”

Elain had her eyes closed, listening to the waves crashing down, water getting closer and closer to her feet. Trying to drag her away. She breaths in and out, the tang of salt going down her nose, tickling her tongue.

“There’s no one here.” The voice is bored. Uninterested.

She moves. Hot sand squishing under her bare feet with every step she takes. Elain walks for an endless period of time. Walking, walking, walking. Until the sound of the ocean is gone and life grows quiet. So, so, quiet. The sun goes down, the sun goes up. It’s day and it’s night. Then is nothing. Darkness trail her steps, shadows whispering to her ears –a cacophony of hissing and sibiling that makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She can’t understand a thing. Elain feels eerie, yet, she’s not afraid of them for they keep her company. She is everywhere and nowhere. She sees a void in the back of her mind. She feels the void. A void so dark it morphs into pure white light. She blinks. Sand is slowly replaced by stone, stone is replaced by shades of green and brown and bright blue sky.

She is deep, deep, deep inside a forest. An ancient tree, planted in between a fork on the pathway, greets her. Its trunk is larger than she is tall, taller than anything she have ever seen, roots spreading over and underground, branches spreading towards the sky, extending infinitely above and beyond, sizzling with energy. So many choices. Elain caresses the light tree trunk, curious about the peculiar milky color, flinching when her finger rasp in something sharp. She sucks on it. A drop of her blood falling on the exposed roots above the ground, quickly being absorbed. The tree shudders, the earth shakes, the trunk morphs into a deep red-brown.

Elain’s breath quickens. In the distance, she hears the sad howling of…something.

A flash of white and red scurry to the right.

“Follow the fox, Elain!” The voice urges her.

A branch snaps to the left, catching her attention. There’s no way to see what lies in the end of that road, for there is where the void is. She feels him. Feel the cell where sunlight doesn’t reach, a place nestled in the stone walls, thick iron bars trapping an innocent, killing his innocence. Elain takes a step. The sky rumbles in answer, angry fat clouds screaming in thunder. She ignores it, fallen leaves crunching beneath her, louder the closer she gets. A thin layer of sweat tricks down her neck, her eyes widening at the view.

It was never a void.

Shadows.

Not the usual ones, but living shadows, breathing creatures born of darkness, swarming and filling the space. She could tell they would do anything to protect who was on the end of that road, to keep the treats away from him. Elain shivered. She didn’t want to be on the receiving end of that fury. At least they didn’t seem to bother with her, because with each step Elain took forward, the shadows took one backwards, as if they were opening a path to her. She can’t see him in the darkness, but she knows he’s staring at her. Always watching. Cautious. Calculating.

She halts. “Are you scared?”

The answer comes without a breath of hesitation.

“I’m the one who scares.”

Elain snorts at the smile in his voice, the response losing its fierce purpose.  She crouches in front of the cell, searching for the keyhole. There’s none. Frustrated, she shakes the bars, using all her might in attempt to do some damage. Feeling weak, she touches the tip of her ears. Round.

“Why are you locked?”

He pushes a rock to her between the bars, shadows veiling his form completely.

“Why are you free?”

“I’m not.” Her smile is sad. True jokes are hardly funny. She lifts her arms to slam the sharp rock against the bars.

“Stop it.” The sibilant hiss makes her stop at once. It’s not gentle like his voice. It’s metallic, dripping with authority, hindering her movements. She knows that voice well. “That’s not where I sent you, Elain.”

+

Her skirt swished around her ankle. Up, up, up. Fear climbs behind her. Paralyzing fear trying to snatch her. Up, up, up. Stone steps, stone walls, stone ceiling, going round and round inside a tower. How many steps are there? She can't see from here. It doesn't matter, she couldn’t stop even if she wanted to. Elain feels tired. She wants it to stop. All of it. When she rounds another corner, Elain sees herself. She completely naked, sitting on the steps, elbows resting on her knees, eyes purely white. She takes one look at Elain and tsks, shaking her head.

“Give it time.” The Seer recommends. “Time heals all things.”

Elain steps over her, continuing to climb. The Seer has the freedom which Elain desperately longs for. It makes her bitter. What of me? She wants to ask. Will time heal me?

The laughter that follows her in response brings chills to her spine. "We are time, marlena. An endless river flowing to merge, and fuse, and separate –creating past, present and future."

Elain reaches a door.

She pushes it open and is momentarily blind by sunlight.

+

“Look.”

“Look, child.”

Elain is holding a fox.

Cradling the fluffy animal as his red fur tickles her nose, feelings the delicate heartbeat against her skin. There’s a red collar around the fox’ neck. She sighs, lifting the red chain of the necklace around her own. The jewelry vibrates and pulses in a rhythm she can’t identify. The fox scratches the collar. Elain has long learned how to ignore it. They won’t be able to take it off for as long as they live, and when of them dies, the other will live on with the whisper of who once was there. A cruel joke. A wicked fate.

The fox is looking at her, his russet eyes shining with expectation. There’s pain there, echoing in her soul, pain that wasn’t caused by her. Elain can’t heal the fox. The fox can’t heal her. I’m sorry. I can’t take care of you. The words don’t leave her mouth, her voice doesn’t come out, but the fox listen, the fox knows. She tries to open her arms, let go of him. Her body doesn’t obey. Instead she finds herself hugging the animal tighter, kissing his fur, whispering words she doesn’t mean. The fox licks her face and she see teeth. Sharp teeth that can rip a thin necklace with ease.

What if you take mine and I take yours? She thinks suddenly. The fox huffs, its tongue sticking out. Happy. We’ll help each other, you and I. Is not a cure, but it can be freedom.

Freedom to heal.

Freedom to live.

Freedom do love.

+

Reality crack and crumbles like the pieces of a mirror shattering, a deafening high pitch coming from everywhere.

Why, why, why do you insist in challenging me!? The dark sibilant hiss takes her back in time. Back to the Archeron Manor. Back to a mother who never liked her. Not really.

+

“Why, why, why do you insist in challenging me?!!” Her mother drags her inside by the ear, the flesh red and swollen from being pinched for so long. Mud splatters on the expensive imported carpet. Her mother rages. “I told you not to go outside! Playing with the help like a filthy commoner, getting your knees skinned. How’ll you find a suitable husband with scars? Forget staying with your sisters, I ought to send you to a boarding school. They’ll teach you manners there!”

She opened the door to Elain’s room with violence, wood crashing on the wall as she hauls her daughter to the attached bathroom. “Get inside this instant,” she pointed at the foot tub, turning her attention to the handmaid that followed them inside with hurried steps, her head down. “You! Scrub her raw. I want her skin white as porcelain by the time the piano teacher gets here.”

“Yes ma’am.” The handmaid did a low courtesy as her mother left without looking at her twice.

The maid pulls the dress over her head and places Elain inside the tub, slowly taking of the pins of her messy hair. Her lips quivered, her voice finding a way out. “I’m not a kid anymore.” This is not real. This is just a memory. She repeated over and over again.

The maid looks at her with glazed eyes. When she speaks, her voice is different, deeper. “Oh, but you are. You are my child.” That voice. Elain shrunk back. The Cauldron’s voice had the same tone as Graysen’s, distorted into a wicked metallic version as if nails were being scratched on glass.

Elain looks forward, pretending to not have listen. She just has to ignore it and everything is going to be just fine. A soft wind ruffled her tangled hair. The made pulls her hair back, caress her forehead.

“My beautiful creation.”

“I’m not your creation! I was born. Born from a mother and a father.” she sharply retorted.

“No blemish or imperfection.” She continuous as if Elain hadn’t spoken at all. “My flawless creation. I poured so much into you. A powerful gift. A powerful mate. What an amazing offspring you give me.” Elain covers her ears, desperate to stop the words that ringed around her. “I’ll let you be happy, if that’s what you are worried about. You are my child, after all. No father wishes their children to be unhappy. Let me show you.”

The maid pushes her head under water, ignore Elain’s feeble struggles to break free.

Elain holds her breath the best she can before water finds its way into her lungs.

She can’t breathe.

Elain drowns.

+

"This was my mother's."

Lucien pressed the pocket watch in her hand, his skin warm and inviting. He was consistently warmer than her. "It was a gift from her mother, who received as a gift from her mother, and on and on and on. In her family it is considered a bad omen to pass family heirlooms to the first born, so they go to the second. Even though my mom never had any daughters, she gave me the heirloom, told me to gift it to my wife.” Russet and gold filled with emotion, locked on her brown eyes. “She said this way her daughter would have it.”

The watch was small and delicate, no wider than a coin, sitting shinny in the middle of her hand. Elain turned it in her palm, watching the intricated pattern of vines in the back. She clicked on the top button and the lid fell open, revealing a flame designed behind the number. “Is not ticking.”

Lucien let out a small laugh. “I know, I’m sorry about that. It stopped working a while back and I couldn’t fix it. I tried everything, from alternative batteries to magic energy, nothing worked. I hope this doesn’t disappoint you too much.”

“Has it done this before?”

“What?”

“Stopped.”

“Yes. I was always able to fix it in the past. It must be too old now.”

“When did it happened?”

“Hm?”

“When did it stop?”

He held her face in his hands, stepping closer. “Time stopped when you accepted me.”

"That doesn't sound like a good thing," Elain voiced unsure, frowning at the heirloom, her throat constricted at the ominous creeping in the back of her neck.

Sighing, Lucien lifted her face, demanding attention.

"I think is a sign from the Mother. She’s telling me the passage of time doesn’t matter when we are together.” He vowed and kissed her. Her eyes remained opened. You are wrong. She wanted to tell him. We are stuck in time, you and I. That's why it stopped.

She blinked and the ambiance changed.

+

Elain was crouching to be on the same level of little girls surrounding her. The melodic sound of violins filling the place with a nice cozy vibe, the guest moving about the room in elegant dresses and suits. Parents were engaged in light conversation over flutes of Champaign, while the kids ran out and about. The boys were making all sorts of battle noises, playing with toy swords, the girls playing in the gigantic princess castle assembled by her boys. Elain redid the messy bow on the back of Rebekah’s dress, then readjusted the tiara on top of Adriana’s head.

“Thank you!” They screeched in unison, running back to the other girls.  

A concerned Adelaide appeared, holding her skirt to keep up with the girl she was chasing.

“Lady Lily! Please don’t run my lady. You’ll trip.” she stressed.

Elain turned in time for Lily to jump in her arms, almost knocking her down.

“Lily!” Adelaide cried covering her mouth, scandalized with the lack of decorum.

“It’s okay Addie, I got her.” Elain calmed the governess, hugging her daughter before putting her down. “You look so pretty!” Lily’s loud laugh echoed in the great ballroom as Elain twirled her around, her golden curls bouncing under the tiara, the layers of the puffed green dress swirling. “Mother above, who is this precious princess? Where is my Lily?” she exaggerated a gasp, peppered her face with kisses.

“I’m here mama!” the little girl squealed throwing her arms around Elain’s leg. Then she screamed, “papa!” and dashed away.  

Elain turned to see Lucien walking in the room.

Her mate appeared to be in deep discussion with the four austere males who followed him, probably dumping more court related problems on his shoulders. Elain doubted they could spend one day without stressing, not even the six-years-old birthday party could stop politics from being a priority. Her eyes went back to her daughter, who slowed down and stopped in front of Lucien’s aid to do a gracious courtesy.  

“Good evening my lords.” She said to her father’s companions, making Elain smile.

Her father had a serious face.

“Liliana, what have Addie told you about running?”

“…That a lady should not run.”

“Why?” he pressed.

“Because… because she can trip on her dress. But I was just running to get here papa, I swear!” She complemented with a pout. “I missed you, papa.”

They stared at each other for a few seconds before Lucien’s face melted in a smile, and he picked his daughter up. “I missed you too, my princess. And I saw you running to your mother.” He kissed her cheek and ruffled the top of hair.

Lily screamed. “No papa, my crown!”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

Lucien was trying to put her crown back in place when a pair of sticky hand tugged his pants, saying, “Me too, me too!”

He looked down to find his son asking to be picked up. Contrary to his daughter, whose curls were perfectly in place, held back from her face with a pretty crown adorned with emeralds, Elliot’s dark hair was ruffled, his mouth smeared with chocolate, brown eyes sparkling with glee. “How many pieces of cake did you had, buddy?” Lucien perched his daughter on one arm, making space for his boy.

“Four!” Elliot promptly offered, making the number with sticky fingers.

“Four? That’s impressive!” he congratulated his son, his chest filled with joy as he made his way to his mate.

His twins were the perfect copy of Elain, the most beautiful kids he had ever seen. Sometimes he could not believe how his life turned out like this. Lucien never imagined that he would become a father so quickly, especially a father of so many. Yet, he loved it. He loved to be a father, and for that he was forever grateful for Elain. For giving him children.

“You look beautiful.” He greeted her, winning a tug from his daughter.

“And me, papa?”

“You look beautiful as well, my princess.”

“You two are too big to be carried by father.” A beautiful redheaded female approached the family with a smile in her red painted lips.

Her eyes carried the same austere blue of her aunt Nesta. The sheer black dress with a long thigh slit showing her preference for Night Court fashion, to her father’s dismay. Lucien didn’t approve of her wardrobe, but he had learned that asking her to change was fruitless. She was an Archeron, and those were a stubborn brand of females.

Elain fixed her daughter crooked earring. “You had their age once, Ellaria. I remember you wouldn’t leave you father’s lap.”

“That was hundreds of years ago mom, I’m a grown female now.” Her hair was styled in a braid similar to her father’, golden rings adorning the loops. She tossed it to the side, holding the pose for exact five seconds before running to her father, hugging him and the twins. “Happy Birthday your little snots! Hi papa, I’ve missed you.”

.

.

.

Elain jolted from bed with a cry, her body tangled in the sheets, patting herself desperately. Dry. She stumbled away from the bed, kicking the cover that hung around her legs, the cold wood floor causing discomfort on her heated skin. A dream. It was just a dream. For a moment she thought she was drowning, not in a tub, but inside the cauldron, choking with the black water filling her lungs. With a shaky breath, she looked at the sunlight poring from the cracked window, eyes roaming to the faded purple peeling from the walls, taking a while to recognize where she was.

The one-bedroom apartment on top of Stardust Bakery was a far cry from her opulent bedroom in the River House. The first time she stepped inside, Elain was reminded of the cottage where she spent most of her youth – a fancier version of it, with running water coming out from the faucets, a fancy invention called “shower”, and faelights that allowed her to have light anytime she wished. Stuck in poverty with two sisters and a cripple father had made their cottage feel suffocating. Now, standing alone in a similar place made her feel different. Freer. But also, lonely.

"What do you think?" Mellinda had asked her with apprehension. She had put the place to rent, but when elain asked about it, she insisted it was not suitable for someone of high status as her, only agreeing to show it to her after Elain pestered her friend nonstop. “I don’t know whose idea was to put this terrible purple on the wall. The bedroom is this way,” she pushed a creaking door and Elain looked around, “the windows are cracked, one of them doesn’t even have a frame anymore. I kept telling my self I would fix it, but now the bakery is keeping me busy all the time.” She wrung her apron, nervous. “Forget it, I don’t think you should live here. Let’s search for somewhere better, I’ll help you look–”

“I love it.” Elain interrupted her chaotic ramble.

Mellinda turn around to see Elain going back to the kitchen.

"You do?"

"Yes!” she approached the kitchen sink, turning the tap on. “The water is coming in nicely."

"Yeah, the water is fine, but the window in the bedroom... I worry about you at night, winter is upon us.”

"I don't care about that. I can put the mattress on this room and move right away! Fix the stuff as I go."

Mellinda watched her friend run around, already scratching plans for the place. She scratched her head. Elain was an odd one. Malinda could not imagine trading the luxurious residency of the High Lord for this.

"Elain."

"Hm?"

"Are you sure you want to move out? Move here?”

Elain stared down the window, watching the busy streets of the market.

Twice she had tried to move out and failed.

The first time she tried to bring the subject to light, Feyre got sick. Elain knocked on Feyre’s door to hear her painful moans coming from the bathroom, her little sister hunched over the toilet, vomiting her guts out. When she was done, Elain helped her back to bed.

“Feyre, what’s wrong?”

“I’m never eating sea food again.” She complained slipping under the covers. Four days ago, Rhys convinced her to try a new restaurant where the menu consisted mostly of raw fish. He swore it was delicious, Feyre tried a couple of bites and hated. Now she was sick to death.

Elain sat beside her, rubbing her belly under the cover. Feyre moaned, pushing her hand away and running back to the bathroom. Retching violently. When Elain got up, the bedroom disappeared, replaced by the kitchen on the mountain cabin. She crouched to open the cabinet lower door, holding a small blanket.

“Where is he?”

“No, no, no!” She heard Feyre screaming as chubby legs dashed by her fast as a bolt, desperately trying to climb the steps. Feyre beat him to it. “No sir, no stairs for you.”

Elain gasped. Her finger clutching the bathroom doorframe, leaving fingerprints dented on the wood.

“You’re pregnant.” She chocked. Her sister staring at her with wide smudged eyes.

The second time was when Nesta claimed independence. Elain knew something was off. Her sudden decision was nothing but a pretty excuse to isolate herself. Nesta was different, distant. She never talked about what they did in the war, never talked about father, never talked about being made. Elain wanted to go with her, her sister quickly brushing her offer to the side.

“Let me go with you.” Elain pleaded for the fifth time.

“Stay with Feyre.”

“Feyre has Rhys. I want to go with you so won’t be alone.”

“What’s wrong with being alone?” Nesta asked defensively.

“Nothing. I just think right now we should,”

Nesta cut her with a glare, “Forget it Elain, you’re not coming. It’s an old building with no garden to tend. You’ll be bored out of your mind.” A presumptuous argument that Elain pretend not to understand. She did a lot of pretending those days. “Stay with Feyre. We talked, and decided that it’s better for you to stay here. She will take care of you.”

“I’m sure.” Elain answered at last.

Her sisters often failed to notice that she wasn’t a kid anymore, there was no need to take turns taking care of her. The memory left a sour taste in her mouth. I didn’t matter, she was living on her own now. Even if she had plans to fix the apartment until her new home had her face, Elain loved the place. Loved every imperfection of it, the old furniture, the faded colors, the cracks on the windows, the unpolished floor, even the morning noises coming from the market seemed charming to her. Some days Elain missed the ruckus of the River House, but living with a married couple was taking its tools on her sanity. It was getting harder to look into her little sister’s beaming face in the morning.

Lying flat on the floor, she closed her eyes, extended her legs and placed her hands over her stomach, assuming the familiar position. “In and out...in and out…” Elain told herself, looking back at the memory of her lessons.

At first, Elain hadn’t plan to do any kind of training with him – or anyone – since she had no interest in becoming a warrior. Her days were busy and gardening already provided her with more exercise than she actually like to do. By coincidence (or shadow interference) Azriel bumped into her in a book shop. Elain squinted at him, asking if he was following her. He said he wasn’t. She believed him.

While Velaris was going back to normalcy after the horrible war, Elain was trying to adapt to her new life, to the powers that came with it. In the beginning she avoided libraries while searching for material to interpret her visions, not wanting to discuss the subject with the eager circle. When Elain explain what she was looking for, Azriel promptly offered to help, a natural habit of his, stacking her arms with more books than she could carry, having the shadows deliver them at the house.

At the time, Elain was nervous. She didn’t want to get rid of her seer abilities because of how useful they had been so far, but she wanted to tame them. She needed to. Time flow different in her head. In the worse cases a vision would stretch for days without end, the seasons passing in front of eyes, vigilant months of agony that turned into years before she learned in reality, she had barely blinked. Her hazed eyes the only indication that her mind was far away for a few seconds.

Azriel said she needed to find an anchor to the present, a way to stabilize her mind here and now, that she should not feel pressure to unravel every vision as they came to her, comparing her hazed slumber to his unending reports. “Every information can be important for a specific cause, yes. But that doesn’t mean I have to read them all the same time. You control you vision Elain, not the contrary, remember that.  Learn to choose what you see. When you see it.”

He introduced her to meditation, encouraging her to lay down on the rug, close her eyes and take deep breaths. “In and out, flower. Relax your body and empty your mind.” He explained how meditation would help her to find an anchor, a trigger to tie her mind in the present, working as a door that allowed her to stay and watch or leave and return. Anything was valid.

The first couple of tries were a total failure, leaving her frustrated.

“What does it take for this to work?” she asked after several silent hours of yet another failing attempt. Azriel was lying beside her, so quiet Elain had rolled on her side twice, sticking her fingers under his nose to check if he was still breathing.

“Patience and silence,” he whispered, “lots of it.”

The room fell silent.

Twenty minutes.

Thirty minutes.

Forty minutes.

“I thought about it, and I think I know what you’re doing.” Elain couldn’t help herself.

“What?” Azriel couldn’t help himself either.

“You’re using me to take a nap.”

His body curled with laughter, the hearty sound making her smile, the fit so big his wings stretched, nudging her. “Ah!” she yelped rolling away.

“Shit, are you okay? Let me see your head…”  

Their “sessions” began with a quota of formality that never lasted till the end. Azriel was a firm teacher, yes, but he was also gentle and patient, smiling at her attempts to slack off, amused with a few small complaints. He even joked and laughed at her expenses. Together, they quickly figured that Physical Touch was an easy anchor for her, one that worked ten times out of ten. Except that this anchor didn’t please her very much.

“I don’t know if I like this one.” she confessed apprehensively.

Azriel paused.

“Do I make you uncomfortable?”

“No! No, I fine with you, believe me. I trust you with my eyes closed,” she wiggled her brows, “quite literally. I just… I don’t want to keep depending on other. I want to be stronger.” Elain didn’t mind Azriel touching her, but Azriel wasn’t by her side all day long, no one was. All it took for Touching to be an unreliable crutch was she being alone. Her mouth was dry. She licked her lips. “Like my sisters.”

“You are.” Azriel’ proud tone didn’t escape her. “Let’s try something else. When the next wave comes, don’t wait for my touch,” he instructed. Elain relaxed her limbs, breathing deeply, his woody scent tickling her nose, calming her anxiety. “Think about the place you are, describe it in your mind. Furniture, shapes, color, smells, if there are people describe them too. Recall their clothes, conversation, mannerism. All that is information to keep you anchored, accurate as touching, without having you at the mercy of others. Sounds better?”

She nodded eagerly.

“Give it a try.”

Elain learned that her dreams and her visions had different meanings.

He vision weren’t unavoidable. The outcome could change if the person took a different course of action, made a different choice, but the visions would come to pass, they would come to happen. Her dreams were more twisted than that. Most of them about herself. Perfectly painted illusions, persistent fates trying to be imposed on her, delirious hopes of the cauldron, the plans the god had for her life. The kids he wanted from her.

Elain was familiar with the red hair beauty who she called Ellaria. Her first daughter was born during her first year of marriage. Three years later Elain gave birth to twin boys, Ellias and Mathias. It was a rarity to have kids so quickly amongst the fae, and twins nonetheless. All her children exhibited Lucien’ strong physical traits, except for the eyes. They had the stunning Archeron blue orbs that skipped her just to find her kids. Healers from every court petitioned to meet her. To study her. They called her an anomaly. Cauldron's favorite. The made mother.

"Three kids in four year my lady, three! The Court’s birth rate has grown too! Six times higher than any other! There was never such a high tax of birth before!” they would grin from ear to ear while she faked smiled. Inside she was crying. Of course more and more babies were born since she married. They were her children’s army.

Tonight, for the first time, the new twins came to her. Liliana and Elliot.

The first to look like her.

Why?

Was this some perverted incentive?

Hot tears slipped from behind her closed eyes.

Children were innocent beings. Elain was confident that she could shower them with love, raise them to be good kids, rightful heirs instead of the hateful brats forged in hate that often visited her dreams. The problem was she would never live for that. The cauldron, who claimed to love her, would not hesitate in killing her to fulfill his plans. He knew Elain would raise the kids to be good hearted, keep them centered. That's why she always died. Always. Her death was the marking point to her children downfall, her spilled blood nurturing the roots of their resentment. The caldron coaxing voice would lure them for a century of destruction, wipe the divides of the world as they knew, build a new era forged with fire.

A knock on the door made Elain get up.

“Just a minute!” She screamed going to the bathroom.

Elain cleaned her face the best she could and opened the door to a nervous Feyre.

“You weren’t at the orphanage.”

“I overslept.” The lie rolled of her tongue easily.

Feyre talked about her busy morning with the kids, saying Alanis replaced her during reading lessons, Elain changing into a warm wool dress on the background. The subject quickly moved to her mating anniversary and how Feyre was planning a special night to celebrate her husband. She wanted to surprise Rhys by cooking dinner by herself. Elain held back her laughter while lacing her boots, gently suggesting that she should leave that task for the cook who was more experienced. Her sister was having none of that.

“That’s why I’m here. I want you to teach me.”

She bestowed upon Elain the hard mission of teaching her how to make the magnificent dish she had in mind.

"Soup?" Elain asked, confused.

"Soup."

"Plain soup?"

"It's a meaningful dish." Feyre grinned.

Elain fastened a scarf around her neck. “Any flavor of preference?”

“Yes! The easiest possible.” She rolled her eyes and closed the door, Feyre winnowing outside the river house, them directly into her fancy kitchen.

“What do you think about tomato?”

“Love it.” Her sister nodded, assuming the expression of someone who was about to go war. “Let’s do this.”

Elain chuckled going to fetch them aprons.

It was going to be a chaotic day. She could feel it.

******

Sequel to The Things You Like. I think this can be read as a stand alone too 🤔 Warning: Cursing. I also have to warn you that part 2 is not very elriel-esque. Lucien is heavily featured (i talk about this at the end of the chapter) so if you don’t like him, I’m sorry...for you. Kidding 😅 I’m not give it a try, maybe you’ll like him and the chapter. pro elriel, haven’t changed. 😉 Word counting: 5700 Sneak a peak  Enjoy :)

Part 2: The Ones You Don’t

"So,” Nuan probed with interest, “when it's the mating ceremony?"

Lucien groaned, losing count of how many times he heard that wretched question in that afternoon.

“For the last time, I am not mating.”

Nuan snickered in her swivel chair, pushing the magnifying goggle further up. The tweezer, attached to her mechanical hand, moved with precision, removing the regulator pointer and placing it on the silk cloth. Repeating the motion with the bottom plate. Her sardonic voice laced with malice.

"If you are not here to invite me to your mating ceremony, what the fuck are you doing here?"

“Waiting for you to fix my fucking watch, that’s what.”

She slapped her goggle on the table, sending her friend a skeptical look and rolling to the left shelf, searching for a replacement to the broken center onion.

"Come on, Lucy. Don't insult my intelligence. You mean to tell me there isn’t a single mortal watchmaker down there?” Nuan mocked, rolling back to the center table.

"I don't want a stranger touching it." He evaded, pretending she wasn't right. Lucien did want the broken watch fixed. He didn't need it to be fixed today. Didn’t need to come all the way to Dawn Court, either.

"Yeah, yeah. You came just to fix precious pocket watch." She dismissed with a hand wave. “You sure didn’t come this far on the map to have an excuse to visit a certain female, dare I say, a certain mate of yours.”

He paced around, annoyed, choosing a far leather chair to slouch, needing some distance from his nosy friend. “I don’t need excuse to visit her.”

“Sure you don’t, buddy. That’s the solemn reason you’ve been licking Rhysand’ balls; for the privilege to visit your pretty little mate. A sweet bargain that turned you into his bitch.” She scorned, well aware of his deadly glare even if he was behind her.

“My truce with Rhysand is temporary. We have a common goal, that’s all.”

“You’ve been coming back and forth, for what, three years?” she whistled, “funny definition of temporary you got there, buddy.”

Lucien's blood boiled, fire flowing in his veins. The second Vassa is free, I’m done. A sweet lie he liked to repeat in his head. In reality, he was stuck on this deal as long as his mate remained there. He would probably spend the rest of his immortal life with Rhysand’s mistrust hanging over his shoulders. Lucien pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the headache forming behind his eye. When he was stressed, the scar on his face throbbed, the ghost pain a twisted reminder of having his eye plucked. Every time he set foot at Dawn the conversation flow to the same place: His mate.

Nuan didn’t understand why Lucien haven’t mated yet. No one did. His unsuccessful mating was a hot gossiping topic in Prythian. Despite leaving Autumn, Lucien remained high born, one of the seven heir that could ascend to power, his name running in high circles of society, his misfortune perfect prey to the bored and immortal fae to pry upon. His bond, his cauldron made mate, her shared bloodline with Feyre, her allegiance to Night Court, their lack of mating. The speculations ran wild. At least his father must be proud. Beron used to say Lucien was his biggest shame, now the tittle was well earned.

Oblivious to his internal misery, Nuan continued. "Honestly, I don't know how you stand Rhysand and that hideous court of assholes. How can you trust her with him? I wouldn’t let no mate of mine get ten feet near that fucker.”

Lucien watched his friend and said nothing. Rhysand didn't fully trust him, and Lucien returned the courtesy, Feyre being the link that obliged Lucien and Rhysand to keep their knives hidden in their backs instead of pointed to each other. Although, he did have some sympathy for the male now. Lucien knew his story, his starlight city, the price the payed to protect it. The High Lord of Night willingly revealed his wings, his powers, his High Lady’s powers, all for a chance to save the land from Hybern, to stop the eminent war. That private meeting didn’t stay private for long, whispers traveled fast, the story changing from one fae to the other. Most didn’t believe in his supposed good deeds, didn’t trust him. Many still suffering with the memories from under the mountain, baring scars from his wicked ploys, mourning family that died by his hands. He was tainted with the same adjectives as his court: cruel, hideous, wretched.

Nuan turned her chair around, taking in his distressed expression, her onyx eyes contemplative. “Just answer me one thing. One thing and this discussion dies here for good.” Lucien raised a brow, waiting for her to continue. “Your mate. Rumors say she prettier than her sisters, and I saw Cursebreaker myself, so it’s hard to believe in that one. My question is: Does she have a nice round ass too, or is she more of a big titties kind of female?”

Lucien pounced.

Hair lit on flames of red.

His friend winnowing to the other side of the room on the last second.

“Mhmm, that’s no to the titties, then?”

His growl rumbled across the lab, deep and menacing, quaking the shelves. “Are you enjoying riling me up?”

"Easy Mr. fox. Easy.” he paced, ridden by instinct, like a wild animal trying to ambush its prey, preparing for the final attack. His hands crackled to life, tentative flames licking his fingers. Nuan squinted, raising her index, “don’t fuck up my lab," she warned him. “Something has to have enticed you enough to allow her to continue living in that godsforsaken place.”

"I don't allow her,” he huffed, curling his finger in a tight fist to erase the flames, feeling bloodthirsty, mind fogged. “She lives there because she wants to. Her family lives there."

“What about you?” she asked serious. “You don’t live there. You have no plans to.”

Lucien blinked. His reason waking from its slumber, slowly returning.

“I’m not her family.”

“Seriously, Lucien? You are her mate. You share a soul with her. You are hers as she is yours.”

He stopped, taken aback by her obvious remark. The hunt forgotten. Nuan sat back on her chair, her frisky jokes gone, a grave expression covering her features, questioning. “What are you doing, my friend? You live in the mortal lands and sure as hell it isn’t because of your former human mate. You are living with another, Lucy. You are living with a female while your mate is disregard in that wicked court.”

“She is a woman,” he corrected quietly. Self-conscious. The bond tossing and turning, knotting on his chest. “And I don’t live with her. We share a home with Jurian. You know that. You know them.”

Onyx eyes churned with irritation.

"It doesn't matter what she is, the point is that you live with her! Don’t you miss your mate? Don’t you ache for her?" The bond did. "So many of us dream with the day where a mate will come to our lives, Lucy. You dreamed with that. How many nights didn't you whine to me, crying because the cauldron didn't bless you with the honor of being Jesminda's mate."

His shoulders slumped, his heart heavy as a rock at the mention of her name. "I didn't whine."

"Please, you bawled like a baby, crying for a bond that never snapped. Every time you drink, I had to listen to the same shit, over and over.” She clasped her hands together, faking a passionate expression, emulating his voice poorly. “I love her so much Nuan. Why am I not her mate? Sniff what if her mate appears and she leaves me Sniff she can’t leave me! Sniff why not me sniff." She wiped her fake tears away, ignoring his scowl to pointing at him, “That was you, now you have your mate, congratulations. You have a mate, Lucy, she is yours. No one else’s, yours.”

Lucien would rather crawl in a hole than be having this conversation, then admitting his feelings, but Nuan was his friend, his good friend. He could tell her. Say the things he didn’t dare say elsewhere.

"Do I betray her, then?” His mouth tasted like sand. “Do I betray Jesminda and tarnish her memory? I killed her and now I get to live with a mate in my arms while she lies dead. Is that what I should do?

Nuan sighted, pity painted on her face. "You didn't kill her, Lucy. What happened to Jess was fucked up, but it wasn't your fault. She loved you. Jess would be happy to know that you are not alone, that you found your mate, your happiness.

...hapiness...

"I don't even know her." he admitted with reluctancy.

"And what is stopping you from changing that, mmh? Cauldron boil me, there are all types of sordid stories about you out there because of her, they wrote ballads about you! They sing of you crowning the High Lord of Spring with a pair of shining horns and running away with his bride, all because you went after your mate. So get your fucking mate! Get her out of that prison, Lucy!”

Lucien grimaced, knowing the ballad in question. The catchy melody had played way too many times while he passed through shabby taverns, head down and hood up as the scornful lyrics to The Rose and The Fox were forcefully carved on his brain.

He thinks she returned  for the roses and thorns What a shame what a shame she returned for the fox

Beware beware of the naughty red fox Beware beware of his smooth fur and talk   She returned for his kisses under early sun rise She returned for his fire in her bed late at night   Beware beware of the naughty red fox Beware beware of his smooth fur and talk   He was lashed in her honor bleeding red as his hair They sat fire to roses to run off the sunset   Beware beware of the naughty red fox Beware beware of his smooth fur and talk

The bright side? Tamlin hadn't heard this petulant song. The dark side? This was not the worst one. Lucien shook his head to get rid of the annoying lyrics, addressing to his friend, "It’s not like that to her. It’s not a prison from where she can’t escape from. Believe me, she is cared for, she has free agency. She doesn't want to leave.”

"Have you asked her to?"

“…No.”

“Then you don’t know what she wants.”

His head fell back with a bang on the wall, an annoyed groan leaving his chest. Females and their abilities to run his patience out with nonsense. "I don't have to ask to know."

"I just told me you don't know her."

"I know enough to know this."

"That means you know shit,” she concluded. “Go there. Go to that hell court and ask her. Ask her to leave with you. Ask to court her. Don’t sit there assuming you know things. Ask her. She might surprise you with her answers.”

Nuan was feeling stressed. Males have the depth of a spoon, and trying to make one see the nuances of life was harder than crafting a thousand eyes. She finished assembling the watch with perfection, placing the delicate relic on Lucien’s palm, glaring at him.

“When you leave my lab, you better drag your ass to Night Court.”

"I'm not going to Night Court,” he grumbled pocketing the watch.

She smirked, “Sure you’re not.”

He went to Night Court.

Lucien winnowed miles away from Velaris, far enough to have a long walk and calm down. His mind replaying the conversation with Nuan. With a mind of its own, his bond pulsed, as if it could feel where Lucien was going, who was there waiting. Eager for her. The last time he visited his mate was on solstice, getting banned from Velaris soon after. Lucien was furious at the outrageous order. Not for being denied access to the city in essence, but for being denied access to the library, the best one he had access to, containing useful material about his powers –his spell sensitive– his best chance off figuring how to break the curse.

So his research halted unexpectedly. Four long months where his work set there, useless without a break true. Four long months with the Shadowsinger checking on his side for updates without an answer to Lucien's simple question. Why? Why was he banned? Until one day he was summoned back, the truth unveiling at last. Feyre was pregnant and Rhysand took his sweet fucking time to trust Lucien with that piece of information. To test him with the secrecy.

Rhysand had no reason to be fuzzy. Lucien wasn’t stupid. He knew how the play the game of High Lords, he had done it his whole life. Mostly importantly, he would not betray Feyre. His mate. Lucien was very careful when overseeing affairs in Spring, even if he hardly ever saw Tamlin, his friend still lost in mourning. That’s how the months passed. Vassa’s curse was never lifted. Jurian spent his days searching for the trader. The first heir of Night Court was born. Tamlin relapsed. Vassa’s time was running out.  And Lucien saw his mate twice in 14 months. The last time being pure coincidence. Dumb luck. 

He had been in Velaris for two weeks, rooted in the enormous library, stacks and more stacks of books pilled in the small private room. He didn’t leave the place for a minute, didn’t visit anyone, didn’t think about. Completely focused on looking for a spell, an antidote, a cure, something. Anything. He found nothing. When he finally came out for air, Lucien spotted her. He felt the tug immediately. The dull ache. Her strong scent drifting to him. Hair braided, colorful lilac skirt swishing between stalls, lightly tanned skin shining in the sunlight, a sun hat shading her brown eyes, her smile making his heart beat a little too fast, a little too stronger. She never smiled at him like that. She never smiled at him at all. It was mesmerizing.

Lucien didn’t realize he was following her until they were far away from the market, from the buzzing life of the city. He frowned, observing the surroundings, trying to understand where she was going. Not home, by the looks of it. They neared a meadow, where she crouched under a fence and didn’t stop, didn’t slow. What is she doing this far? Alone. Instinct urged him to keep following her, to make sure she was safe, to drag her back to the city. He paused, indecisive.

Don't be a creep Lucien. Don’t follow her. Velaris is safe. Just leave.

He followed her. May Feyre never find out. He would definitely be banned forever if Feyre thought he was forcing his hand. Lucien would never hurt Elain, she was his mate for Mother’s sake. Not that her hawk-eyed baby sitters would believe him in this matter, especially if he was found like this, following her for far too long to be a coincidence. I’ll make sure she is safe first and leave. While he was stressing with indecision Elain got farther, passing by a tree with broken swing and disappearing from view. Lucien didn’t rush. Following his petit mate in plain daylight was an easy thing for a skilled tracker like him. He kept his distance, for the meadow offered near to none coverage.

His steps gentle and steady.

Barely disrupting the foliage.

And so were hers.

Because Lucien lost her.

Now here he was.

The Dark Mother laughing at him, rejoicing in her wicked sense of humor when Lucien discovered that a mating ceremony was, in fact, happening. A servant let him in, used to Lucien’s sporadic visits, asking if he had trouble on the way, telling him that the party had been going on for quite some time. Lucien dismissed him, reassuring that he knew the way to the ballroom. Not that he intended to go there, anyway.

He didn’t know Cassian for long, but he felt sorry for the male nonetheless. Ending up shackled to a viper is not an easy fate for any male to bear. There was something wrong with the older Archeron, a dark anger, a rage older than life, layering her essence. All mixed with whatever the seven hells that she brought back from the cauldron. Lucien wished Cassian the best of luck, for he would need it constantly. He strayed away, wandering into a random hall, far from the music and laughter, having second thoughts, undecided. He tapped his feet, thinking, calculating. Would he even talk to her? They never talked.

Ask to court her? He laughed. Ridiculous. I would have to ask her a whole lot of things first. Why did I listen to Nuan and came here? She has no mate. Lucien felt stupid. He should leave. Put an end to this useless crusade, choose an inn to spend the night and head to the library early in the morning, make the trip count for something. Yes. Leaving sounded like the correct option, didn’t it?

In the end, Lucien didn't have to make a decision about looking for her or leaving.

The cauldron decided for him.

The bond pulsed, warming. His nostrils flared, the scent of jasmine filling his lungs. Strong. Enticing. Mixed with another scent he was lightly familiarized with. The scent of the heir of night. He turned, coming face to face with his mate.

*

Elain didn’t move.

Staring.

Staring.

Staring.

A heavy uncomfortable air hanging between. His tense shoulder mirroring her own. Nyx squirmed in her arms. A clock ticked somewhere. Tick, tick, tick, tick... The insistent sound mixing with the steady heartbeat crossing the stone walls, piercing her ears, itching her skin. The dormant bond in her chest stretching as if something interesting was finally happening for it. She opened her mouth and he stiffened.

Lucien was prepared to have her walk by and maybe spare him a polite “hello”. Or spare him nothing more than a glace. To have her walk by without a word, ignoring his existence all together. Seven hells, he was even prepared for her to turn on her hells, to backway and leave as if she never saw him. Because any of those options were more credible than what she did. Elain tipped her chin in his direction, saying, “We match.” 

His eyes dipped down, moving from his forest-green jacket to her extravagant gown of the same color, patterned with leaves and flowers stitched on, the dark contrast highlighting her skin.

“We do.” he agreed. Cautious to keep his tone casual and not scare.

The bond crashed in waves of pleasure her sudden interest in him. A strong sense of pride taking over as he watched her.

So different form the sodden creature that emerged from the cauldron.

So different from the grieving lady standing by the window.

It's been a while since Elain got better and he was still amazed.

She gained weight, bones no longer poking through skin, arms tanned from the sun, cheekbones rosed and healthy, doe eyes bright with life, and now her hair was shorter too. His chest swelled in approval, content with her recovery. She was truly a remarkable and persistent female. And beautiful. Gods, so beautiful it hurt to look at for too long. Yes, painfully beautiful was good way to describe Elain Archeron. The most beautiful female he had ever seen.

With a torrent of incoherent grunts, Nyx throw his head back, trying to see who was stealing his aunt’s attention. Elain chuckled, turning to the side, allowing him to view Lucien, keeping one hand on his lower back, careful of his tucked wings, and moving the other from his bum to the back of his chubby legs, the blanket slipping from her arms.

“Are you hiding?” a muffled question, drowned by Lucien’s heartbeat.

The maddening thing clogging his ears. Instinct guided his feet forward, step after step, echoing in the empty hall. He kneeled to retrieve the blanket, eyeing Elain on his way up, trying not to stare at her neckline while draping the baby, failing miserably. Russet and gold more interested in the lack of jewelry than obeying him. Nothing but skin from there to her collarbone, to her neck, to her

light

pink

lips.

Mine.

Nyx sulked as the outsider placed the blanket around him, imagining that he was doing that to pick him up, take him away from his aunt. He grabbed her harder, hiding in her neck, determinated to stay that in her arms. Lucien paid him no attention. His mind too far gone, his bond consuming all of his brain cells, a low continuous vibration oozing from his chest, chanting nonsense.

You’re mine. My mate. She smells good. Imagine how she tastes. Touch her. Touch her and find out. Touch. Her.

“No!” he snarled with irritation.

Elain startled.

Nyx whimpered.

And Lucien was horrified, realizing that his outburst came out as rude response to her question. Shit. He scolded himself. He didn’t mean to yell at her. He was simple trying to contain the bond. Lucien had forgot how loud it was around her, how hard instinct tried to ride him. He took a step back, clearing his throat to fix his mistake. “No, not hiding. Just…watching the moon.”

A mindless lie that slipped from tongue easily. Better than saying I wished the bond would shup up. Lucien had no idea of what he was doing anymore. Her approach jumbled his mind to a point of no return. It was unusual for Elain to talk to him first. Her starting a conversation of her own volition, without Feyre pinching and jabbing her sides was something he had no memory off.

Feeling forgotten by his aunt, Nyx yanked her hair screaming, “Naaaain!”

“Alright, alright,” she rearranged both arms around his bum and the baby laxed against her chest like a choregraphed move. “There, little lord, you happy?” Little legs dangled around her waist with excitement as Elain swayed gently, changing her weight from one foot to the other, assessing Lucien’s fixed stare. Not fixed at her, no. They were fixed at the baby. His brows knitted in concentration, face soaked in oddness. “Have you not seen him before?” She inquired. Well aware that he had visited the river house after Nyx' birth.

Lucien visited the Velaris less and less. Truth be told, he visited her less and less, and Elain was fine with that, more than fine. He still came around for meetings with Rhys and to visit her sister. If he happened, by some misfortune, to see her, he would greet her and be polite, but he didn’t expect her to entertain him anymore. Feyre on the other hand, lack the same spirit of decorum.

“From a distance,” he mused. It was far easier to properly look at him without his dad near. “He’s a male copy of Feyre.” Deep blue eyes, heavy with sleep, stirred. Following the sound of his voice with curiosity at the mention of his mother.

Lucien watched the baby, his features. His mind floating between past and present. What would Tamlin do if he knew Lucien was colluding with the Night Court, supporting Feyre’s new family, standing beside her son –born from his worst enemy– during her sister's mating ceremony.

Mere twenty lashes would not suffice such betrayal.

“With Rhys temper.” Lucien kept staring at the baby, unsettling Elain. “What? Want to hold him?” His eyes darted to her face quick as a lightning, sheer panic shining in his russet eye. The scar on his left side wrinkling with his grimace. He looked over his shoulder then back at her. “What?” she asked.

“I don’t. I mean, I never. I never held a baby,” he stammered, Elain’s brow going all the way to her hairline. “A baby like him,’’ he explaining in a rush. She suppressed a chuckle.

“He’s not so different from other babies.”

“Other babies don’t have sharp claws attached to bat wings, my lady.” He sneered.

Elain frowned.

Her sympathy evaporating under his crude tone.

There he goes. She tried to ignore the weird bond and talk to him. Talk to Lucien. The interaction was being less unbearable without all the busybodies clumping her, even though she and Lucien remained awkward. Elain was even feeling sympathetic for the fact that he didn’t know how to hold a baby and tried to play it cool, but his following remark left a bad taste in her mouth. Her mood turned sour. Off course things were bound to go south. There’s no way for us to have a decent conversation, ever. This male is bounded to be a thorn in my a–

Nyx  razor-sharp blue eyes were directed at the outsider, shinning with aggravation, glancing from him to his aunt, as if he knew that the male was upsetting her. Nyx decided right there that he did not like this outsider. His wings twitched.

“They are not sharp, they are baby wings, delicate and malleable,” she corrected with an even tone. “Many babies are born with them, besides,” she gazed lovely at her nephew, voice turning mellow, “wings are his especial charm. You are my handsome boy with the prettiest wings, aren’t you? Yes, you are.”

Lucien shook his head regretfully.

What else could he expect from someone who saw nothing beyond this court?

His mate had spent far too many days in this place.

He ought to correct her.

“Night Court standards aren’t a good point of reference, my lady. Night and Dawn are the only courts with winged Fae, they are not so common as you are trying to make seem. High Faes are not a big part of the population, either. The lesser fae beat us by a large marge, if you must know, larger than most High Faes are comfortable with.” His voice turned darker, “and Illyrians can hardly be compared with anyone, anyways. A strong race of warriors, yes, but also full of violent and warmog–”

“Nooo! Don’t finish that!” Elain squealed, pressing the baby’s head against her chest.

A clumsy attempt to cover his ears. Her distress confused Nyx, who thought his aunt was being attacked and tried to free himself to defend her. He tossed and turned in her arms, growling at Lucien like a rabid creature, wings flapping uncontrollably, trapping him on the blanket. Mist fogging the tall windows. Elain turned away, hands working on little rubs to sooth him, muttering, “It’s okay love, it’s okay,” then a little lower, “violence is an extreme answer for times where one cannot solve things in a peaceful manner.”

His brow furrowed under her reaction, baby wings forgotten, only Jurian’s old taunt flashing in his mind, a taunt from a life where Lucien was still welcome in Tamlin' table. She’s probably been fucked by half the Illyrian army by now. The contemptuous memory made his rage flare to life, burning. Lucien held back his snarl, fist clenching beside his body, his control slipping for a split second, long enough for something rabid to unleash from inside, his tone harsh and cruel. “I don’t think two years can turn you into an Illyrian expert. You'd be surprised by their preference for violence, a talent very useful in causing ruination.”

Elain could feel his bitter words infiltrating in her skin. Worse. She could feel his bitterness coming from inside out. Disgust. Anger. Repulse. Her emotions strong and rooted deep, tied to memories that never flashed in her mind. Because those emotions weren’t hers. She kissed Nyx head, breathing in his good baby smell, separating herself from the overwhelmed male.

“A few bad apples don’t qualify a tree to be put down, you know. There are good apples growing in between.”

“Ah!” he snickered, “a skilled gardener such as yourself would think that, I supposed. Yet, a rotten tree can’t produce nothing but bad apples, don’t you agree?”

Sucking a breath, Elain turned back, wild eyes staring with disbelief as if he had slapped her across the face. He might as well have.

“No,” she replied without a doubt. “No, I don’t agree.”

Her arms tighten around her nephew, protectively.

That’s when Lucien knew.

Too far.

He had gone too far.

Elain was inert for a moment, processing. Lucien could have a problem with a thousand Illyrians for all she cares, but he could not condemn all of them for it, especially not in front of her. She may not be an Illyrian expert, but she made friends among them, she had her nephew, her brothers-in-law, Azriel. She would not stand here and listen to his disdaining words.

With an icy glare, she pounced, “That tone of yours. Be mindful with it, please. Even plants will wither and die when talked to like that, no wonder you are stressing the baby.” Elain encircled him, the baby attentive as she measured Lucien, her hostile stare never straying from his wary one. “And what counts as a rotten tree for you, sir? A person’s environment while growing up? Because we both know that can’t be a good reference, either. Some males turn out wicked even after growing among comfort and riches and roses. Yet, others grow soaked in blood and battle, making them value honor and cherish peace harder than those who have it. Because they know the price to achieve it. I can understand you having a feud with some, but I cannot accept you sentencing all simple for the blood that run in their veins. Is good to remember that one should not be defined by their lineage, Lucien Vanserra.”

Lucien winced as she enunciated his family name with awareness.

“I don’t use that name anymore.”

“I know you don't. It must not have been an easy choice for you to make, the bravest ones never are, doesn't mean it wasn't a good choice, one to be proud off. That’s why one’s choices and actions should be put in a higher standard than their ancestors and family wrongdoings, because the past has passed but your present is made by you. Don't you agree?” she finished her attack by tossing the sarcastic question back at him.

Lucien watched Elain stand tall and furious and crush him. He was impressed by her display of dominance, by the fact that she still praised his choice in the peak of her anger, the bond reverberating inside of him. While his bond thrived, Lucien was embarrassed, his anger quickly subsiding to shame. Nuan was right, what was he doing? The purpose of his visit was completely annihilated by now, since he decided to turn his first proper conversation with his mate in a lousy fight by insulting her nephew in an unfounded jealous fit. A nephew that was currently in her arms, for gods sake.

“Yes, yes I agree. You are right. I’m Sorry.” She pointed to the baby, her icy scowl yet to melt. “What?” he asked genuinely confused.

Elain felt on the verge of ripping his hair off, her frustrated groan a silent pray for patience. Must she voice everything if she wants to be heard? Azriel had her spoiled. Useless bond.

“Don’t apologize to me. He was the one being insulted by you, not me.”

He eyed the baby who greeted him with a peeved pout, chubby arms defensively curled around Elain’s neck. Lucien decided right there that he liked this baby. He got his priorities right, protecting his aunt and all, didn’t mean that Lucien wouldn't try to light the mood on the best way he knew: by cracking a bad joke.

“You want me to apologize to a baby? He can’t even understand me yet.”

“Mother, give me strength…”

“I’m kidding, lady, just kidding. I’m sorry buddy,” he stretched his arm to squish the baby’s cheek. The baby tried to bite his hand off. “Cauldron. I see Rhysand’s temper now.”

Raising his hands in a defensive posture, Lucien stepped away a couple of feet.

“Got it, no touching. I’m sorry, Nyx. I shouldn’t have said those things to you. This has nothing to do with you, you are an adorable baby. I’m sorry, hm?”

Nyx moved his eyes from Lucien to Elain, tilting his little head to watch his aunt, Elain smiled down at him, and just like that Lucien was forgiven. The animosity clogging the hall disappeared as if had never been there in the first place, both Archeron returning to their earlier peaceful demeanor. Elain looked over her shoulder, her usual polite and composed tone breaking the silence. “My sister is looking for us,” us meaning her and Nyx. “I better go.” And just like that Lucien was dismissed. He didn't have time to say anything as she left on the same way that she came. Unexpectedly. 

Elain wasn’t sure how to say goodbye to him. She wasn’t sure if he even deserved one. He probably didn't. Not today. Even so, she dipped her head in a shallow “bye” before exiting. Her chest feeling weird, twisting the farther she walked. She hummed not to focus on it. There was no reason to entertain those feelings, her heart and her bond were not the same, even if her sister didn’t share the sentiment.

How can we share a bond and have no connection whatsoever? They were not acquaintances, not friends, definitely not lovers. Just mates. Bonded. Everyone blabbed about how they were supposed to mean the world to the each other, and in reality, they meant nothing beyond a couple of tugs and mischanged feelings. She and Lucien were strangers who clashed too much. Nesta might be attracted to that sort of thing, but Elain enjoyed another type of romance. A certain hazel-eyed male crossed her mind and Elain chased the thought away, scolding herself. Get a grip, this boat has left the harbor. Joke was on her. For Elain would soon learn that said boat cannot sail without her.

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o 🍃🍂🍃🍂🍃🍂🍃🍂🍃🍂🍃🍂

Little chat with your gorgeous author:

A HC of mine is that Elain cut her hair since the solstice fiasco. When a big heartbreak comes in, the hair comes out ☠️💇🏽‍♀️

Hey besties, yall good?

The word ‘mate’ was repeated an annoying amount of times, sorry about that 😅😅 My goal was creating distance between Elucien, so it was necessary. When we were inside Lucien's head in ACOWAR he was still grieving Jesminda. We hadn't been to his head since, so my take away is that he is slowly digesting things. I wanted to enunciate the differences between the expectations fae have about a bond, and the reality of having a mate. That a bond isn’t a magic ring that automatically marries you, you have to work for it if you want it, and sometimes you don’t want it and that’s okay. You don’t have to. Speaking of Lucy, I live for his petty feud with Nesta 🤣🤣 but also wanted to give him a good friendly exchange for a change, foxy boy needs a break.

This progressed from a messy note in my phone to messy fic in my dash 🤣🤣 HOW FUN! I saw that pretty dress and immediately was like "what if Elain matched with Lucien without meaning to🤔 What if she did that on Nesta's wedding 😱 ooooh the drama 🌚" It originally started with Elain and Nyx little stroll, the two bumping into Lucien yada yada, but ELRIEL WROTE ITSELF cause they have me in a chokehold🙏🏼😂 When I came to my senses I had that whole part 1 going on, so I split it in a two-part fic and here we are.

Trivia time: I had actually named this as "The One You Want, The One You Don't" to separate Az from Lucy in Elain's point of view. After writing some more, I felt like the title was to aggressive (???) because this isn't about a feud, is about inner struggle and expectations. So I changed to "things you like", because she likes the things Az makes her feel, but she definitely doesn’t like the things the bond make her feel. I think the change was a good choice. Don't you? That's it. End of the ted talk, arrivederci 🙋🏽‍♀️